In 1988, late spring.
Branches sprouted new green as if drawing out shoots, flower buds dotted the trees with hints of tender pink, and as the spring breeze lightly brushed by, the noontime firecrackers popped with crackling bursts, scattering red paper scraps across the ground, leaving only lingering festive cheer.
Nine Mountains Village welcomed a joyous occasion: the village Party secretary’s son was marrying today. Firecrackers boomed thunderously, the wedding feast still hadn’t ended, with twenty-five tables lined up along the courtyard, lively villagers buzzing with celebratory energy. They looked around but didn’t see the bride appear, so they curiously inquired and only learned that the bride felt unwell and was resting in the room.
She withdrew her gaze from the kitchen window. Today’s wedding protagonist—the bride Feng Man—searched everywhere in the dilapidated room and finally found a cold, hard steamed bun after lifting the basin by the stove against the wall.
The kitchen door was tightly shut, locked from the outside. Feng Man struggled to swallow the bun, then rammed the door again, hearing only a creak. The old iron lock remained unmoved, so she gave up.
She scooped raw well water from the jar with a gourd rind to ease her choked throat. Feng Man barely finished one bun, patted her hands, and looked around, pondering her next move.
A week earlier, Feng Man had transmigrated to this small mountain village. Staring at the endless surrounding mountains in a daze, before she could sort things out, she was locked in the kitchen to prepare for the wedding.
Feng Man then realized she hadn’t just transmigrated—she had transmigrated into a book.
The original body’s name was Feng Man, given by her birth mother, but at three years old, her biological father changed it to Feng Zhaodi, hoping to attract a son. Later, Feng Zhaodi’s birth mother passed away early, her father remarried and had another child—a pair of twins, the boy naturally becoming the precious darling. The original body, this drag on the family, was even more ignored.
Her biological father didn’t care, her stepmother disliked her, and days passed harshly.
The original body, who had gone hungry and barefoot since childhood, inherited her birth mother’s good looks. Now nineteen, she had become the village beauty for miles around. The village Party secretary’s son, who had mixed around town for years, fell for her at first sight upon returning and was willing to pay fifteen hundred yuan in betrothal gifts to marry her.
With reforms and opening up, development boomed everywhere, many earning one or two hundred yuan a month, but fifteen hundred was still not something anyone could casually afford. The original body’s biological father and stepmother had no reason to refuse and directly agreed.
The original body was timid by nature and had heard that the village Party secretary’s son was a local tyrant who dared do anything—eat, drink, whore, gamble, chop people, set fires. She timidly resisted once at home, was ruthlessly suppressed, then frightened into a high fever and breathed her last, at which point Feng Man transmigrated in.
Worried about mishaps, on the day of the wedding feast, Feng Man was directly thrown into the kitchen and locked up, only to be sent straight to the bridal chamber at night.
Feng Man closed her eyes and slowly exhaled. What an apocalyptic start.
By now, the noontime wedding feast was in full swing, nearly the entire village’s young and old attending. In contrast, the Feng Family side was deserted, only faint sounds accompanying the cicada chirps and bird calls drifting into her ears.
—”Sis.”
Feng Man’s eyes lit up: “You’ve come!”
A head slowly poked in from outside the kitchen window. Feng Baozhu tiptoed closer and peered inside, meeting a pair of beautiful almond eyes. She was momentarily stunned and stuffed a cloth bundle through the door crack: “Sis, this is what I sneaked from the feast for you, and the stuff from your room.”
Village wooden doors always had large gaps; even when closed, things could be squeezed through. Feng Man unfolded it: white gauze wrapped seven or eight candies, two sweet potato cakes, two pieces of puffed rice candy, and a bottle of orange soda, all enticingly fragrant. Then there was the original body’s entire possessions: savings of twelve yuan and change, and a tattered, faded red paper vaguely readable as bearing a ‘marriage’ character.
“Baozhu, you’re clever.” Feng Man stowed the items and looked at the girl—one of the dragon-phoenix twins born to her biological father and stepmother—unable to help but sigh. Even bad bamboo produces good shoots.
Feng Jianshe remarried half a year after the original body’s mother died, wedding Zhang Cuijuan from the neighboring village. Zhang Cuijuan was fiery-tempered, utterly unlike the original body’s gentle and easygoing birth mother. Yet the dragon-phoenix twins she bore resembled neither: Feng Baozhu was a clever, cute little girl, while the twin boy Feng Tianbao was entirely different.
“Feng Baozhu, what are you doing!” Thirteen-year-old Feng Tianbao had eaten until his hands were greasy at the feast. Spotting his blood sister heading to the kitchen while out playing, he immediately raised his voice in scolding.
At such a young age, he already showed the makings of a little tyrant.
Feng Baozhu startled, her hand trembling as she quickly withdrew it from the door crack, glancing at her dear brother: “I’m not doing anything.”
“Are you trying to let Feng Man out?” Feng Tianbao, spoiled by his parents with all the best, was chubby and robust, tiger-headed and fierce. He glared at his sister like catching a thief. “Just you wait, I’ll tell Dad, see if he doesn’t beat you!”
“I didn’t!” Feng Baozhu used volume to mask her guilt.
“Feng Tianbao.” Feng Man looked out the window at the Feng Family’s precious lump and grinned at him. “Don’t worry, when Mom and Dad come later, I’ll tell them myself that my little brother pitied his big sister and was about to let her out… Let’s see if they’re panicked after taking the betrothal money and beat you instead?”
No matter how scheming Feng Tianbao was, he couldn’t outwit an adult. Hearing this, his eyes bulged, little face flushing red: “I, I’m not letting you out! You’re talking nonsense!”
