"Zhicheng, are you really going to marry that woman?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

In the dead of night, a woman’s voice drifted through the dark, soft and coy, with a teasing sweetness in it, mixed with unsteady breaths.

"Don’t worry. If I marry anyone, it’ll be you. If I touch anyone, it’ll be you too. Be good, stop moving around. You’re making it hard for me..."

A man answered in a hushed voice.

As if afraid she would not believe him, he hurried to add another line.

"If it weren’t for getting my hands on those things, I wouldn’t even bother with her. The minute I get them, I’ll dump her and marry you."

"Really?"

The woman let out a cry of delight.

"Zhicheng, that jade pendant hanging around her neck looks real nice. I want it. Can you get it for me?"

"Sure. It’s only a jade pendant. There’ll be better things later. Be good..."

"Oh—Zhicheng, easy... that hurts..."

Very soon, the room filled with rustling sounds, along with the kind of noises that made people’s ears burn.

Clara Whitfield woke up to exactly those shameless sounds.

When she opened her eyes, she used the pale moonlight to look around and finally made out where she was.

It was a courtyard, almost the same as the one at her grandmother’s country home.

Right in the middle stood three brick-and-tile rooms, with two smaller side rooms on each side.

She was lying now in a corner outside the small room on the west side, and those filthy sounds were coming from the room just behind her.

Then the flood of unfamiliar memories in her head made one thing clear at once—

She had transmigrated.

The girl who’d had this body before her was also named Clara Whitfield.

She was eighteen this year. Her family had lived well enough, and because of that, she’d been spoiled into a stubborn sort of temper.

Her father worked in the government offices and was the deputy mayor of Tongcheng. Her mother held a post at the health bureau.

Clara had been the only girl of her generation in the Whitfield family, so ever since she was little, all the elders had coddled her like a treasure in their palms.

But not long ago, disaster hit the Whitfields. Someone set the family up, and both her parents were sent down to the countryside for labor reform.

The original Clara got dragged down with them.

Her family had actually arranged a way out for her long before that. They wanted her to hurry back to the capital and marry the fiancé she’d been promised to since childhood.

Who would’ve thought she flat-out refused? She was dead set on marrying the man she’d chosen for herself—

Rupert Blackwood.

Because of that, she fought with her family until the house was in an uproar.

She argued as if she had all the reason in the world, saying this was a new age now, that people believed in free love and choosing their own marriage, and nobody had the right to interfere with her.

She even said arranged marriage was old thinking, something that should’ve been thrown out long ago, and if word got around, people would criticize it to no end.

No matter how the family tried to persuade her, it was useless. With the house search about to happen and no time left, they had no choice but to publish a notice in the newspaper cutting ties with her, all to save her life.

Afraid of being dragged down by her own family, the original Clara hurriedly packed up a huge pile of belongings before the confiscation began and moved straight into the Blackwood house.

She really thought that if she married the man she loved, she could dodge the whole disaster and live a steady, peaceful life from then on.

But who could’ve guessed that just when the wedding was about to be arranged, her so-called good sister, Arabella Sinclair, came over claiming she was there to keep her company, then moved into the Blackwood home as well, only to hook up with Rupert Blackwood behind her back.

When the original Clara found out, she was so furious she nearly exploded. Of course she wasn’t going to let Arabella Sinclair off. She was just about to rush over and catch them red-handed when someone smashed the back of her head with a hard blow, and that was the end of her.

After sorting through all the memories in her mind, Clara quickly pushed herself up from the ground. She ignored the pounding pain in her head and first started weighing the situation she was in, trying to figure out what to do next.

The original Clara really had been foolish. Rupert Blackwood was no prize at all—bad-looking, broke, powerless, the whole package of rotten goods.

A man like that wasn’t worth touching with a finger.

Just look at what this man had done before—sweet-talked the original Clara Whitfield until she was dizzy with it, had her convinced she’d marry nobody but him.

And now? Fine. He’d already gotten mixed up with her so-called best friend.

And the things he said just now—those words had a purpose written all over them.

Most likely, he had his eye on the valuables the Whitfield family had hidden away.

For all she knew, the ruin that had fallen on the original Clara Whitfield’s family might’ve had something to do with him too.

