After Becoming the Exiled Villian First Wife - Chapter 1

The cold winter had barely passed, and after the first lunar month, another severe cold spell descended.

It was already the second month now. After several spring rains, there was still no sign of the weather warming up. Instead, the intermittent drizzle came and went, making each day colder than the last. Farm work in the fields was impossible; the snow hadn’t fully melted before the rain started. Even though the first month was over, the cold felt as biting as the depths of winter. The soil in the fields remained frozen, rendering any work impossible.

Everything was damp and soggy. The village women, who loved visiting each other, had nothing better to do than drop by the Zhou household. A short, plump woman stood under the eaves, speaking quietly to Mrs. Yu, “Has your daughter-in-law still not woken up today?”

Mrs. Yu shook her head and sighed. “Falling into the water in such bitter cold—it’s a miracle she didn’t die. She’s still burning with fever, muttering nonsense…”

Hearing the low voices, Ye Jia jolted awake.

Her eyes opened to a low, cramped room, the air thick with the pungent smell of mildew. The north wind howled, rattling the patched-up window panels. The persistent banging she’d heard in her dazed state must have been these very panels hitting the window frames. Above her, the roof beams were made of rough, unfinished logs, stark and simple. Two dilapidated baskets hung from them, containing stacks of yellow paper that swayed and creaked with every gust of wind.

As Ye Jia sat up, clutching the thin blanket, a gaunt woman pushed aside the door curtain and entered.

The woman was hunched over, dressed in a faded, patched homespun cotton jacket with mended sleeves and knees. Her hair was styled in an old-fashioned bun that seemed from a bygone era. She moved slowly, carrying a chipped bowl that appeared to hold watery porridge. Spotting Ye Jia awake, her face lit up with relief. “Jia Niang, you’re finally awake!”

Her tone was strange, somewhat formal and pedantic. Ye Jia frowned.

The woman didn’t seem to notice. Setting the bowl down, she hurried over and sat cautiously on the edge of the bed. She reached out to feel Ye Jia’s forehead and sighed. “The fever has broken. It’s been three days. I thought you wouldn’t pull through… Thank goodness you’re finally awake.”

As she spoke, she gently tucked in the corners of the blanket around Ye Jia. Her hands were covered with red, swollen chilblains, her fingers puffy like radishes.

“Don’t worry about the money anymore,” she murmured softly, almost to herself. “I found some work in town. The wages should be paid tomorrow. Once we have that, we’ll manage to get by…” Her voice was light, trailing off into a mumble.

Ye Jia’s eyelids fluttered slightly. She glanced at the woman’s hands, then let her gaze sweep around the room.

This wasn’t the mountain village lodge her company had designed and built. It was an old, dilapidated mud-brick house from some indeterminate era. The earthen walls shed dust that drifted to the floor with every gust of wind. Directly ahead stood a square table holding a blackened oil lamp, unlit. In the corner was a wooden cabinet, and beneath her was a simple wooden bed stuffed with straw.

Ye Jia herself was from the riverlands of the south. Even though she had traveled to many places, she had only ever seen such primitive mud houses in documentaries.

…A sense of foreboding grew faintly in her heart.

The woman, seeing her pale and sickly complexion, thought she was feeling unwell and quickly called out to her softly, “Jia Niang?”

Seeing that Ye Jia still wasn’t speaking, the woman began to panic. She felt her forehead several times—it was normal. Although she had lost weight during her illness these past few days, her complexion was much better than yesterday.

Just as she was about to ask more, the faint sound of a child coughing came from outside. A small child was timidly clinging to the doorframe, holding the door curtain and calling out weakly, “Grandmother.”

The woman turned, picked up the child, and noticed her clothes were a mess. She immediately started taking them off to redress her.

Ye Jia watched silently, her mind reeling as if battered by stormy waves. The little girl obediently let the woman dress her, then turned to look at Ye Jia. She was about three years old, very thin, with a large head perched precariously on her neck like a twig. Seeing Ye Jia’s gaze on her, she offered a crushed piece of malt candy in her hand, “Auntie, you can have this.”

Ye Jia moved her stiff legs, a pins-and-needles sensation creeping up densely. She looked down at her hands—long, slender fingers, smooth backs without the scar from a pencil sharpener. These weren’t her hands.

A string in her mind snapped, and a flood of unfamiliar memories surged into her consciousness.

She, Ye Jia, an engineering office worker, a staunch scientific atheist, had transmigrated into a book.

She pinched her thigh again, the sharp pain shooting to her head. She opened her mouth and found her voice had changed too. However unwilling she was to believe such an absurd thing as transmigration could happen to her, she had to admit it: she had crossed over. She had just pulled three all-nighters working, hadn’t died suddenly, hadn’t committed suicide over heartbreak, hadn’t fallen through a manhole cover in a traffic accident. She had just closed her eyes and ended up here.

This body was also named Ye Jia, the third daughter of a poor village in the Northwest, whose father was an old perpetual candidate who had never passed the imperial exams.

She had two older brothers, one younger brother, and two younger sisters. The older brothers were already married. Her sisters-in-law had joined the family one after the other. Despite the poverty, they were remarkably “productive.” The eldest sister-in-law had borne four grandsons and one granddaughter for the Ye family in one go. The second sister-in-law had also borne three sons and two daughters in succession. The large family had nearly twenty members. They owned a few meager acres of farmland and a dozen or so sheep.

But feeding so many mouths meant life was always a struggle.

Three months ago, a Persian merchant caravan came to town from the west to buy furs and hides.