Feng Man was adept at scaring kids, mainly for Baozhu’s sake: “Is that so? Anyway, that’s what I’ll say then, and Baozhu saw it. You won’t be able to run.”
“I never came to the kitchen!” Feng Tianbao was the little overlord at home but had a brain. He knew this marriage had been plotted by his parents for a long time and couldn’t go wrong, so he immediately ran off.
“Sis.” Feng Baozhu breathed a sigh of relief, worried about being spotted by others and not daring to linger. “Later when Dad’s drunk, I’ll sneak his key to open the door for you. I’m going now.”
“Be careful, don’t get caught.” Feng Man knew the kitchen key was on Feng Jianshe, who was currently toasting as the village Party secretary’s in-law, drinking heavily and showing off. The man was always a drunkard; once wasted, it would be easy to act.
Feng Man watched Baozhu’s departing figure without worry, because the book had this plot: Baozhu really stole the key and delivered it, the original body mustered courage and fled… but less than three hours later, she was mercilessly caught.
Nine Mountains Village, as the name suggested, lay deep in the old forest, surrounded by nine undulating mountains, over forty li from town. No roads, just walking took five or six hours to exit the mountains, and with the rugged paths, it was extremely arduous.
The original body fled but didn’t make it out of the mountains. Instead, enthusiastic villagers helping search for the bride spotted her, and she ultimately couldn’t escape her tragic fate.
They say marry a chicken, follow the chicken; marry a dog, follow the dog. The original body resigned herself, thinking to go with the flow, but her husband was no good. That tyrant rode the reform winds to bully in town, opening nightclubs, pool halls for gambling, indulging every vice, beating his wife… even keeping lovers outside while refusing her divorce.
What hope was there in such days.
Feng Man searched the kitchen, lifted pot lids, rummaged bowls and basins, and finally found a folding pocket knife to tuck away. She then spotted greens and dried radish in a corner bamboo basket, sun- and wind-dried to store long-term.
She stared at the dried veggies, eyes flickering, slender fingers gently probing, parting the radish to reach inside—and indeed felt foreign objects.
Two days prior, she had overheard those two arguing: Feng Jianshe’s hidden goodies were here!
She extracted them all, wrapped in a rag, searched carefully again, took two more cold buns for convenience, patted her hands, and checked her savings.
The dark gray rag held few things. Unloved by father or mother, jobless, total savings twelve yuan fifty-three fen, plus some odds and ends. Feng Man packed the dry rations with Baozhu’s gifts in one bundle, hid the money in the self-sewn lining of her floral short-sleeved shirt, and combined the pilfered goodies with the original body’s trinkets…
As Feng Man packed her bundle, her mind raced. She definitely had to leave, couldn’t wait passively. But the book showed the original body’s failed escape as a lesson: fleeing on foot was suicide, especially since she was less familiar with the paths than the original body—hopeless.
The best way was to find a good hiding spot, wait for the searchers to pass, then slip away. As they say, the most dangerous place is the safest.
Feng Man acted boldly yet meticulously, planning contingencies like if recaptured. She recalled the tyrant’s parents were superstitious—could exploit that to stall, trick them to town, then seize the chance…
But if she could hitch a ride out, none of that mattered, no need to hide nervously. Yet what vehicles in these mountains? Villagers at most took donkey carts to market slowly, but with her wedding announced village-wide, who would carry a fleeing bride…
Feng Man pondered good hiding spots, casually tying the bundle, but paused upon glancing at the worn red paper.
About A4-sized, thin paper, red background with black text eroded by time, barely discernible except the fuzzy top ‘marriage… certificate’?
The marriage certificate’s text was mostly illegible; Feng Man made out a Feng character, the man’s name faded to spots.
Right, Feng Man vaguely recalled the book’s scant mention of this cannon fodder side character: she had a baby betrothal set by her birth mother over a decade ago.
The book described the original body’s fiancé as tall and handsome, kind-hearted, honest and reliable, with car and house—a neighbor who later headed south with the reforms, amassing some wealth.
Feng Man remembered this because the city he developed in was her real-world hometown, Ink River.
The original book was a fictional era novel, with major historical events, place names, and structures mirroring reality.
When the original body’s mother lived, their houses neighbored closely, families intimate, hence the baby betrothal.
After her death, with a new mistress in the Feng Family, the matter was overturned, never mentioned again. Finally, the biological father and stepmother schemed her into marrying the village tyrant for the high bride price.
“Neighbor?” Feng Man went to the kitchen window and looked left and right. Having transmigrated only a week ago, she wasn’t familiar with everything, only knowing the Feng Family’s brick-tiled house sat at the village east, surrounded by a small hillside and fields. On this slope stood three neighboring households side by side.
The Fengs in the middle, one neighbor each side.
From the window, Feng Man saw both neighboring doors tightly shut, seemingly no one coming or going—probably no help there.
She stowed the marriage certificate, mentally settling on several post-escape hiding spots from the Feng Family, when suddenly a putt-putt-putt noise came from outside.
Hoping for a vehicle, Feng Man surprisedly watched a tractor rumble up, tires crushing the gravel road, kicking up dust.
Feng Man’s gaze followed as the tractor stopped before the house to the Feng Family’s right. Could it be…
As her thoughts wandered, another rumble sounded: a blue truck entered view, its broad, imposing front aggressive and wind-cutting. In this poor, rugged mountain area, it was like a fierce tiger entering the hills.
Feng Man dismissed the tractor, staring as the majestic truck halted before the house to the Feng Family’s left. The door opened, and a tall man leaped down, steady and agile.