Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 9

9: She Wants True Freedom

“Would the Second Young Master like to rise?” Qingyu’s voice came from outside the door, interrupting Tian Qingyi’s brooding.

“Come in.” After a long pause, the response finally came. Tian Qingyi knew that sleeping wouldn’t solve her problems, and avoidance was futile. Rather than tormenting herself, she might as well go out for a walk to clear her mind.

As soon as Qingyu entered, she blew out the large red candles in one breath before proceeding to help Tian Qingyi get up as usual.

The room was still dazzlingly bright. Yesterday, Tian Qingyi hadn’t paid much attention, but now, upon closer inspection, she realized it was filled with jewelry and ornaments. No wonder they’re wealthy—they really have money to spare!

When she stepped outside, she realized the sun was already high in the sky. Asking for the time, she was shocked to learn it was nearly noon. Arriving at Yuzhu Hall, she didn’t see Yun Jingchu and inquired about her whereabouts, only to find out that Yun Jingchu had risen before dawn and had been busy all morning. She was now in the side room, playing chess against herself.

Tian Qingyi felt both admiration and guilt. Shouldn’t newlyweds pay respects to the elders together? Why wasn’t I called? Getting drunk had really caused trouble—and the aftermath was unbearable. I’m never drinking again.

The fact that Yun Jingchu enjoyed playing chess against herself piqued Tian Qingyi’s curiosity. She must be quite skilled. Just as she was about to go see for herself, Qingyu announced that lunch was ready, so she sent Ruoshui to invite Yun Jingchu over.

The original host hadn’t cared much about the marriage, only knowing that the bride was from Kaifeng, the legitimate daughter of a merchant family, named Yun Jingchu, courtesy name Yongnian, the fourth child in her family, eighteen years old, with her birth mother having passed away early.

Soon, the dishes were served—three more than usual: stir-fried kidney imitating lung, wine-vinegar white kidney, and boiled lamb. None were familiar to Tian Qingyi, but they looked appetizing.

Just as the dishes were laid out, Yun Jingchu arrived, dressed in a light red cross-collar ruqun with a draped shawl, a waist pendant, a sachet, and pearl-white embroidered shoes. Today, she wore exquisite jewelry and her hair in the fashionable “sky-reaching bun.” Her skin was smooth and fair, like a celestial being descended from the heavens.

“Greetings, husband.” Yun Jingchu crossed her hands at her chest, slightly bent her knees, and bowed her head in greeting. She had noticed his gaze but didn’t expect him to stare for so long. Didn’t they say he disliked merchant daughters?

Tian Qingyi had an appreciative eye for beautiful things and people, and she had unintentionally admired Yun Jingchu for a bit too long. Only when Yun Jingchu bowed did she realize her rudeness, quickly withdrawing her gaze in embarrassment.

“Greetings, Fourth Son-in-law.” Wu Ma and Baoqin, who had accompanied Yun Jingchu, also bowed. When Wu Ma saluted, Tian Qingyi recognized her voice from last night and frowned.

“Please sit, wife.” Tian Qingyi spoke awkwardly. The term “wife” felt foreign on her tongue—after over twenty years of life, she had never imagined she’d one day call someone that.

At the same time, she couldn’t help but marvel at the intricacies of feudal society. Even married couples have to bow to each other when they meet! She forgot, of course, that this was their first real meeting.

When Yun Jingchu took her seat, she finally got a clear look at her husband’s attire. Today, he wore a light blue round-collar robe, a jade crown, and a silk sash, which made his skin appear even fairer. Again, he reminded her of the handsome men painted on New Year’s posters—truly striking.

As Yun Jingchu settled in, a maid presented a hand towel. While turning to take it, Tian Qingyi inadvertently noticed a small mole at the corner of Yun Jingchu’s right eye—almost imperceptible unless one looked closely. It’s quite cute. Yun Jingchu seemed gentle and well-mannered.

But since they weren’t familiar, Tian Qingyi felt too embarrassed to voice her thoughts. Thus, their first meal as a married couple passed in silence.

After the meal, Tian Qingyi prepared to go out for a stroll. But just as she stood up, Steward Liu—a slightly plump man in a gray round-collar narrow-sleeved robe—arrived.

Steward Liu stepped forward and clasped his hands in salute. “Greetings, Second Young Master and Second Madam. The Master has ordered a family banquet in the central hall at 7 PM tonight. Please attend on time.”

“Understood. Thank you for delivering the message, Steward Liu.” Tian Qingyi wasn’t surprised. With relatives still visiting after the wedding, Jiufang Xin hosting a family banquet was expected.

“This servant takes his leave.” Normally, such trivial tasks wouldn’t require Steward Liu’s personal attention, but the Master had explicitly ordered it, so he had no choice but to come himself.

No sooner had Steward Liu left than Tian Qingyi stepped out, trailed by two shadows—Wei Shier and Zhou Ba. Initially, she hadn’t wanted to bring them, but considering she was unfamiliar with the area and the dangers of ancient times, it was better to have escorts.

The Jiufang estate was located between the New Song Gate and Song Gate, having been expanded twice by Jiufang Xin into its current luxurious state. The city was crowded and noisy, so she opted to head outside the walls, her mind too preoccupied to notice her surroundings.

Only when her feet grew tired and she spotted a tea shed ahead did she stop to rest, asking Wei Shier to order tea.

Along the way, Tian Qingyi had pondered many things. She didn’t know how she had traveled to the Northern Song Dynasty, nor how to return. As much as she longed for home, without a solution, she could only sigh at the heavens.

She missed her parents, her sister, and her unborn niece or nephew. She even missed her ex-girlfriend. Has she married yet? Meanwhile, here she was, already wed—wearing similar wedding attire but in a different time, to a different person. How cruel fate is.

