Pain. Her whole body ached like her bones were screaming. Somewhere nearby, a man was yelling his head off.

"Run again, just try it! What's so bad about getting married? Your brother needs that dowry to find himself a wife! You think you're some kind of princess now?"

Grace Sullivan was curled on the floor, her mind spinning in a haze. Flashes from two lifetimes smashed into each other—one moment she was Emily Sullivan, the slow-witted 18-year-old from this 1970s fishing village, the next she was Grace, the youngest disciple at Tianji Sect in the cultivation world, hailing from the 21st century.

Bit by bit, the memories started to blend, twisting together until her body trembled with a long exhale.

"Alright, alright! You beat her to death, then what? Who else are we gonna sell off for another bride price? And you, girl, quit playing dead and get your butt off the floor!"

Another voice, sharp and impatient. Then a rough tug on her hair yanked her upright.

The pain jerked her eyes open. As her vision cleared, she saw the dim interior of a crumbling old house, the kind you'd find last century. Dingy light filtered in through the cracks, casting shadows over battered wooden furniture. The walls were stained with mildewed blotches, and the air itself was thick with damp rot.

She scanned the room carefully but quietly. Still, her sharper gaze didn’t go unnoticed—Dorothy Bennett shot her a suspicious look.

“What are you lookin’ around at? I’m telling you right now, if you even think about running off again, your dad’ll break both your legs.”

Grace lowered her eyes, slipping back behind the blank, dull look expected from the village fool.

“You think Old Wang being a widower is a bad thing? His folks are both gone, so if you marry him and pop out a son, the whole house'll be yours to run…”

Dorothy kept muttering beside her, but Grace’s thoughts were miles away.

No wonder her master always said she didn’t fully belong in that world. Back then, she figured it was because he’d seen through her being a time traveler. Turned out, her missing soul piece had been reborn here, in this simple, broken girl from a seaside village.

She had always possessed talent in the mystical arts, but her lack of a complete soul made advancement painfully slow over time. Her final gamble had been one of desperation—forcing a breakthrough. It ended in her complete destruction. If not for the echo of her soul in this world pulling her back, she’d be nothing now. But somehow, she was whole again.

This world looked a lot like China before reforms, stuck in the early ’70s, with no sign of change on the horizon. This coastal village sat right across the river from Hong Kong—prime location. If she stayed and played her cards right, maybe there was a shot at something more.

Only problem? This body was about to get traded off to some guy nearly fifty as a wife, just for a bag of cash.Even in her muddled state, that foolish girl had a gut instinct for danger. She tried to slip away into the hills, but alone and dull-minded as she was, someone was bound to notice. Sure enough, she hadn't gotten far before she was dragged back, earning herself a beating and a flood of her parents’ rage.

"Mom, I’m back! Why haven’t you started cooking?"

A loud voice barked from the doorway. In walked a short, dark-skinned man with narrow eyes that gave him a shifty look, like someone up to no good.

Grace Sullivan kept her eyes low, quietly observing the three of them out of the corner of her eye. None of them looked like they were born under lucky stars — narrow foreheads, thin ears, just looking at them sent a chill. But something didn’t add up. The fate lines on the couple’s faces said they had only one child. So where did she — their daughter — come from?

Without letting anything show, Grace raised her brow slightly, thoughts churning silently.

The moment Dorothy Bennett heard Jack’s voice, she snapped, yelling at Grace, "What’re you standing there for? Didn’t you hear your brother say he’s hungry? Go make dinner!"

Then she turned to Jack, her tone flipping into a gentle coo.

"Jack, you're back! So? What did the Yang family say?"

Jack grinned smugly. "What could they say? Two hundred yuan for the bride price — that’s unheard of round here. Of course they agreed. They’ll bring the money over tomorrow. Me and Lily? It’s a done deal."

Dorothy beamed. "Ah, good, good, finally settled!"

