After Transmigrating, My Younger Brother Always Tries to Seduce Me - Chapter 2

The market was bustling with activity. Vendors haggled back and forth, their chatter never ceasing.

Ah, these are truly turbulent times. The number of beggars keeps growing, one man lamented, his brow furrowed.

What do beggars have to do with you?

The Li family bully is demanding protection money like his life depends on it. If he harasses my family again, I’ll end up becoming one of those wretched beggars myself.

You’re lucky. My family has already run out of money to pay him. My aunt can’t even afford medicine, another man replied bitterly.

Zhu Zhenzhen usually enjoyed listening to market gossip, but none of it concerned her today. She was focused on finding something to eat.

At a steaming baozi stall, a grimy hand reached for a plump, white bun. The busy vendor, preoccupied with packing orders and calculating prices, didn’t notice. But upon closer inspection, he realized several buns were missing from the normally full steamer, and a round, lustrous pearl lay on the table.

Similarly, a mysterious pearl had appeared in the dried fruit shop. It was as if someone had scooped out a chunk from the mountain of red dates and longans, and then a gust of wind had smoothed the gap over, leaving no trace.

Zhu Zhenzhen, a steamed bun in her mouth, weaved through the bustling crowd. But after walking for what seemed like an eternity, the clamor gradually faded. The vendors thinned out, and only a few scattered beggars remained. Sensing danger, she instinctively wanted to flee. This was a classic scene from an ancient melodramatic drama where people were scarce, trouble was sure to follow—either for money or for life.

She stuffed the remaining buns into her bodice, hiked up her skirt, and took two steps when she heard a faint cry.

Help… me. The voice was crisp and clear, not loud, but enough to freeze Zhu Zhenzhen in her tracks.

Someone was calling for help in a dark alley in broad daylight. This immediately reminded Zhu Zhenzhen of the human trafficking tactics common in modern times—beating victims half to death and throwing them out to beg.

Or worse, the person crying for help might be in league with the traffickers, exploiting the kindness of passersby to scam them out of money.

Hearing the commotion, Lu Yin struggled to turn his head. He couldn’t make out the newcomer’s face. His throat, parched from days without water, burned with pain, making speech impossible.

Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed the flower-like skirt, stained with grime and scorched marks.

As she slowly approached, the tattered golden silk embroidered sachet swayed gently.

Zhu Zhenzhen placed a steamed bun on a broken tile and tossed a few dried fruits beside it.

She didn’t say a word, yet her kindness was unmistakable.

Turning to leave, Lu Yin felt a sudden, inexplicable panic. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t been touched by another person in so long. With his last reserves of strength, he reached out to grasp the hem of her skirt.

The silken fabric slipped smoothly through his fingers. He clutched at nothing but the jade pendant dangling from her waist, swaying rhythmically.

Zhu Zhenzhen returned home around eight or nine o’clock.

The moment she closed the door, she felt a cold object press against her neck. With her years of experience in the bloody underworld, she knew instantly that the weapon pressed against her throat could only be a blade.

The two steamed buns she carried tumbled to the floor, rolling into the dust. The bed lay empty the young man who had been resting there had vanished without a trace.

For a moment, Zhu Zhenzhen didn’t know whether to be shocked or angry. Clearly, he wasn’t some pampered flower from a wealthy family. His heightened vigilance was commendable, and she couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration.

Still feigning impatience, she snapped, Put the knife down. Open your eyes and look at me—who am I? Yes, a sister should be impatient with her mischievous younger brother.

She didn’t realize she had already subconsciously accepted that the person behind her was indeed her brother.

When he didn’t move, Zhu Zhenzhen restrained her strength and kicked him two inches below the knee. He flinched in pain, his grip loosening, and she seized the opportunity to twist his wrist, disarming him. The knife clattered to the ground.

She turned to face him squarely. Now can you finally see who I am?

The young man’s eyes drooped slightly at the corners, his amber pupils locked steadily on hers, widening slightly beneath lowered lashes—classic puppy-dog eyes.

Unlike when his eyes were closed, his aggression seemed to have diminished considerably. He stood there, lips pressed into a thin line, looking somewhat nervous. Zhu Zhenzhen couldn’t help but wonder if she had been too harsh.

With this thought, she picked up the fallen bun, brushed off the dust, and placed it before him. Eat this, she said. I bought it early this morning.

As she spoke, she pulled out her own secretly stashed bun from her bosom, ready to take a big bite. The bun, having been tucked inside her clothing, still retained a faint warmth.

The boy remained silent and motionless, his gaze fixed intently on Zhu Zhenzhen.

Song Zhen hadn’t always been this way. Though usually boisterous, he was timid and easily frightened. Once, when his father executed an assassin on the spot, Song Zhen happened to witness it and hid in his room for three days and three nights, refusing to see anyone.

Back then, Zhu Zhenzhen had laughed at him, calling him a coward.

Now, he had actually snatched the knife from her hand, moving with a fluid grace that showed none of his former panic.

Recalling their previous life, Zhu Zhenzhen remembered that out of the Song Family’s 253 members, only Song Heng had survived. Song Zhen’s corpse had been found crushed beneath a pillar, dressed in the most fashionable fabrics of the time. His legs were completely broken, and his face was burned beyond recognition. The once meticulously groomed Song Zhen had died disheveled and disgraced.

Moreover, this was the very moment the Song Family was being annihilated. What was strange was that it was happening much earlier than before.

Song Zhen was truly perplexing. She needed to observe him more closely.