Recalling her knowledge of the Song Dynasty, she remembered that practices like foot-binding, chastity obsession, and female seclusion had originated during this era. The thought of such oppression made her shudder. For a moment, she felt grateful that the original host, despite her complicated identity, wasn’t a secluded woman. Otherwise, the idea of being trapped in the inner quarters would have suffocated her.

Her hope of returning to the modern world by getting drunk had been dashed. Suicide wasn’t an option—not because her desire to return wasn’t strong enough, but because she feared death might be permanent. If I don’t even know how I got here, how can I gamble on the minuscule chance of transmigrating again?

She had considered many possibilities—a celestial error, a system glitch, a specific phenomenon, time, or opportunity—but rejected them all. There were no gods seeking her out, no systems contacting her, and no rare celestial events like a seven-star alignment.

Perhaps the modern her had truly died from alcohol poisoning, and by sheer coincidence, her soul had crossed into the Northern Song Dynasty. As for what that “coincidence” entailed, her brain couldn’t fathom it.

If I can’t figure it out, I’ll stop trying. When the time comes, I’ll know. If not, then I don’t need to know. Though her death had been humiliating and unexpected, she counted herself lucky to have been reborn in the Northern Song Dynasty.

Even if the chances of returning were slim, Tian Qingyi refused to give up. Thinking of the reclusive masters from TV and novels, she hatched a plan: she would seek out a sage.

But after visiting every nearby temple and monastery, she found no such figure—only sore feet. As evening approached, she reluctantly rented a carriage back to the city.

Ironically, Huiyan, the monk who had deceived Fan Zhuzhu, was indeed a revered master—kind-hearted and deeply versed in Buddhist teachings. But he resided in Xiongzhou, rarely traveling. If not for the distance, seeking him out would have been ideal.

On the way back, Tian Qingyi came to a realization: Since I’m here, I might as well make the best of it. Though her parents had lost her, they still had her sister and a grandchild on the way. She trusted her sister to take care of them.

Under inheritance laws, her modest assets would go to her parents—though they had originally provided them. Still, she had invested effort into renovations and saved part of her salary. Since she couldn’t care for them in person, this would have to suffice as filial piety.

She had briefly entertained the idea that the original host might have transmigrated into her modern body, but since the original host had died of heart pain—unlike her drunken blackout—the likelihood was negligible.

Coming to the Northern Song Dynasty hadn’t been her choice or her family’s, but life had to go on. Living well here might bring her parents and sister some comfort. So, she would survive—and thrive—in this era.

Though the hand she’d been dealt wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t terrible either. Compared to those struggling for their next meal, she was already fortunate.

If she were to live well here, she refused to be a Liao spy or a Song official. She was a technical person, not a manager.

What she truly wanted was freedom—real freedom. First, she would divorce Yun Jingchu, then shed her spy identity, escape the Jiufang family, and fulfill her youthful dream of traveling the world incognito, sketching the beautiful landscapes and people she encountered.

If she couldn’t pursue advanced studies, she would teach herself, perhaps researching Northern Song landscape design and horticulture.

The Jiufang-Yun marriage was fundamentally a transaction—a classic official-merchant alliance, or, less charitably, collusion. As long as the Jiufang family remained powerful and the Yun family prosperous, divorce would be impossible.

If she insisted, Jiufang Xin would be the first to oppose it. In this patriarchal, filial piety-obsessed society, she was at a legal disadvantage. The soonest she could divorce would be after Jiufang Xin’s death.

Judging by Jiufang Xin’s condition, he wouldn’t last many more years. For now, she would accumulate strength, bide her time, and protect Yun Jingchu as best she could.

She had also considered the quickest path to freedom: running away. But according to the original host’s memories, escape wasn’t easy. The Song Dynasty’s household registration system was strict. Without a new identity, she might not even find lodging. Sleeping rough was even less viable—wild animals that were rare in modern times were plentiful here.

Moreover, even if she miraculously escaped, what about Liu Daniang and Fan Zhuzhu? Liu Daniang was still a hostage in Liao’s Southern Capital, and Fan Zhuzhu, as a concubine, was of lowly status—treated as a possession that could be sold at will.

It wasn’t that Tian Qingyi was overly righteous, but these were the original host’s responsibilities—especially Liu Daniang and Fan Zhuzhu, who were her weaknesses. Since she had inherited the original host’s body, she had to shoulder her burdens.

Knowing herself, even if she hardened her heart, abandoned them, and fled successfully, she would live in guilt and anxiety. Jiufang Xin would surely torture Fan Zhuzhu to lure her out.

Even if Fan Zhuzhu resisted, Jiufang Xin wouldn’t stop searching for his “son,” who held future promise. Conversely, if Fan Zhuzhu cracked and revealed the truth, Jiufang Xin’s wrath would be even fiercer—tampering with bloodlines was his ultimate taboo.

The Song emperor might also pursue her. Having passed the exams and attended the palace ceremony, her sudden disappearance would prompt an investigation. If her spy identity were exposed, it would be a disaster.

Fan Zhuzhu’s fate would be either sale or torment. Remembering her bold, loving nature and dignified demeanor—and her kindness to the original host—how could Tian Qingyi bear it?

Liu Daniang’s fate might be even worse. Death might be the end, but not before enduring unimaginable suffering. Given Ma Zhusege’s hatred for traitors, Liu Daniang might wish for death long before it came.

The original host had never considered betraying Ma Zhusege, so she hadn’t feared his methods. But Tian Qingyi did. Her loyalty was to herself alone.

Even if she steeled herself, escaped, and evaded capture, multiple forces would hunt her, and Liu Daniang and Fan Zhuzhu would suffer for it. How could she live peacefully knowing their fates?

After much deliberation, Tian Qingyi concluded: Running away wasn’t a viable option.