Damn! Were the stones in this latrine made of diamonds? The impact had nearly cracked her tailbone!
No way, officer! If transmigrating was transmigrating, why was there a bonus ball included?!
Shen Qinghuan had been on the verge of tears. She had just opened her mouth to wail when a flood of unfamiliar memories suddenly crashed into her mind, hurting so much that she bared her teeth and squatted on the ground, gasping for air.
The original owner of this body was also named Shen Qinghuan. She had been the legitimate eldest daughter of Shen Cong’an, the Minister of Personnel of the Great Jing Dynasty.
In his early years, Shen Cong’an had risen step by step by relying on the dowry of his first wife—namely, the original owner’s mother. But the first wife had been fated for a short life; only a few years after giving birth to the original owner, she had passed away.
Shen Cong’an had then promptly brought the mistress he had been keeping outside, Madam Wang, into the residence as his second wife, along with her concubine-born daughter Shen Chuchu, who had been half a year younger than the original owner.
Madam Wang had been ruthless, and Shen Chuchu vicious as a snake. Mother and daughter had worked in perfect harmony, completely controlling the original owner.
Timid and submissive by nature, the original owner had lived in the Minister’s Residence worse off than even the servants.
Three months earlier, during a banquet at the residence, Shen Chuchu had lured the original owner to the Back Mountain under the pretext of “admiring flowers” and had forced her to drink a cup of drugged tea.
When she had awakened groggily, there had been a strange man lying beside her—his clothes disheveled, his features cold and stern, a jade pendant engraved with the character “Zhao” hanging at his waist.
Shen Yao had slapped his hand away, his little brows tightly furrowed like a miniature adult. “Who are you? Why are you pinching my face?”
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