Clara Whitfield snapped her eyes open and realized she’d somehow landed in 1982.

Not only had she become a plain country girl, she was being pushed into marriage the minute she arrived.

She lay on a rock-hard kang bed, so stiff it made every bone ache. The air was full of the sharp stink of pickled cabbage and dry tobacco, thick enough to hit her right in the face.

“You’re awake?”

A voice cut in. Clara lifted her head and saw a woman standing by the bed in a red flowered cotton jacket. Early twenties, two glossy braids, a fake smile on her face, calculation plain as day in her eyes.

It was her second sister, Vera Thornton.

Vera curled her lip and gave a pretend sigh. “Big Sis, our family’s got no money, that’s just the truth. We can’t possibly scrape together two dowries.

“I’m about to marry into the county magistrate’s family. Once I’ve got a good life, I definitely won’t forget my own folks.

“And you’re not exactly getting the short end either. Marcus Whitfield is a soldier. Once he leaves the army, he’ll have himself an iron rice bowl. Solid as can be.”

Clara said nothing. She lowered her head and quickly sorted through the strange memories flooding into her mind.

The original owner of this body was twenty-four, the eldest daughter of the Thornton family.

Under her were two younger sisters and one younger brother.

Second sister Vera had a sweet mouth and knew how to put on a show, so she was their parents’ favorite.

Third sister Iris Thornton was quiet by nature and practically invisible at home.

Their younger brother Felix Thornton was the treasure of the whole family. Already twenty, still loafing around every day, spoiled so badly he’d become lawless.

Only the original Clara was different. In this house she was free labor, nothing more. Her father didn’t care for her, her mother didn’t love her. If she was useful, they worked her to death. If not, they could toss her aside anytime.

Half a month ago, the county magistrate’s family had come to propose to Vera.

A rich family had high standards. The dowry had to look proper. Even if the Thorntons emptied out the whole house, they still couldn’t make it happen.

So to make Vera’s marriage work, her parents turned their eyes straight onto the eldest daughter.

The groom’s family, the Whitfields, were famous in Liulin Village for being poor.

The eldest son, Marcus Whitfield, had been in the army for eight years and hardly ever came home. The family had only two mud-brick rooms, both looking ready to cave in.

Old Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield were hardworking enough, but their foundation was too thin. Their days were poor from top to bottom.

In the eyes of Clara’s parents, a daughter was spilled water, a thing to trade for money, hardly worth mentioning.

Trading Clara Whitfield’s whole life for Vera’s wealth and comfort? In their minds, that was a bargain.

Once she straightened out all the memories, Clara lifted her eyes to Vera. Her voice was a little hoarse, but her tone was steady. “Whether your life turns out good or bad later, what’s that got to do with me?”

Vera froze on the spot.

Her eldest sister had always been dull, honest, the kind who never talked back even when beaten. Why did she sound like a whole different person today?

Vera quickly buried her surprise. Her smile turned even sweeter as she leaned in, pretending to be sincere. “Big Sis, you can’t say that! Marcus Whitfield is strong, can do any kind of work. If you marry over there, you definitely won’t suffer.

“His family may be poor, but he’s the eldest son, and you’ll be the eldest daughter-in-law. Once they split the household later, you’ll be the one calling the shots!

“You’re not that young anymore either. Better marry sooner, and sooner you can be mistress of your own home.”

Clara laughed coldly inside.

Put plainly, they were selling her for dowry money, and still wanted her to be grateful and obedient.

In her previous life, she had fought her way through the restaurant business for more than ten years, starting with kitchen scraps and grunt work, climbing all the way up to running a restaurant herself. She had seen every kind of person there was.

Even when her ex-boyfriend had run off with every penny she’d saved to open her place, she had gritted her teeth and survived it.

A little trick like Vera’s was nothing in front of her.

Sweet mouth, black heart, grabbing every benefit and shoving every loss onto someone else. A textbook selfish person.

“Quit dragging your feet! Get dressed, now!”

The door curtain was yanked up hard. Clara’s mother stormed in wearing a blue cloth jacket and clamped a hand around Clara’s arm, fingers like iron tongs. “Clara, don’t blame your ma and pa for being hard-hearted. Your sister’s marrying into the magistrate’s family. The dowry can’t be shameful!

“The Whitfields gave a bride price of a hundred and twenty yuan. That’s not small money. You’ll go over there as the eldest daughter-in-law. This deal’s all profit, no loss!”

With that, she threw over an old cloth bundle.

Clara opened it and saw only one faded floral shirt inside. The collar was worn fuzzy with age. Not even a scrap of red cloth, not one festive thing in sight.

This was her wedding outfit.

At once, her younger brother Felix’s loud voice rang out in the yard, full of mockery and disgust. “The Whitfields are here to fetch the bride! Poor as dirt, really. Can’t even afford a bicycle, and they’ve come with a donkey cart to marry a wife!”

Clara’s mother dragged her out of the inner room by force. Out of the corner of her eye, Clara caught sight of her third sister, Iris.

The sixteen-year-old girl was skinny as a bean sprout, her eyes red-rimmed. While no one was looking, she quickly stuffed two warm boiled eggs into Clara’s bundle.

Before Clara could even thank her, Iris lowered her head and hurried off.

There were plenty of relatives and neighbors standing in the main room to watch the spectacle. Clara swept her gaze across them and didn’t see the rumored groom, Marcus Whitfield.

