Chapter 3
Chapter 3: Grandfather
Ling Jin Sui woke with her face itching.
When she lifted a hand to wipe it, her fingers came away wet.
Tears.
The original owner’s lingering obsession still sat heavy in this body.
Yet Ling Jin Sui didn’t feel fear.
For the first time since crossing over, it felt as if someone was beside her—close enough to touch.
One thing was certain: Grandpa Ling had gone north toward the Yan Lands, and he’d left only a few days earlier.
If she rode hard enough, she could catch him.
This era had no easy travel—few roads, mostly a single official route with fixed ferries and crossings.
She was confident she could settle the original owner’s obsession and let her spirit rest.
As for finding a way back to her own world… the hope felt thin as smoke.
The fire had died. Dawn bled pale across the horizon.
Hunger hollowed her out until it felt like her ribs were scraping together.
Hunting was a joke with this fragile body. A rabbit could bolt past her feet and she still wouldn’t catch it.
Luckily, early spring filled the mountain streams with wild greens.
She picked what she recognized, washed them in icy water, then slapped them onto a stone she’d heated until it sizzled.
The bitter, grassy taste barely counted as food, but it dulled the edge.
She set off at once.
Passing a town, she didn’t dare enter. She fished out the smallest bit of broken silver and bought six coarse grain cakes and a bag of carrots from a stall outside the gates.
The carrots were for vitamins—and for bribing the donkey when it got stubborn.
The cakes were nearly inedible, hard as rock, gritty as sand.
She drove the donkey without rest.
When it slowed, she tempted it forward with carrots.
When she reached another nameless town, she gathered her courage and rented a room at the only inn.
If she didn’t wash, even she couldn’t stand her own sour stench.
She watched the waiter’s face closely.
No strange reaction.
It seemed neither the slave broker’s connections nor any official notices had reached this small place yet.
That night she slept better than she had since crossing over—even though the bed was hard and damp with mold, and the room crawled with bedbugs and rats.
In the morning she sat in the main hall eating a simple bowl of plain noodles.
Then two constables walked in.
The waiter, with his thick brows and big honest eyes, pointed straight at her and said, “It’s her. A lone orphan, and she doesn’t have a travel permit.”
Ling Jin Sui’s chopsticks froze.
So this so-called honest man was rotten to the core.
No permit, and he ran straight to the law.
Only then did she catch it—the greed hiding under that loyal stare.
He’d judged her alone.
He’d judged her carrying silver.
He’d judged her donkey valuable.
And he’d decided.
Ling Jin Sui scanned the doors and windows.
From the back courtyard came her donkey’s bray.
She measured distance, exits, timing.
Running the same trick as before wouldn’t work. These were constables, not Jiang You Zhi and a slave broker.
Different teeth. Different claws.
She moved first.
She stood, bowed, and lowered her head into a cry soft enough to seem harmless.
“Officer, my grandfather is ill. I only came into town to buy medicine for him. I didn’t know even entering a town required a travel permit.”
The constable didn’t curse her. He only said, “It didn’t before. But an order just came down. Anyone entering a town without a permit, alone, whether man or woman, gets sent to the county seat.”
“Don’t worry. Once they verify you, they’ll let you go.”
Ling Jin Sui couldn’t tell whether they truly meant to arrest her, but one thing was clear: she couldn’t set foot in the county seat.
Her identity wouldn’t survive a “verification.”
Two small pieces of broken silver slid into her palm. She slipped them into one constable’s hand and begged, “Officer, please let me go. My grandfather is waiting for me. He needs care.”
Greed flashed in the constable’s eyes, quick as a knife-glint.
Ling Jin Sui’s heart sank.
Careless. Wealth should never show its face.
To them, her donkey and her silver were a windfall.
Sure enough, the constable took the bribe and still spoke with righteous firmness.
“Orders from above must be obeyed. Come. We’ll speak at the county seat.”
He reached for her.
Ling Jin Sui clutched her stomach and bent as if in pain.
“Let me use the latrine. The food here wasn’t clean.”
Perhaps because of the silver in his hand, the constable allowed it.
The latrine was in the opposite direction from the back courtyard.
That blue-gray donkey—clever, spirited—would have to be abandoned for now.
As she walked, rage simmered in her gut.
After crossing over, she hadn’t met a single decent soul.
The waiter trailed her all the way to the latrine and lingered outside until more customers entered the hall.
Only then did he hurry off, shouting over his shoulder, “Be quick! The officer is waiting!”
“Yes,” Ling Jin Sui called back, obedient as dust.
She didn’t run.
Not yet.
She walked fast toward the edge of town, forcing her breathing steady, forcing her face calm.
Only when the road thinned and people vanished did she break into a sprint.
She ran until her lungs burned and her legs shook, then dove into a small grove and crouched there, trembling, gulping air.
The main road was death now.
She would have to take narrow wild trails through the hills.
By dusk she spotted a small Earth God shrine.
Luck—thin as it was—still existed.
Without a blanket, without the donkey, she would freeze in the open wilderness.
The shrine held only a clay Earth God statue and an offering table.
She crawled under the table to shelter from the wind and curled up to sleep.
Tomorrow, she told herself, she would find a nearby village and buy clothes and food.
Sometime after midnight, crying and wild laughter tore through the dark.
Ling Jin Sui jolted awake.
Firelight flickered in the shrine.
Voices crowded the small space.
At least a dozen people.
She held her breath.
If anyone lifted the old cloth draped over the offering table, she would have nowhere to go.
Slowly, she raised one corner and peeked out.
Three hulking men sat with sabers across their knees, gnawing roasted meat and swigging harsh liquor.
Nearby, a cluster of captives sobbed and pleaded, promising money if they were released.
The hulking men didn’t even look at them. It was as if they hadn’t taken people for ransom at all.
One man laughed, regret thick in his voice.
“Shame we didn’t catch any women. Would’ve been more fun tonight.”
Another man waved his saber toward the captives.
They shrank into a knot.
The saber tip stopped at an old man in a ragged Daoist robe.
“You, old Daoist. You know tricks, don’t you? Do a few for us. Entertain us.”
Ling Jin Sui couldn’t see the Daoist’s face.
But the voice that came out was low and steady, deep with age—and warm.
“This old man only prays for blessings and reads fortunes. I don’t do tricks.”
The bandit barked a laugh.
“Fortunes? Blessings? Then you didn’t see today’s disaster coming? Fraudulent cow-nosed priest!”
After that, Ling Jin Sui stopped hearing the words clearly.
Because she knew that voice.
The shiver deep in her soul wasn’t fear this time.
It was recognition so sharp it hurt.
That old Daoist was Grandpa Ling.