Chapter 1: Reborn in the Womb

Meng Jiaoyue struggled to open her eyes.

Huh? Why had the world before her turned black and white?

She remembered that last night, after counting the spirit stones she’d earned that day, she’d fallen asleep on her prized, lavishly expensive warm-jade carved bed—a bed she’d gone to great lengths to obtain. Even most cultivators couldn’t afford such a thing; it wasn’t simply a matter of money. That immense slab of warm jade was truly one of a kind.

Though she had no spiritual root and couldn’t cultivate, she was clever—no, let’s say she was excellent at making money. In a word: wealthy. And with her extraordinary luck, she’d managed to acquire that warm jade. Fortunately, her identity had remained well concealed; if anyone had known she owned such a bed, she’d have been dead long ago.

She looked around with effort, but everything was unfamiliar. The black-and-white world resembled a still painting— even the air seemed frozen. She tried to sit up, only to discover she couldn’t move at all, as if some invisible force held her captive.

A surge of alarm ran through her. Had she fallen into some illusion? Had a cultivator she’d once outwitted taken their revenge?

She strained to recall the details of last night, but all that came to mind was the comfort of her warm-jade bed and the joy of counting spirit stones.

What on earth was going on? She needed to figure this out quickly.

At last, she made out her surroundings: a room steeped in luxury at every turn. Her own bedchamber had been extravagant, but this place far surpassed it. She was certain it wasn’t her room.

Wait—why was there such a strong scent of blood in the air?

She tried to speak, but the only sound that came from her mouth was the wailing cry of an infant. She shut her mouth in shock.

Was that sound really coming from her?

To be sure, she opened her mouth again, straining to speak, but once more, only a baby’s wail emerged.

Panic seized Meng Jiaoyue. How could a single night’s sleep turn her into a newborn? Her cries grew even louder.

Her little book of fortune—where was it? The absence of her security talisman made her anxious, and she hastily tried to summon the treasure that allowed her to control the fate of others.

No sooner had the thought taken shape than two small books appeared before her eyes, one black and one white.

Ah, the books had come with her—what luck!

Only she could see her books, so she wasn’t concerned about being discovered. These two little books of fate had been with her since she was five. While others awakened spiritual roots and learned to cultivate, she’d awakened two little books.

Though she couldn’t cultivate, the books could manipulate people’s fortunes—enough to keep her alive. Coupled with her formidable mental strength, she’d thrived among cultivators despite being a mere mortal.

Anyone whose name she wrote in the black book would immediately suffer bad luck, while writing a name in the white book would instantly bring good fortune. As for the extent of their effects, it seemed to vary—she’d never fully figured out the specific rules.

This was the main reason she’d survived among cultivators, unafraid and even able to profit from them, despite her inability to cultivate herself.

Meng Jiaoyue tried hard to reach for the little books, but no matter how much strength she mustered, her hands couldn’t break free from their restraints. Only then did she realize she was tightly swaddled—her newborn strength was no match for the bindings. Her face flushed from the effort, yet she couldn’t even budge the blanket.

She raged inwardly at the unfairness of fate. All those spirit stones she’d worked so hard to earn—over a hundred chests—gone in the blink of an eye.

But all her anger produced was an escalating series of wails.

At that moment, a cheerful, ingratiating woman’s voice sounded at her ear. “Seventh Madam, congratulations—it’s a daughter! She’s crying on her own without even a pat, and just listen to her voice! Clearly a healthy child.”

Only then did Meng Jiaoyue realize she’d just been born—no wonder she was wrapped so tightly.

The woman was the midwife who’d delivered her, now cradling the infant in her arms and showing her to the exhausted woman on the bed, her face brimming with pride and delight.

The Meng clan was the foremost scholarly family in the Imperial Dominion, and for centuries, no girl had been born into the family. Everyone had longed for a daughter, hoping for a precious jewel at last.

Who could have imagined that this long-awaited treasure would be delivered by her own hands? What an honor—it was a tale she could boast of for a lifetime.

She’d never thought she’d live to see the day when delivering a girl would be a point of pride.

Meng Jiaoyue turned her head and saw that the speaking woman was indeed holding her, which explained why she couldn’t break free—not just because of the tight swaddling, but because she was securely in someone’s arms.

The Seventh Madam on the bed looked at her struggling, crying daughter with concern. “Why won’t the child stop crying? Is something wrong?”

The midwife patted Meng Jiaoyue’s back expertly, coaxing her. “Don’t worry, Madam. The young miss is perfectly fine! Look at the strength of her cries—so vigorous from the moment she was born. She’ll surely be healthy all her life.”

Who doesn’t like to hear nice things, especially about their own daughter? The Seventh Madam smiled. “Let me hold her.”

The midwife carefully laid the child beside the Seventh Madam.

The Seventh Madam turned on her side, cradling her daughter, her gaze filled with tender love.

In this new embrace, the scent drifting to Meng Jiaoyue’s nose brought her an inexplicable sense of peace. Her anger evaporated, and she immediately stopped crying.

Now that she was a newborn, crying was exhausting work—she was nothing if not adaptable.

What a wonderful fragrance—what was it? Her tiny nose inhaled deeply. It was her mother’s scent. She liked it so much. Was this what a mother’s embrace felt like?

In her previous life, Meng Jiaoyue had been an orphan on a continent where awakening spiritual roots and ascending to immortality was the ultimate pursuit. At five, she’d gone to be tested when a sect came recruiting, only to discover she had no spiritual root. The cultivator testing her had bluntly told her that such formidable mental strength was wasted on a mere mortal.

Technically, she was caught between mortal and cultivator, for besides her powerful mind, she had the two little books of fate.

Otherwise, she might not have lived to adulthood, let alone earned spirit stones from cultivators.

But just as she’d begun to accept the idea of enjoying a mortal’s peaceful life for a century, fate had other plans. She’d woken to find her life beginning anew—utterly, from the very start.

The midwife’s face was wreathed in smiles; she showered them with compliments. “What a clever little miss—she knows her mother’s arms already and stopped crying at once.”

“Precious one, may you grow up happy and free from care,” the Seventh Madam murmured, her voice impossibly gentle.

Meng Jiaoyue gazed at her mother with eyes that could still see only shades of black and white.

Though the world was colorless, it didn’t prevent her from seeing her mother’s beauty, nor from recognizing the tenderness and affection in her eyes.

Her mother was a great beauty, gentle and loving, so fond of her. Meng Jiaoyue, who had never known such kindness, suddenly felt her heart warm. Perhaps growing up all over again wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Yes, it seemed she wouldn’t need the little books to protect herself for the time being. As soon as that thought surfaced, the two little books, visible only to her, vanished.

“Tangtang, how are you?” The Seventh Lord of the Meng clan, Meng Wenxuan, burst through the door, unable to hold back after hearing his child’s cries.