The youngest brother, Ye Qinghe, who had been bold since childhood, wanted to seize the chance to make some money. He grabbed his bow and went into the mountains. But luck wasn’t on his side. He didn’t find any game and accidentally fell from the mountain, ending up half-dead. Now he lay at home, barely breathing. As the saying goes, parents rely on the eldest but dote on the youngest. The hearts of Ye Jia’s parents were shattered.

The whole family, old and young, begged everywhere for money. But in this poor, remote place where every household lived precariously, who had silver to lend? Besides, the Ye’s youngest son was paralyzed—a bottomless pit. No amount of money thrown at it would help.

Could Old Ye, the perpetual scholar, watch his son die? Of course not.

So, Old Ye set his sights on his three daughters. In earlier years, when the Ye family situation was somewhat better and they weren’t short of money, Old Ye occasionally drank and even taught his children to read and write. Later, as more children were born and they grew poorer, their life ended up like this. Now, with their youngest son’s life needing saving and no money at home, the third daughter, who was pretty and literate, had to step up.

Old Ye made the decision to marry off the original owner for a bride price of thirty taels of silver to the Zhou family, outsiders in Wangjia Village.

The Zhou family were notorious as descendants of criminals. Serious crimes, the kind that prevented three generations from ever rising again. The family had no land, no money, and was raising a burden of a child. No family in the area was willing to marry their daughter into such a situation.

The original owner was the beauty of ten villages, with so many suitors they nearly wore out the Ye family doorstep. She had originally harbored ambitions of marrying well and had already taken a liking to the second son of the town’s largest security escort agency. She was waiting for the Cheng family’s second son to return from his escort mission to propose to the Ye family. Who would have thought fate would take a turn, and she would be married off to the Zhou family?

But her younger brother’s life couldn’t be ignored. Her parents wept and begged her, so she had to marry.

Although married into the Zhou family, she looked down on them from the bottom of her heart. She even more so despised the husband she had never met. While in the Zhou family, she loafed and shirked work, occasionally pilfering things to take back to her natal family.

Although the Zhou family was poor, Mrs. Yu, the mother-in-law, was kind-hearted. Even with the original owner’s behavior, she never spoke a harsh word. Over time, anyone would develop a sense of shame. The original owner gradually accepted her fate. Thinking since she was already married, she should settle down. But unfortunately, just then, the Cheng family’s second son returned from his escort mission. Upon hearing she was married, he rushed over that very day to demand an explanation.

The two agreed to meet by the river behind Yejia Village. While they were talking, someone saw them.

Coincidentally, that person had already had their eye on Cheng Lao’er.

This wasn’t surprising. The Cheng family had power and influence. Cheng Feng had been escorting with his father and brothers since he was thirteen or fourteen. Well-traveled and experienced, he was only nineteen this year, handsome and highly capable. What girl in the town or village didn’t have her eye on him? That person thought about how pretty Ye Jia had been before marriage—she couldn’t compare then. But now Ye Jia was married, used goods—what right did she have to cling to Cheng Feng?

Blinded by jealousy, she confronted the original owner after Cheng Feng left. The original owner wasn’t meek either—what did her affairs with Cheng Feng have to do with anyone else? She immediately ridiculed the other woman.

They pushed and shoved each other. The original owner hit her head on a rock, tumbled down the ridge into the river, and stopped breathing after being pulled out.

That’s when the soul switched, becoming Ye Jia.

Ye Jia, “…”

And this husband whom the original owner looked down upon was named Zhou Jinchen, courtesy name Yun’an. He was the major antagonist in the book The Empress is On Top that Ye Jia had transmigrated into—the former heir to the Prince of Jing, and twenty years later, the regent. Talented and brilliant from a young age, his family was exiled after his father was accused of rebellion. Afterward, his nature changed drastically, becoming cunning and unpredictable. After his mother and niece died, he escaped from this place. Only then did he truly rise like a dragon encountering water.

In thirteen years, he ended the tripartite division of the world, achieving unification. He struck south against the barbarians and resisted the Xiongnu in the north. He slaughtered hundreds of incompetent officials and changed the dynasty. From then on, he repaid every grievance and settled every score. If not for a bowl of poisoned wine from the female lead, he probably would have killed everyone in the book.

Considering Zhou Jinchen’s later methods, his treatment of the original owner could be considered lenient. After all, the original owner’s behavior was truly despicable. He never tormented her; after his mother’s passing, he simply handed her a letter of divorce. As for the original owner being sold by her own father to a low-class brothel the very next day after being divorced and beaten to death by a customer within half a year—that was another matter entirely.

Comparing the two families, the Zhou family was actually more decent than the Ye family.

Ye Jia rubbed her temples, accidentally touching the wound and jolting from the pain. The large, bruised bump on her forehead hadn’t subsided, and the broken skin at the top was still oozing blood. The slightest touch was excruciating.

“Jia Niang, Jia Niang, what’s wrong now?” Mrs. Yu, seeing her remain silent for so long, waved a hand in front of her face. “Why is your face so pale? Is your forehead hurting badly?”

Mrs. Yu glanced at the large bump on her forehead, got up, and fetched a bottle of medicinal wine. “Let me rub it for you to disperse the bruise.”

A drop of icy water fell onto the back of her neck, startling her with its coldness. Drop after drop of rainwater fell onto her face and head. She looked up—this dilapidated house was actually leaking. The little bean sprout who had been clinging to the doorframe had come in at some point and was now lying prone by the bed, staring fixedly at her. Ye Jia’s face was deathly pale. The process of dispersing the bruised blood on her forehead was so painful it left her drenched in cold sweat.

Ye Jia let out a long sigh, closed her eyes, and lay back down.

…Fine. She’d just have to make do and get by with the Zhou family for now.