2: Chapter 1 Great Tang Zhenguan_2 2: Chapter 1 Great Tang Zhenguan_2 “Originally, my plan was flawless, but who would have thought you would find a clue from the wound?
So don’t blame me for being ruthless!” A bone-chilling voice whistled from behind.
The voice was familiar, confirming Ran Yan’s suspicion: yes, it was her assistant.
Ran Yan gave a cold laugh, enduring the pain and the confusion in her mind as she struggled to organize her words, “Assistant Zhang, you…
underestimate me, Ran Yan, too much.
I might die by your hands when I’m careless, but you won’t escape.”
With a snap, perhaps her cervical vertebra was twisted and broken, Ran Yan could no longer feel the pain; she only remembered that before falling, she saw the ancient inkstone on the ground, shattered into pieces it was a birthday gift from her archaeologist mother.
In early June, the early morning in Suzhou City was shrouded in misty rain, with the fog dense and the scenery indistinct.
Buildings and rooftops were scattered at various heights, occasionally their corners broke through the fog, showing black tiles and white walls, cobblestone alleys deep and shallow or far and near, forming a beautiful ink painting with the weeping willows by the riverbank.
However, about four or five miles south of there, the atmosphere in the town was entirely different.
At the foot of a mountain, surrounded by trees, in the middle of a flat farmland was a village with only forty households.
Smoke curled up from the chimneys into the misty rain, with pathways connecting every home, where chickens and dogs could be heard.
The dwellings were small and dilapidated, except for two large and exquisite houses that stood out significantly; one of them was the clan hall of the village, and the other was the Ran estate.
The hall of the Ran estate was spacious and deep, with finely carved gates.
The courtyard wasn’t very large, and the wind could blow directly into the main house through the corridors.
The wooden floor was somewhat damp, and the whole house was exceedingly cold, with curtains that seemed to have been soaked, hanging heavily.
Ran Yan lay on a straw mat, her eyes wide open in disbelief at the scene before her: an antique room, she herself lying on a wooden platform that was slightly higher than the rest of the floor, surrounded by dense bamboo curtains that cordoned off the sleeping area.
Under her were several layers of thick straw mats, and she was covered with a water-pink satin quilt, the quilt surface adorned with beautifully embroidered peonies.
She remembered she was about to go to the morgue for an autopsy, but was…
Moreover, she suffered broken third and fourth cervical vertebrae, which would have paralyzed her even if she had miraculously survived…
Ran Yan’s face was a picture of astonishment as she propped herself up, her head spinning as numerous images flashed by, in them she was an ancient woman from the Great Tang dynasty during the Zhenguan era.
She was a legitimate daughter of a prominent family; her mother had passed away, and she had been plagued by a severe illness for the past five years…
The memories shifted like a rapidly changing slideshow, an overwhelming amount of information rushed in, causing her head to split with pain; the body she’d just propped up fell back onto the mat.
After enduring the pain for a long time, which ebbed away like the tide, Ran Yan couldn’t help but moan in relief.
Her memories were very chaotic; even so, she grasped a portion concerning the ancient times — she was the seventeenth young lady of the Ran family, sharing her name, Ran Yan, who, due to a lingering illness that showed no signs of recovery, was sent here to Ran estate to recuperate two years ago.
To call it recuperation was less accurate than to say it was “exile to the frontier.”
“It must be a hoax…” Ran Yan murmured to herself.
This clearly seemed like she was in ancient times.
She was a complete atheist, dismissing time travel as something seen only in TV dramas!
Thus, she diagnosed that she must have mistakenly seen a time-travel series on TV recently, which caused her brain to enter into a deep sleep and unconsciously concoct this absurd dream.
Ran Yan kept her eyes closed for a long time but felt no trace of sleepiness; her heart was stormy, far from the calm surface.
Years of skepticism towards anything supernatural contrasted sharply with everything before her now, the silky sensation of the fabric on her body…
Was this really just a dream?
She suddenly got up, supporting her weak body as she got off the bed.
Feeling heavy-headed and dizzy, she stood still, gradually adapting to the environment for a moment before feeling slightly better.
Ran Yan then began to carefully observe her surroundings.
Through the bamboo curtain, she could faintly see the layers of satin curtains outside, tender white and pale pink, all exuding a delicate and soft femininity.
The room contained only a few low wooden tables, sparsely furnished but still exuding an exceptional elegance.
Ran Yan parted the curtains; the reality of the touch almost made her forget to breathe.
Beyond the curtains were more tables, but at the base of the wall, there was now a large copper mirror on a low table, reflecting a blurry and delicate figure in a pale yellow gown with cascading hair down to the waist.
Even from this distance, although only a blurred shadow was visible, Ran Yan knew it was not herself!
She numbly looked down to see her pale yet tender hands, devoid of color, and her mind buzzed, her body swaying as she slumped to the ground.
Ran Yan knew the human body better than anyone, based on the size of this palm as well as the features of the skin and bones, she could determine that “herself” was currently about fifteen or sixteen years old.
Ran Yan was still in shock when a clamor came from outside.
The voices grew louder; amongst them was a shrill girl’s voice, particularly stark, “The seventeenth has been ill for so long, it is out of kindness that mother sent her here.
Do you sincerely wish for her death?!”
This girl spoke without restraint, and the emphasis she placed on the word “death” was not out of concern but sounded more like a curse.
A name naturally came to Ran Yan’s mind: Ran Meiyu.
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