Chapter Two: The Idol System (Part One)

When Xia Yu saw herself, her clothes were in disarray, shabby and untidy. Her small hands, pale as lotus roots, bore several scratches, making her look like a little beggar who had been bullied. A faint moldy smell clung to her body, mingled with a subtle fragrance.

She searched her garments for other wounds, but the sight of her clothes stunned her. How could this little girl be wearing such plain, ancient-style attire, the sort commoners wore long ago? Could it be that this was the past?

She looked around the warehouse for clues, but all she saw was a heap of rice—coarse, oval grains, nothing like the refined rice of modern times. It seemed likely she had been reborn into antiquity.

Those who had crossed time before her always rose to power, becoming nobles or even usurping emperors. Yet, glancing at her frail body, disappointment filled her eyes. In this era, she would likely be trampled upon, for the status of women was pitifully low.

This was a rice granary; at her feet lay a bundle of hemp rope, clear evidence she had been kidnapped. From time immemorial, rice shops and granaries were always guarded. Was the owner the culprit, or perhaps an accomplice?

Xia Yu furrowed her brow; the situation was dire, and her body was too weak to escape. If her suspicions were correct, someone would soon come to dispose of her corpse. At that moment, she would truly be finished.

She tried to lift her aching feet, taking a single step that felt as exhausting as an hour’s journey; her whole body was powerless. Her stomach throbbed with pain, and she wondered what tragedy had befallen this girl before her death. Even after dying, the pain lingered—she had escaped, only for Xia Yu to inherit her suffering.

“Ah!” Xia Yu sighed, enduring the pain, thinking, Could this be a period? Though she had never experienced it herself, she’d heard of such matters among women.

But no, the girl was dead; how could there be any physiological reaction? Only three possibilities remained: illness, food, or poison.

She slapped her forehead in frustration. What was she doing, pondering such things at a time like this? She needed to find a way out.

In the warehouse, she found a stick to use as a crutch and hobbled step by step toward the door.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed outside, making Xia Yu panic. It was nighttime—who else would come in? Surely someone intending to bury her corpse. She hastily put down the stick and lay on the ground, feigning death.

Outside, voices drifted in.

“Old Jia, your cultivation is coming along. You’ve reached the first stage of Qi training; the boss will surely make you a guard soon.”

“Nonsense, you started Qi training last month. My talent is nothing compared to yours.”

“Haha, let’s hurry and deal with the little girl’s corpse, or the boss will scold us again.”

“Agreed.”

These words left Xia Yu dumbfounded. Qi training? Was this a world of cultivation?

Though Qi training was a term from immortal novels, this was reality. She dared not be certain.

As soon as they finished speaking, the warehouse door creaked open, and two burly men strode in.

Both men wore plain linen clothes. Their skin was dark, their hands covered in calluses—from years of wielding weapons.

The one called Old Jia lifted Xia Yu’s body and, seeing her face, his eyes brightened.

“Well, this little girl is a real beauty, such a lovely face for one so young. She’ll grow into a regional beauty—what a pity,” Old Jia said sourly, shaking his head.

The other man snorted, lifting Xia Yu’s arm. “Enough, she’s just a corpse. What’s the point of your chatter?”

Old Jia, seeing him take the lead, smirked with disdain, wrapped Xia Yu in coarse cloth, and hoisted her onto his shoulder.

“She’s just a child; how heavy can she be? You go rest—I’ll toss her into the burial grounds,” Old Jia said with a smile.

The other man paused, then, seeing Old Jia eager to work, nodded and accepted the suggestion.

With that, Old Jia licked his thick lips and carried Xia Yu out of the warehouse, heading for the burial grounds under cover of darkness.

Before long, Old Jia reached a grove and set Xia Yu down. His greenish eyes swept the surroundings; seeing no one, he squatted and untied the sack, revealing Xia Yu still feigning death.

“Tsk tsk, what a beauty. Her skin is still warm—she must’ve died recently. Let Old Jia enjoy himself,” he said, rubbing his hands, his face leering.

With that, Old Jia reached to undo Xia Yu’s clothes.