001Exile

"Don't play dead, get up!" Amidst her daze, Shen Tang felt someone kick her. Not content with just the kick, they also cursed. 

"Damn it, who kicked me?" She winced, curling up her leg in pain, weakly opening her eyes. The world before her seemed to have shed the thinly veiled illusion, transitioning from a frosted texture to high-definition clarity. 

"What happened?" The throbbing pain threatened to explode, causing her to gasp for air as she stared blankly at the unfamiliar surroundings. 

"Wasn't I drinking with someone last night?" It seemed she had reached the latter part of the drinking session, and even received a call from her editor urging her to submit her manuscript. She had reluctantly grabbed her paintbrush in her drunken stupor... Beyond that, try as she might, she couldn't recall. 

But one thing was certain, it definitely shouldn't look like this!

Shen Tang secretly pinched herself hard until the sharp pain shattered her illusion. Seeing her own unfamiliar hands, four words immediately popped into her mind—she had crossed over! Along with the meaning represented by "crossing over". 

"I just don't know if I died from drinking too much or from staying up all night to rush a manuscript." The more she thought, the more her head hurt, as if there were little people inside wielding hammers, relentlessly pounding away, causing Shen Tang to hurriedly stop. 

"Hurry up and eat, we need to hit the road after you finish." She was massaging her head to alleviate the pain when a tall figure blocked the sunlight overhead. The newcomer wore a pair of grass shoes stained with dark brown mud, casually tossing a palm-sized, rough and blackened biscuit onto the ground outside her skirt. 

Ignoring whether Shen Tang would eat the biscuit covered in mud, the newcomer moved on to the next person.

In the next moment, a hand darted toward her side like lightning. Snatching up the biscuit, it withdrew in an instant. Shen Tang, a beat behind, could only watch with suspicion. 

The biscuit thief was a disheveled woman, greedily stuffing the biscuit into her mouth with both hands, resembling a starving ghost reborn. Afraid Shen Tang might snatch it back, she didn't even bother to wipe the mud off the biscuit. In no time, she had stuffed the small biscuit entirely into her mouth, and even seemed to savor the crumbs on her fingers as if unwilling to let go. 

Shen Tang: "..." Not knowing how long it had been since this person last cleaned herself, her once glossy black hair was now oily and tangled, with visible knots. Upon closer inspection, Shen Tang noticed a layer of yellowish greasiness accumulating at the exposed scalp. 

Upon a careful sniff, she detected a strange and fetid odor emanating from the woman—a bit like the smell of socks left damp for three to five weeks mixed with crushed oleander flowers. The only redeeming feature among the dirt and grime was her distinctive facial features, which couldn't be completely obscured. 

Shen Tang, maintaining her composure, tried reasoning with her: "Madam, that's my biscuit." However, the woman seemed to be deaf to her words, ignoring her completely as she continued to savor the taste of the biscuit.

At this moment, Shen Tang noticed that the color of the woman's fingers and the rest of her hand differed by several shades, causing her throat to involuntarily convulse and roll. While she didn't have a germ phobia, the close proximity to such a visual shock triggered a subconscious physiological discomfort. Catching a glimpse of Shen Tang's changing complexion, the woman, fearing the idiot might go crazy and attack her, shuffled her buttocks in the opposite direction. This movement, albeit subtle, created a tug that Shen Tang could feel. 

Lowering her head to the source of the pulling sensation at her waist, she saw a thick hemp rope, as if tethering several grasshoppers together, linking her body with the woman and several other disheveled women of varying ages. 

Raising her head and surveying her surroundings, she saw a sea of elderly, weak, and weary individuals dressed in coarse hemp prisoner garments, both men and women. There were also about a dozen young and strong individuals dressed more uniformly, with swords hanging from their waists, some keeping watch while others observed the prisoners. Occasionally, their gaze lingered a little longer on the young female inmates with attractive figures.

This... this—was a whole family that had gotten into trouble and been taken to the execution ground to have their household registration canceled? It could also be on the way to exile. The difference lies only in whether they would die early and be reincarnated early or die late and be reincarnated late. 

"Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle." The rumbling of her hungry organs temple began to act up at an inappropriate time, the sound loud enough for others to hear. Shen Tang raised her hand to cover her slightly cramping stomach, hunger causing her to continuously salivate. The more she swallowed saliva, the more pronounced her hunger became, reaching a level of intensity that couldn't be ignored. 

Frowning, Shen Tang could only alleviate the torment of hunger by diverting her attention—within her line of sight, a prisoner was eating too hastily, and combined with the dryness of the biscuit, he choked. He continued to pound his chest in an attempt to dislodge the biscuit stuck in his throat, his face gradually turning blue.

Everyone around seemed unfazed by the situation. No one stepped forward to pat the choking man's back or offer water. He struggled to kick his legs, attempting to crawl towards the person dressed as an official, extending his right hand for help with all his might. But as he gasped for breath, his right hand fell weakly, and the latter showed no intention of aiding him. After giving him a couple of kicks and confirming his passing, he muttered under his breath, "Ill-fated!"

He took out the dagger from his waist, bent down and cut off the skin on the man's right side near his ear, and threw it into a dirty cloth bag.

Shen Tang surveyed the scene with a heavy heart. "It's time to move," he declared. "Quickly now!" he urged, his voice commanding. "Up! Don't make me resort to punishment!"

The prisoners were once again burdened with their heavy shackles. The restraints for the female inmates were relatively lighter, weighing around thirty-five catties, while those for the male prisoners were noticeably larger, weighing anywhere from fifty to eighty catties. The dozen or so guards, uniformed in their youth, simultaneously urged the prisoners forward, occasionally resorting to kicks and shoves to hasten their pace. Those who failed to comply promptly were met with the unforgiving lash of the whip, leaving behind crimson trails of agony, a ghastly sight to behold.

Silently, Shen Tang pressed on, his mind a whirlwind of fragmented memories, desperately seeking connection with his own body. Yet, to his dismay, his efforts proved futile.

Not only had she failed to inherit the meager blessings of the time traveler, nor retained the memories of her former self, but she had also been robbed of her own belongings—left only with the knowledge of her name, Shen Tang, and a pseudonym "Youli" for her artistry, relying on her paintings for sustenance, haunted by the looming specter of deadlines from editors, while all other memories remained shrouded in haze! 

Casting furtive glances at both the prisoners and their overseers, she sighed inwardly: "Misfortune upon misfortune, is this the accursed beginning of a descent into hell?" Truly, it seemed as if one stroke of ill luck after another had ushered her into a realm of unparalleled woe!

Regardless of the nature of this beginning, preserving her own life took precedence above all else. Should she opt for a daring escape along the journey, or bide her time until reaching the destination before seizing an opportunity? At present, neither option appeared promising. 

Under the scorching sun, the relentless march continued, interrupted only by the collapse of several prisoners along the way. It was not until the hues of twilight painted the sky that they were granted respite to rest for the night. The overseers gathered around a makeshift fire, simmering dried meat in clay pots, seasoning the broth with a pinch of salt. This time, Shen Tang acted swiftly, managing to secure a portion of bread for herself.

Seating herself upon the ground, she nibbled delicately on the stiff, chilled bread, moistening it with saliva until it softened enough to swallow, her attention focused on the hushed conversations of the overseers. Though their discourse was fragmented, she managed to glean fragments of information. These prisoners were of a single lineage, the Gong family, from eldest to youngest, even their servants and handmaidens were not spared, all captured in one fell swoop. They were divided into three groups and escorted to their respective destinations. The men were to be conscripted as laborers on the frontier, while the women were destined for the Imperial City's courtesan quarter.

Shen Tang found herself among the second group, comprised mainly of female members and servants from the Gong household. Among them were the venerable matriarch, several elegant ladies in their prime, as well as youthful and fair concubines and nieces, accompanied by offspring of varying ages, with the remaining being servants and handmaidens. She surmised that her current form was either that of a servant or one of the offspring, judging by her youthful appearance, likely around eleven or twelve.

The men bore branded faces, while the women carried markings behind their ears—a grim testament to their crimes.

If a prisoner were to perish midway, their faces bearing inscribed sentences would be peeled off, or their ears severed as proof of their demise. She raised her hand to touch her ear, indeed feeling a scabbed blood clot behind her left ear. Shen Tang muttered under her breath, "Damnation!"