The first thing Shen Yao felt was hunger.
Not the polite kind.
Not the kind that waits.
This hunger burned.
It clawed at her stomach like an animal that had been starved for days, scraping against bone, dragging her consciousness back with sharp, humiliating pain.
She opened her eyes.
Darkness.
Then light.
Then the smell hit her.
Old wood. Mold. Sweat. Blood.
Shen Yao tried to sit up.
Her body refused.
Her limbs were thin—too thin. Heavy in a way that didn't belong to weakness, but exhaustion. As if this body had already given up long before she arrived.
*What…?*
A rough voice cut through the haze.
"Wake up properly. Buyers don't like corpses."
Buyers.
The word snapped her awake.
Shen Yao turned her head slowly and saw three men standing near the door. Their clothes were patched, faces sharp with hunger of a different kind. Coins jingled in one man's hand.
Another man looked at her like livestock.
"How old?" one asked.
"Seventeen," the fattest replied. "Noble blood. Fallen house. Pretty enough once she eats."
Shen Yao's fingers twitched.
Seventeen?
Noble?
Her gaze slid down.
These weren't her hands.
They were small. Bruised. Nails cracked. Wrists marked with rope burns that hadn't healed yet.
A memory surfaced—not hers, but this body's.
Sold.
Starving.
Dragged across villages like cargo.
Promised a meal if she behaved.
Then worse.
Much worse.
Her breathing steadied.
This wasn't shock.
This was calculation.
*I'm not dead.*
Another wave of memories followed—sharp, cruel, complete.
Year: 1947.
Post-war chaos.
Black markets thriving.
Women sold openly if the price was right.
And this girl?
Her original fate was simple.
She would be sold tonight.
Used.
Discarded.
Dead before winter.
Shen Yao closed her eyes for half a second.
In her last life, she had controlled boardrooms worth billions.
She had crushed men who smiled sweeter than these and bled far slower.
Now she was starving on a wooden floor.
*Fine.*
She opened her eyes again.
"Wait," she said.
Her voice came out hoarse, weak—perfect.
The men paused.
Shen Yao swallowed, forcing her body to tremble.
"I… I can make money."
The fattest man laughed. "You?"
She struggled to sit up, coughing, making a show of pain.
"I know where grain is being rerouted," she whispered. "Off-record shipments. Military surplus."
Silence.
That got their attention.
One man leaned forward. "You're lying."
"If I were," Shen Yao said softly, "you wouldn't be listening."
Coins stopped jingling.
She lifted her gaze—careful, submissive, but not empty.
"There's a warehouse by the eastern rail line," she continued. "Marked as scrap. It isn't."
She had no proof.
Only instinct.
But in 1947, information was currency.
The fattest man's smile faded.
"How do you know this?"
Shen Yao lowered her head.
"I heard it… before I was taken."
A lie.
Clean.
Untraceable.
They exchanged looks.
"Even if it's true," one said slowly, "why tell us?"
Shen Yao smiled faintly.
"Because if you sell me now, you get one payment."
She looked up again, eyes dull but steady.
"If you keep me alive, you get more."
The door creaked.
A new presence entered the room.
The air changed.
Shen Yao felt it before she saw him.
Heavy footsteps.
Unhurried.
Controlled.
The men straightened instinctively.
A tall man stepped into the light.
Black coat.
Clean boots.
No insignia—yet everyone knew what he was.
Lu Chen.
He didn't look at her at first.
His gaze swept the room once, cold and assessing, like counting bodies before deciding how many would be left standing.
"Is this the girl?" he asked.
"Yes—yes, Boss Lu," the fattest man said quickly. "She claims she knows something valuable."
Lu Chen finally looked at her.
Their eyes met.
Shen Yao's breath almost stuttered.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Something deep in her bones screamed.
*Him.*
She didn't know why.
Not yet.
Lu Chen studied her face for a long moment.
Then he spoke, voice low, emotionless.
"She doesn't look valuable."
Shen Yao bowed her head immediately.
Weak.
Obedient.
Exactly what he expected to see.
"Sell her," he said.
The words hit like ice.
"Or keep her," he added calmly, "and bring her to me after sunset."
The men froze.
Lu Chen turned away, already done.
As he reached the door, he paused.
"Feed her," he said. "I don't buy corpses."
The door closed.
Shen Yao exhaled slowly.
She had survived the first move.
