"Waaah... Mother, wake up! Don't leave me all alone, I'm so scared!" The intermittent sobs of a child reached her ears.

Liu Xinmei struggled to open her eyes, her head throbbing painfully. What the hell? Since when was there a child in her room?

A round little face came into view—rosy cheeks, big sparkling eyes, a cute button nose, and most devastatingly, a tiny dimple on the right cheek.

Wow! What kind of irresponsible parent would lose such an adorable child?

"Hey there, little one, what's your name? Where do you live? Let me take you home, okay?" Liu Xinmei asked with a gentle smile.

"Mother, don’t you recognize me? I’m your son!" The little boy’s lips trembled before he burst into another ear-splitting wail.

Son? Mine? Liu Xinmei nearly choked on her own spit! She didn’t even have a boyfriend—how could she possibly have a son this big? Greenhouses could speed up vegetable growth, but since when did they start growing human babies?

Slowly sitting up, she was genuinely startled. The room was cramped and dim, with her lying on a worn-out bed against the wall. A dressing table stood nearby, and the wooden window frames held grimy curtains that had long lost their original color.

The child in front of her wore a blue robe, his hair tied into two little buns—just like the cartoon version of Nezha, the Third Lotus Prince.

"Are there... other people here?" Liu Xinmei grabbed the child’s hand, desperate to understand what was happening.

"Liu Ye'er is here too. She went to brew medicine for you. Mother, are you feeling better?" The boy’s eyes lit up with hope.

Just then, the door creaked open, and a young woman walked in carrying a steaming bowl of medicine.

"Liu Ye'er, hurry! Mother’s awake!" the child cheered.

"The princess consort is awake? Thank heavens!" The girl’s voice was sweet and melodious.

She looked no older than eighteen or nineteen, with delicate willow-leaf eyebrows and almond-shaped eyes—quite the pretty sight.

"Who are you? And where is this place?" Liu Xinmei asked with furrowed brows, her unease rippling through her like waves in the center of a lake.

"Your Highness, this is the Anwang Manor of Western Chu. You are the princess consort! This is the young prince—your son. And I'm Liuye, your maidservant!" The woman hastily set down the medicine bowl and pressed a hand to Liu Xinmei's forehead, checking for fever. Had the princess lost her senses from the illness?

Oh no. This was unmistakably a time-travel scenario.

But shouldn't a princess consort be draped in silks and jewels, surrounded by servants, living in a lavish palace, enjoying a life of luxury? Unless Western Chu was a destitute kingdom, or this prince was utterly incompetent, dragging his wife and child into such wretched poverty?

Searching her memory, she vaguely recalled a historical kingdom called "Western Chu"—but wasn’t that Xiang Yu’s domain? Hesitantly, she asked, "Liuye, is Western Chu very poor? Has it been ravaged by years of war?"

"Your Highness, Western Chu is quite prosperous, and the realm has been peaceful lately." Liuye was baffled by her mistress’s strange questions. Everything the princess asked today was utterly perplexing.

"Liuye, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember anything?" Liu Xinmei frowned. She had been investigating a case when she was struck by a car. The moment she was sent flying, she had thought death was certain.

"Your Highness, are you feeling unwell somewhere?" Liuye panicked. Their circumstances were already miserable enough—if something else went wrong, it would be adding insult to injury.

"I just can’t recall anything. Liuye, tell me everything you know about me." She needed to understand what kind of world she had landed in.

From the maidservant’s account, Liu Xinmei pieced together the story of her identity.

This vast land was divided among three kingdoms—Western Chu, Eastern Wen, and Southern Yue—locked in a delicate balance of power, reminiscent of the Three Kingdoms era. The Western Chu she now inhabited was not Xiang Yu’s domain but ruled by Emperor Murong Zhi.

She was the principal wife of the second prince, Murong Yifei.

Liuye was her dowry maid, and that beautiful child was her own son—Murong Chaofan.

Principal wife? Liu Xinmei glanced around at the shabby quarters and her threadbare robes, a giant question mark forming in her mind. Even some high-ranking servants probably lived more comfortably than this.

"Liuye, it seems we’re living in rather... humble conditions?" Liu Xinmei frowned.

Liu Yee lowered her head. They had been living like this for years, yet the princess consort had never once complained.

For her, it didn’t matter much—she was just a maid, after all, destined to serve others no matter where she went. If her food and clothes were lacking, she could only blame her own ill fate. But the princess consort was the marquis’s own daughter! She had never suffered such hardships in her own family. It truly pained Liu Yee to see her lady endure this.

And the prince was simply too cruel. Even if he no longer cared for his wife, what about their little heir? Had he forgotten all their past affection?

Liu Xinmei had the maid bring over a bronze mirror and studied her reflection carefully. The woman staring back had delicate features—

Eyebrows like distant emerald hills, eyes like peach blossoms in spring, a small, pert nose, and lips as red and plump as cherries.

How could such a beauty—one who looked like a weeping pear blossom in sorrow and a blooming flower in joy—end up in such wretched circumstances?

"Mother..." The child nestled closer again.

"Young master, the princess consort has only just recovered. Don’t disturb her," Liu Yee quickly scooped the child into her arms.

"Little tomato?" Liu Xinmei chuckled under her breath. The boy was quite handsome, with delicate features, but his timid expression made him seem like a sheltered little thing.

"Liu Yee, I suppose I’m an unloved princess consort, but must this little sprout suffer alongside me?" What kind of father could be so heartless? In her past life, she had been an orphan. She knew how vital a parent’s love was to a child.

"Princess, the prince doesn’t favor the young master either," Liu Yee pouted resentfully.

"Why?" Even a vicious tiger wouldn’t harm its own cub. Was Murong Yifei made of stone? How could he cast aside such an adorable child, ignoring him completely? Did he have so many sons to spare?

"It’s strange, really. The young master only speaks properly in your presence," Liu Yee sighed inwardly. The child was as exquisite as a porcelain doll, yet whenever he faced the prince, he trembled like a leaf. His speech, too, was halting and unclear. Over time, he had become as neglected as his mother.

How bizarre. The child must have some psychological issue.