A Poor Man's Son-in-Law: He Picks Up the Daughter of a Duke's Mansion at the Start

Lu Qingyan was awakened by the cold.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was not the row of bookshelves reaching the ceiling in his study, but the dark, exposed wooden rafters of the roof. A few rays of grayish-white light leaked in from the gaps in the tiles, and he could see the dust swirling in the light.

He was stunned for a while before realizing that he was lying on a hard earthen bed.

The blanket covering me was stiff and thin, and I could feel clumps of cotton inside. The smell in my nose was a mixture of firewood, earth, and some indescribable, uniquely poor odor.

Memories flooded in like a tide.

No, it's not his memory.

This is the memory of Lu Qingyan, a sixteen-year-old farmer's son, in the tenth year of the Yonghe era of the Dayong Dynasty. This boy with the same name as him had just passed the county and prefectural examinations half a month ago and become a student of the Imperial Academy. After returning home, he was so happy that he caught a cold and fell ill.

And then... he arrived.

Lu Qingyan tried to sit up, but felt weak all over and extremely dizzy. His throat was dry and sore.

"Squeak—"

The dilapidated wooden door was pushed open, and a woman in her forties walked in quickly, carrying a bowl. She wore a patched blue jacket, her hair was hastily tied up with a wooden hairpin, and her face was etched with wrinkles from years of hard work.

"Yan'er is awake?" The woman's eyes lit up. She put the bowl on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and reached out to touch his forehead. "His fever has gone down a bit... Here, drink your medicine first."

As Lu Qingyan looked at her, information automatically surfaced in his mind: Zhao Shi, the original owner's mother.

The medicine was dark brown, steaming, and smelled bitter. Zhao carefully helped him up, placing a tattered pillow behind his back, her movements unusually gentle for someone used to farm work.

"Drink slowly, be careful it's hot." She scooped up a spoonful and gently blew on it.

Lu Qingyan looked at the spoonful of medicine, at the bloodshot eyes and dark circles under the woman's eyes, and a pang suddenly struck a chord in his heart. In modern times, his parents had died early, and he had been raised by his uncles and aunts. The memory of being personally fed medicine and cared for like this felt as distant as a past life.

"I can do it myself," he said in a hoarse voice, taking the bowl.

The medicine was very bitter, so bitter that he frowned, but he still drank it all in one go.

Zhao took out a small oil paper packet from her bosom, unfolded it, and inside were two thumb-sized malt candies. She picked one up and handed it over somewhat hesitantly: "To soothe the bitterness."

Lu Qingyan was stunned.

In my memory, this family was so poor that they only ate two meals a day, their staple food being thin porridge and mixed grains, and they only saw meat during the New Year. These two candies were probably saved up by Zhao Shi for a long time, or perhaps she saved them from between her teeth.

He didn't take it, but asked softly, "Is there any candy at home?"

"You're sick." Without waiting for a reply, Zhao stuffed the candy into his hand, turned around to put away the medicine bowl, and said with her back to him, "Take good care of yourself and don't worry about the family. Your father said that once you get better, you can go back to school."

Lu Qingyan held the candy in his hand; it felt slightly sticky.

He looked around the room—mud walls, a dirt floor, and besides the kang (heated brick bed), there was a crooked table and a broken wooden box. Several books were neatly arranged on the table, the original owner's most treasured possessions.

Footsteps sounded outside, and a gruff voice called out, "Mother, is Third Brother awake?"

The one who came in was the eldest brother, Lu Dashan, about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with dark skin and a tall stature, wearing a short-sleeved shirt covered in patches. He was carrying a hoe on his shoulder, clearly having just returned from the fields.

"She just took her medicine," Zhao said. "Keep your voice down and let Yan'er rest."

Lu Dashan said "Oh," and quietly walked to the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), grinning憨厚ly, "It's good that you're awake. You have no idea, your parents didn't sleep a wink for the two days you were delirious with fever."

Lu Qingyan looked at him. In his memory, this older brother worked in the fields year-round, giving all his earnings to the family to support his younger brother's education. The original owner of this body, however, took it for granted and even looked down on his older brother for being uncouth.

"I'm sorry to have troubled you, brother," Lu Qingyan said.

Lu Dashan was taken aback, as if he hadn't expected his younger brother to say that. He scratched his head and said, "What are you talking about? We're family. Just study hard and bring honor to our family."

Just then, a little girl's clear voice came from outside the door: "Third Brother! Third Brother!"

Two little girls ran in, the older one about ten years old and the younger one about seven or eight. They were both wearing faded old clothes, with thin faces but bright eyes. These were the older sister, Er Ya, and the younger sister, San Ya.

"Third Brother, are you feeling better?" Er Ya approached the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and asked cautiously.

"Much better," Lu Qingyan said.

Sanya pulled something out of her bosom and presented it to him like a treasure: "Third Brother, this is for you."

It was a grasshopper woven from straw, crookedly but carefully.

"I picked grass by the river and wove it," Sanya whispered. "My mother said that if you see something you like, you'll recover faster."

Lu Qingyan took the grasshopper, her heart heavy.

He recalled the original owner's memories—a family of seven: parents, eldest brother, second brother (who was an apprentice in town), two younger sisters, and himself. They had little land, and the harvest was barely enough to make ends meet. The original owner was the only one in the family who received an education; the whole family scrimped and saved to support him, hoping he would pass the imperial examinations and change their social standing.

But what about the original owner of this body? He studied quite diligently, but he resented his family's poverty, his parents' and brothers' and sisters-in-law's vulgarity, and his sister's future as a financial burden. He planned that once he passed the imperial examination and became a scholar, he would move out and live on his own, having less contact with these poor relatives.

"Ungrateful wretch," Lu Qingyan thought to himself.

Zhao shooed her two daughters out, saying, "Don't disturb your third brother, let him rest. Er Ya, take your sister to the kitchen to help; it's time to make lunch."

The room fell silent again.

Lu Qingyan lay on the kang (a heated brick bed), staring at the roof beams.

He was a 42-year-old, unmarried, and disciplined professor of Chinese literature at a modern university, leading a regular life of teaching and research. His last memory before time travel was of organizing historical materials on the Ming Dynasty in his study, with rain falling outside the window…

Then, when I opened my eyes, I was here.

In the tenth year of the Yonghe reign, during the reign of Emperor Dayong, a dynasty that did not exist in history, the imperial examination system was similar to that of the Ming Dynasty: candidates for the lowest level of the imperial examinations, including the first-level candidate (童生), the second-level candidate (秀才), the third-level candidate (举人), and the fourth-level candidate (进士). Only those who passed the highest level of the imperial examinations could become officials.

The original owner had just passed the preliminary examination for the imperial examination and was about to take the county-level examination for the scholar examination. The county-level examination, the prefectural examination, the provincial examination... the road ahead was still long.

"I have to survive," Lu Qingyan told herself.

Since we can't go back, we have to live in this world. And the first step to living is to accept this identity, this family.

He turned to look out the window. Through the dilapidated wooden window, he could see a small patch of gray sky, and the jujube tree in the yard was just sprouting new buds.

This family is very poor, but the people are still alive.

He has to do something.