But she knew—deep in her gut—that tonight wasn't rescue.
It was the beginning of a debt.
And somewhere in her fractured memories, a single truth waited for her to remember:
Lu Chen was the man who had destroyed her once.
And this time—
She would make sure he paid first.
Shen Yao did not relax after the door closed.
She waited.
In her experience, danger never left immediately.
It circled.
Observed.
Returned when you least expected it.
True enough—
The fattest man snapped his fingers.
"Get her food."
A cracked bowl was shoved toward her. Thin porridge. Barely warm. Smelled like boiled dust.
Shen Yao's stomach twisted violently.
She forced herself to slow down.
No desperation.
No greed.
In this era, hunger made people sloppy.
She lifted the bowl with shaking hands and took a small sip.
The men watched her closely.
"See?" one muttered. "Still obedient."
Shen Yao lowered her eyes.
Good.
Let them think that.
While she ate, her mind raced.
*Lu Chen.*
The name echoed again.
She didn't remember him from her past life.
But this body remembered something.
Fear.
Submission.
A sense of being crushed without being touched.
That kind of memory didn't come from rumor.
It came from experience.
The porridge warmed her stomach just enough to clear her head.
That was when she noticed it—
The room wasn't empty.
Someone stood outside the door.
Silent.
Watching.
She didn't look up.
Didn't stiffen.
Instead, she deliberately let the spoon slip from her fingers.
It clattered against the wooden floor.
"I'm sorry," she whispered quickly, voice tight with panic. "I—I didn't mean to—"
The men laughed.
"Clumsy."
"Pick it up."
Shen Yao bent down.
Her hair fell forward, exposing the back of her neck.
A vulnerable angle.
She felt it then.
A gaze.
Not curious.
Not amused.
Measured.
The air pressed heavier, like being evaluated by something that didn't rush.
Lu Chen hadn't left.
She picked up the spoon slowly and straightened.
This time, she dared to glance toward the door.
He stood there.
One hand resting casually against the frame.
Eyes dark.
Unreadable.
Their gazes met again.
Longer this time.
Her pulse betrayed her—just a little.
Not fear.
Tension.
Lu Chen tilted his head slightly.
"Do you know," he asked calmly, "how many women tell me they can make money?"
Shen Yao swallowed.
"No."
"Neither do I," he continued. "I stop counting when they start lying."
The room fell silent.
The men stepped back instinctively.
Shen Yao steadied herself.
"I'm not lying," she said softly.
Lu Chen took a step forward.
The floor creaked under his weight.
"One sentence," he said. "Convince me."
Shen Yao lifted her eyes.
"If you sell me," she said, "I disappear."
She paused.
"If you keep me," she continued, "I become useful."
Lu Chen's lips curved—barely.
"That's not convincing," he said.
She met his gaze fully now.
"Then kill me."
The room froze.
Even Lu Chen seemed momentarily still.
Shen Yao's heart pounded hard enough to hurt.
But she didn't look away.
"Because if you're wrong about me," she added quietly, "I cost you nothing."
"And if you're right," she finished, "I make you richer."
Silence stretched.
Lu Chen studied her like a blade laid across silk—testing whether it would tear.
"Bold," he said at last.
He stepped closer.
Too close.
Shen Yao could smell him—clean, sharp, faintly metallic.
Not a man who got his hands dirty often.
A man who ordered others to bleed.
"You're either very stupid," Lu Chen murmured, "or very dangerous."
Shen Yao lowered her eyes again.
"Stupid women don't survive long here," she said.
Lu Chen's fingers lifted her chin.
Just slightly.
Enough to force her to look at him.
The touch was light.
Controlled.
More threatening than violence.
"You'll come with me tonight," he said.
Her breath caught.
"And if I disappoint you?" she asked carefully.
Lu Chen released her.
"Then you'll wish I sold you."
He turned away again.
This time, he really left.
The door shut.
The men exhaled like they had been holding their breath the entire time.
One muttered, "You're insane."
Shen Yao sat very still.
Her hands trembled now—but not from fear.
From adrenaline.
She had crossed the first line.
Lu Chen hadn't chosen her because he trusted her.
He had chosen her because she interested him.
And men like him only kept interesting things close—
Until they broke them.
Shen Yao stared at the door.
*Fine.*
If this was a game of control—
She would learn his rules.
Then rewrite them.