The one who came to fetch the bride was the Whitfields’ second son, Derek Whitfield. He looked honest and stiff. After holding it in for a while, he finally said awkwardly, “Sister-in-law, let’s... let’s go.”

Leaning by the doorframe, Vera crossed her arms and said in that sour, needling tone, “Big Sis, you’ve really got good fortune. Once you marry over there, you’ll be a glorious soldier’s wife. Plenty of people would envy that.”

Clara turned back lightly. “You want it that bad? Then you marry him.”

Vera choked at once, her face turning green. With outsiders present, she couldn’t flare up, so she could only swallow it down.

Clara ignored her after that and stepped out into the yard.

The yard itself was cold and empty, but the entrance was crowded with neighbors craning their necks to watch, pointing and whispering.

Two sparrows on the roof chirped nonstop, and their voices came clear as day into Clara’s ears.

“The Thorntons have gone too far. Who marries off a daughter like this? There’s not a lick of celebration!”

“Say it plain—they sold their daughter for money! I heard the family she’s marrying into is so poor they can barely keep the pot going!”

“What a sin. Such a decent girl, ruined just like that.”

Clara’s steps paused. She looked up at the two sparrows.

The next second, the birds panicked. “Ah! She can hear us! Run, run!”

The two sparrows flapped their wings and vanished in a blink.

Clara’s face stayed calm, but inside, waves had already crashed sky-high.

She had transmigrated, and on top of that, she’d gotten a cheat ability that let her understand animals?

Before she could think further, her mother gave her a hard shove between the shoulders. “Move it! Don’t hold up the lucky hour!”

The talk at the gate kept pouring into Clara’s ears.

“They sold off their eldest girl for a hundred and twenty yuan. That’s some ruthless business.”

“Keep your voice down! Their second girl’s marrying the county magistrate’s son. We can’t afford to offend them.”

“I’ve seen that eldest Whitfield boy before. Tall and broad, proper-looking too, just too cold. Not easy to get along with.”

“What’s the use of being handsome? His family’s poor enough to scrape the bottom bare. Marrying over there means suffering for a lifetime.”

“Well, at least they paid money to bring her home. The Whitfields ought to feed her, no?”

“Hard to say! The wives of the second and third Whitfield sons aren’t easy women. Once this new bride steps in, she’s in for a rough time.”

Clara took every word in, face blank, her steps never slowing once.

No bridal sedan. No suona horns. No escorting wedding party. Not even the slightest look of a real wedding.

At the gate stood a battered donkey cart. Some dry straw had been thrown over the planks in a careless layer. The old man driving it wore an old padded jacket with cotton batting poking through. In the cold wind, snot kept running down from his nose.

This was the full extent of her wedding display.

Clara turned back for one last look at the Thornton family yard.

Her father, Brock Thornton, was squatting on the threshold, wetting his fingers with spit as he counted the bride price money from selling his daughter, bill by bill. Her younger brother Felix leaned against the doorframe cracking sunflower seeds, his eyes cold, no different from the strangers watching for fun.

There was not one trace of attachment in her.

Clara drew back her gaze, stepped on the cart wheel, and got onto the donkey cart in one clean motion.

The old driver looked her over. Seeing that she hadn’t cried or made a fuss the whole time, looking nothing like a girl forced into marriage, he couldn’t help asking, “Girl, how come you ain’t crying?”

Beside him, Derek Whitfield turned to look too.

Clara pulled her old cotton coat tighter around herself and said evenly, “What’s there to cry for? Won’t do any good.”

The old man was choked speechless. Embarrassed, he flicked the whip and the donkey cart clattered onto the dirt road.

The bitter wind of the twelfth lunar month cut straight to the bone, slipping through every gap in her padded clothes until even her bones hurt from the cold.

Clara reached into her bundle and pulled out the two eggs Iris had tucked in there. They were still warm.

She peeled them slowly and ate them bite by bite.

No matter how cold the wind was, the eggs in her hands were still warm.

After the donkey cart jolted along for more than half an hour, the old driver opened his mouth again, using the tone of some elder handing down life lessons. “Girl, marriage is just living out your days. No need to be too serious about anything. Endure a bit, and it’ll pass.”

Clara swallowed the last bite of egg, brushed the crumbs from her hands, and spoke calm and certain. “Uncle, I can put up with plenty. But taking a loss? Not even a little.”

The old man froze on the spot. He turned to look at the silent, head-lowered Derek Whitfield and for a moment didn’t know what to say.

The donkey cart rounded a ridge. Once they went downhill, a cluster of gray mud-brick houses came into view. It was Liulin Village.

The road had shaken them the whole way, and they’d traveled over an hour.

The moment the cart entered the village, the villagers at the entrance, chatting and sewing shoe soles, all looked over at once.

“The new bride’s here! The Whitfields’ new bride is here!”

A loud-voiced fat woman bustled up, looking Clara over from top to bottom, then said with a grin, “Well now, so this is the eldest son’s wife? She’s really a pretty one!”

Right behind her came a low mutter at once. “What good is pretty? She looks delicate as a willow branch, won’t be able to handle heavy work. The Whitfields brought home an ancestor to serve. Just wait for the fun.”

Hearing that, Clara didn’t even turn her head. The corner of her mouth lifted in a faint, cold smile.

Wait for the fun?

Fine. Then they could just wait and see.