Zhu Zhenzhen took a couple of bites but couldn’t eat any more. With a sigh, she pulled the boy over, pressed him into a seated position, and shoved the half-eaten bun into his hands. Here, eat this. It’s the only clean and warm bun left. If you want more, just ask. Stop staring at me like that—it’s creepy.

Song Heng stared at the bitten bun in his hand, his brow furrowing again.

He hadn’t intended to eat it, but the acidic churning in his stomach and the dizziness in his head eventually forced him to take small, hesitant bites.

Zhu Zhenzhen propped her head up, studying him.

The young man ate obediently with his eyes lowered, appearing utterly harmless—a stark contrast to the menacing figure who had wielded a blade moments ago.

She suddenly asked, Who am I?

Song Heng’s chewing paused as he looked directly at Zhu Zhenzhen, his eyes filled with scrutiny.

He hadn’t expected this question. Suspicion coiled around his heart once more. The Song Zhen he knew had never dared touch a knife, yet now she had not only disarmed him but also asked such a strange question. Was she suffering from amnesia? Was this all an act? Or had someone else taken over her body?

Unfazed, Zhu Zhenzhen fabricated a story on the spot

I think I hit my head. I only remember having a younger brother, but I can’t recall who I am, where I am, or even your name.

To make her story more convincing, she pointed to the bump on her forehead. See? This huge bump hurts terribly.

He swallowed his mouthful of food and replied with a mix of truth and lies, Sister always cared deeply about her appearance. Mother often praised your beauty. You loved needlework and hated riding horses.

Zhu Zhenzhen nodded, signaling him to continue.

He tilted his head, revealing his sharp canine teeth as he smiled. Sister Song Zhen always loved playing with me. I often asked her to go riding, but she never wanted to.

My name is Song Heng. Please don’t forget it again, Sister.

As he spoke, he stepped closer, cupped Zhu Zhenzhen’s cheeks, and let his warm breath brush against her forehead.

When those eyes looked at you with a smile, it felt as if he were laying his heart bare before you.

Song Heng’s face was wreathed in smiles, but his hand slowly groped behind her ear. No human skin mask. This was indeed the real person. Yet, apart from his initial greeting, not a single word he’d spoken had been true. Before, Song Zhen hadn’t dared utter a single extra word in his presence.

Song Zhen hadn’t even offered a token protest. Could he have genuinely hit his head?

Suddenly, a jujube rolled out from her sleeve. Zhu Zhenzhen remembered then she’d asked Song Heng to make a circle with his arms, then grabbed the corner of her sleeve and shook it vigorously. Jujubes cascaded down, nearly half a handful spilling out.

Accustomed to feeding Li Zhen, she casually picked up a jujube and held it to Song Heng’s lips.

Song Heng subtly recoiled, took the jujube, hid it under the table, wiped it roughly, and finally put it in his mouth.

He then flashed a perfectly practiced smile. The ones you bought are delicious, Elder Sister.

By the way, why did you come to this room last night? Zhu Zhenzhen cracked open a longan, popping the translucent, plump fruit into her mouth.

If you’d arrived an hour earlier, you might have been caught by the soldiers. Climbing onto the roof beams alone was one thing, but trying to carry a boy taller than himself? Practically impossible.

Song Heng’s smile froze slightly, his thoughts drifting away.

The day the Song Family was annihilated remained a recurring nightmare for him.

During the day, the Song residence was as quiet as usual. Song Dezhong had only taken three concubines.

That day, Song Heng threw a tantrum, demanding his mother go buy him osmanthus cakes from the north of the city. His true motive was to get her out of the house so he could sneak off to play with other young masters.

As evening approached, he returned home, cheerful and carrying newly purchased calligraphy and paintings. The closer he got, the more unsettling the atmosphere became. He was used to villagers pointing and gossiping—after all, he was known as a lazy, uneducated boy.

But gradually, the murmuring of the crowd made Song Heng realize something was terribly wrong.

Poor child…

Only a few years old, and he’s already lost his parents.

If he’s lucky, he’ll be raised by the community. If not…

How can he even dare to go back?

Everywhere he went, he was met with pitying glances. Song Heng grew increasingly agitated. This can’t be happening! he thought. There must be some mistake. They’re not talking about me…

When he reached home, the calligraphy and paintings slipped from his grasp, crashing heavily to the ground.

A raging fire painted his eyes crimson.

He saw Song Dezhong lying dead at the entrance to the main hall. By the time he knelt beside him, his father had already breathed his last.

He found his mother dead in his own room, a box of overturned osmanthus cakes beside her.

The servants scattered, all crowding toward the gate. They no longer obeyed his commands as they usually did. He desperately shouted at them to get out of his way, but none paid him any heed.

Instead, his cries attracted armored soldiers, swords drawn.

Kill him! The prince has decreed that whoever brings back the brat’s head will be richly rewarded!

The sword tip glinted with a fluorescent light, sending a chill through Song Heng’s entire body.

Driven by sheer survival instinct, he began to flee in a panic. In his frantic escape, he felt an icy sensation on his leg, as if liquid were trickling down his calf. He didn’t pause to think, knowing only that he couldn’t stop, couldn’t retreat. He had to live.

Drawing on some unknown reserve of strength, he ran relentlessly forward, somehow managing to outpace the pursuing soldiers.

When Song Heng finally regained his senses, he rubbed his fingertips together and quietly replied, This room belongs to my third aunt. She’s fond of concocting medicines, so I came to try my luck and see if there were any hemostatic or antiseptic remedies.

The third aunt, Song Zhen’s mother, had been brought home by Song Dezhong along with Song Zhen himself.