Even Carlton Sullivan, who rarely showed much emotion, couldn’t help but let a bit of a smile slip.

Only Grace, who silently limped toward the kitchen, felt out of place amid all their excitement, like she was just some stranger who’d wandered in.

So it's about bride prices and weddings now, huh? Fine. Let’s see if you lot even make it to that wedding.

…

Guided by the body's muscle memory, Grace lit the stove. Her eyes glanced over at the dirty patch by the sink — looked like ink stains, or maybe grease built up over years no one cared enough to clean.

Look closer, and there they were — a few fuzzy, black mushrooms poking up stubbornly from cracks between the bricks.

She knew what they were. Give it one night, they’d shoot up fast, then dissolve into black ooze by morning.

They were common enough around here — a fungus called Ghost Umbrella. Rainy days, humid winds, and they'd pop up all over the house.

Back when food was scarce, people used to eat them. Then every year, someone ended up in the hospital. Eventually, the clinic had to send people out to warn folks — these things are poisonous. Especially with alcohol. That’s when people stopped touching them.

With no hesitation, Grace scooped a bowl of plain porridge to fill her stomach first. Then, she didn’t hold back — yanked up those mushrooms, not sparing even the glistening black slime on the floor. She ladled some into the pot and stirred.The porridge had turned a noticeably darker shade after she added her "special ingredient," though it now gave off an oddly pleasant aroma. She let the matured ghost parasol mushrooms soak for a while, then carefully fished them out and tossed them straight into the stove to make sure no traces were left.

Next, she pulled out a sealed jar of homemade rice wine from the pantry and poured in nearly half without hesitation.

Down in the south, they grew tons of rice, but most of it was coarse—better suited for grinding into rice flour or brewing. Just about every household knew how to make rice wine.

The wine tasted smooth, barely alcoholic to the tongue, but it packed a real punch.

The local clinic folks had said it best: ghost parasol with wine, and you're gone before you know it. A one-two combo was more foolproof anyway.

After everything was in place, she fixed her face into that usual blank, slow-witted expression and opened the kitchen door.

"Dinner... it's ready..."

"Took you long enough, you useless thing! You trying to starve me to death!" Jack Sullivan barked, pushing past her like he owned the place.

"Aww, poor Jack must be starving. Sit down and eat, quick," Dorothy Bennett said tenderly. Then she shot Grace Sullivan a sharp glare. "What are you standing there for? Get lost!"

This body had never been allowed to sit at the table for meals. At most, she got whatever cold leftovers were scraped off after everyone else had eaten.

Suppressing the cold glint in her eyes, Grace hunched her shoulders and shuffled quietly back into her room.

Calling it a room was generous—it was more of a storage closet packed with fishing gear and firewood, with just enough space cleared for her “bed,” a pile of straw on the floor where she’d slept for over a decade.

She sat cross-legged on the straw, breathing steady, tuning into the sounds from the kitchen.

"Mom, the porridge tastes kinda nice today. A little... sweet though."

"Oh hell, did that dumb girl put sugar in it instead of salt again? I oughta give her an earful, wasting good food like that..."

“Leave it be. We’re heading out tomorrow anyway. She turned out somewhat useful in the end,” Carlton Sullivan muttered.

The three chatted casually as they ate, picturing the bright future ahead once Jack got married. But soon, a sharp yell cut through the air.

"Ugh! Mom—my stomach—it hurts!"

Jack, who had eaten the most, was the first to drop, clutching his stomach and falling to the floor.

Dorothy jumped up to check on him, but swayed and collapsed right back into her chair.

“Ugh… why am I so dizzy…”

Carlton’s gut twisted, and he tried to vomit—but couldn’t. Weakly, he raised a trembling hand toward the bowl of porridge.

“Urgh… that porridge—something’s not right…”

The whole room plunged into chaos. And only when the groans and shouting outside had faded into silence did Grace slowly rise and step out of her room, calm as ever.