While Shen Ling is getting nowhere trying to get the lazy cat to climb over the wall, the cook, Mrs. Mu sorts the just delivered fruit and vegetables in the kitchen. The budget of the manor doesn’t have room for much fruit or vegetables but Mrs. Mu exchanges jams and unusual pastries in order to get more varieties. Her last batch of mixed berry preserves was exchanged for two large watermelons and lychee.
Mrs. Mu is a transmigrator, though no one in this quiet manor knows the truth she carries beneath her calm and unassuming exterior. In her past life, a woman of the 21st century, sharp-minded, composed, and formidable. A businesswoman who built success with her own hands. She owned thriving restaurant chains that stretch across cities, each one polished to perfection, each one a reflection of her relentless standards.She negotiated contracts in glass towers, expands into shopping malls through careful strategy and calculated risk, and stands at the center of a world that moved fast, punishing hesitation without mercy.
She understands competition intimately. It is not just business...it is survival.
And in the end, it is also what killed her.
A rival, humiliated after losing a critical bid for space in a new high rise for his restaurant, did not accept defeat with grace. Quiet moves were made behind closed doors. Her death was swift…unexpected, clean, and utterly unfair. One moment she was standing at the height of everything she had built… and the next, everything went dark.
When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer in that world.
She awakened in a body that was not hers, a woman of about thirty, pretty but not outstanding, nothing like the stunning aggressive type beauty she was in her past life.
in a place that felt almost unreal in its stillness…a forgotten manor tucked away from the noise of power and politics. No towering buildings, no contracts waiting on her desk, no enemies smiling across negotiation tables.
Instead, there is the soft crackle of firewood, the scent of herbs drying in bundles, and the steady rhythm of days that pass without urgency.
At first, she was disoriented…her mind still sharp, still searching for familiar anchors that no longer exist. Then, slowly, something unexpected settled over her.Relief.
Ten years have passed
In that time, she did not try to reclaim what she had lost. She did not chase influence or wealth or the thrill of control. Instead, she allowed herself to become small in the best possible way. She realized the kitchen was not as a stepping stone, but as a place to remain. She recalled her roots, her family’s small restaurant, her beginning before she studied atthe French culinary school before she opened 5 star Michelin restaurants. Instead of markets, she balanced herbs instead of accounts, and found quiet satisfaction in meals that nourish rather than impress.
Here, she is just the cook.Simple. Overlooked. Safe.
And for the first time, she did not feel the constant pressure of being the scion of a wealthy family. Always wanting… needing more power…more wealth…more recognition.
She tells the kitchen maid to put one of the watermelons in the well to chill, then she looks out the window to see if Shen Ling has moved into the shade.
The afternoon light slants gently across the courtyard kitchen, casting long, golden beams that stretch across the worn stone floor. A pot simmers steadily over the fire, its surface rippling with quiet bubbles as steam rises in thin, fragrant curls. The scent of ginger, dried roots, and carefully measured herbs fills the space—warm, grounding, and faintly medicinal.
It is Shen Ling’s recipe she started earlier.
Mrs. Mu stands beside the pot, one hand resting lightly on the wooden handle of the ladle as she stirs in slow, absent circles. Her movements are practiced, unhurried, shaped by years of repetition. Yet her attention is not entirely on the broth.
It drifts.
Settles.
On the young girl nearby again who has moved into the shade and she sighs, “Good.”
Shen Ling sits on a low stool, her posture straight but relaxed, as she carefully sorts dried leaves into neat, deliberate piles. Each motion is precise, almost instinctive, as if her hands understand the work even when her mind wanders elsewhere. There is no impatience in her movements, no careless haste. Only focus. Quiet persistence.
The cook watches her for a long moment.
In her past life, she has seen countless young people, employees eager to climb, apprentices desperate to prove themselves, heirs polished into perfection but hollow beneath the surface. She has learned to read ambition quickly, to recognize potential before it fully forms.
Shen Ling does not fit those patterns.
She lacks the refinement expected of a noble girl, yet she is not fragile. There is a steadiness in the young girl, something grounded, something earned rather than taught. It shows in the way she handles the herbs, in the way she observes before acting, in the way she does not seek attention even when she deserves it.
Mrs. Mu finishes making lunch and walks out to the courtyard curious about the young girl’s plans.
“Miss, lunch is ready, would you like it set on the stone table or did you want to eat in the dining room?”
“I need to finish first.”
Mrs. Mu has been wanting to ask and casually says, “Do you want to become a doctor?”
The words settle into the warm air between them.
Shen Ling pauses mid-motion, a small bundle of leaves still held between her fingers. For a brief moment, she does not answer. Then she lifts her gaze, meeting the cook’s eyes with a clarity that feels far older than her years.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Mu studies the girl more closely now, with interest sharpened by instinct. It is the same look she once gives promising managers, the same quiet evaluation she uses before deciding who is worth investing in.
“You’re serious,” she says, her tone soft but probing.
Shen Ling nods and her eyes are brimming with determination.”Very.”
A faint smile touches the cook’s lips in her old world, she would call this ambition. A spark that could be shaped, directed, turned into something formidable.But here… it feels different.
Less about climbing…gaining a threshold in society…more about purpose.
Shen Ling finishes and says, “Done.”
She walks over and to wash her hands in a nearby bucket and sees a strange bar next to the ladle and towel. “What is this?”
Mrs. Mu answers, “Use it to wash your hands, it will prevent them from getting rough.”
“Really?”
She picks it up and smells it, “Smells good, like lilies.”
She uses the soap and says, “It works really well, all the dirt is gone and my hands feel…soft.”
“Where did you buy this?”
“I made it.”
“Could you teach me? I have some ideas, my aunt has one book about making beauty products. I thought I might try to sell rouge and beauty creams in town to earn some extra money.” This ‘soap’ is unique. I'm sure it would sell.
Mrs. Mu has a satisfied smile, the girl is smart. You need money to open a clinic.
She replies, “I can.”
Shen Ling adds quickly, “Of course I would give you a share of the earnings.”
“That sounds fair.”
She turns back to the simmering pot, the ladle dipping once more into the fragrant broth as steam curls upward, briefly obscuring her expression. Good…the girl is honest… not greedy.
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