Only the original Clara Whitfield was too single-minded to see through it. A few soft words from him, and she was spun around so badly she’d rather marry beneath herself and follow Rupert Blackwood than go back to the capital and take the road her family had already prepared for her.

And that Arabella Sinclair too. On the surface, she acted like the original Clara Whitfield’s dear friend, but inside? Scheming from top to bottom. Rotten clear through.

Right—when she’d been half-conscious just now, she seemed to hear those two mention something... jade... pendant?

Could that pendant be hiding some secret?

Could it be one of those treasures people always wrote about in novels?

If that was really the case, then she absolutely could not let that shameless pair get their hands on it.

The moment the thought hit her, Clara Whitfield quickly shoved a hand inside her collar and felt around. Before long, she yanked out a cord, and hanging from it was a jade pendant that looked old, like it had been passed down for years.

She had just lifted it, meaning to bring it closer and get a proper look, when she suddenly noticed the pendant was drawing in the blood on her hand that still hadn’t dried.

That was right—the original Clara Whitfield had died after someone smashed her on the head. When Clara Whitfield first woke, her skull had been pounding so badly that when she reached up to touch it, her hand came away slick with blood.

Before Clara Whitfield could get a better look, a violent wave of dizziness crashed over her, the whole world spinning.

When she opened her eyes again, she was already somewhere completely unfamiliar.

In front of her was a small courtyard. Beside it bubbled a spring, water constantly welling up and spilling out, then running off into the distance and gathering into a narrow little stream.

Beyond the stream stretched a huge expanse of black soil with no end in sight, and all kinds of plants were growing out of it.

Clara Whitfield’s heart gave a jump.

Was this a pocket space?

Did she really have a treasure now?

She shut her eyes, then opened them again. The yard was still there. The spring was still there. The patch of black soil, the little stream—none of it had disappeared.

She pinched her thigh hard enough to make herself bare her teeth in pain. It hurt like hell. So this wasn’t a dream.

Then she stamped her foot twice. The ground under her felt solid and real, not sinking, not floating. So this probably wasn’t some hallucination either.

Clara Whitfield had read plenty of web novels before. At this point, how could she not get it?

This had to be the standard cheat every transmigration story came with—a space.

Ha. Ha ha...

Joy burst inside her chest.

It really was a space. You could even plant things in it. And that pool of water over there—who knew, maybe it was the spirit spring those novels always talked about.

The thought had barely crossed her mind before she hurried over, scooped up some water with her clean hand, and drank it down.

The pounding ache in her head, the one that had been driving her crazy just moments ago, faded not long after. She reached up and touched it. Even the bleeding had stopped.

Too unbelievable.

So it really was spirit spring water.

Good heavens.

At that moment, Clara almost wanted to drop to her knees and kowtow a few times to properly thank the heavens above.

Thank you, truly, for this grand gift.

She had worked herself to the bone in her old life, slogging like an ox and a horse, and after dying she still managed to stumble into a bargain this huge. Her ancestors must have done something right.

After forcing herself to calm down a little, Clara decided she couldn’t stay in here any longer. She had to get out and deal with the mess right in front of her.

Anyway, the space was hers now. There’d be plenty of time later to poke around and figure it out bit by bit.

She thought, "Go out," and in the next moment she left the space and returned to the yard.

Inside the house, those two were still going at it, making such a racket it was impossible not to hear.

Clara Whitfield couldn’t be bothered with them. She found a thin stick in the yard and jammed it through the latch outside that room so they wouldn’t come running out.

Once that was done, she followed the memories in her head and hurried back to the room the original Clara had lived in. She grabbed one of the leather suitcases, thought, “Take,” and in the next second, it vanished.

Then she tried bringing it back out. Sure enough, the suitcase reappeared in her hands just as fast.

After testing it, Clara got to work packing up everything the original owner had left behind.

The girl had come from a well-off family and had been spoiled with good food and fine things since childhood. To make sure she’d live comfortably after marriage, she had brought out plenty of nice belongings from home. There were several suitcases stuffed full of them.

And with the wedding getting closer day by day, the original Clara had seemed almost possessed, buying this and buying that, wanting everything in sight until the room was nearly piled to the ceiling.

Clara looked over the mountain of stuff filling the room and didn’t hold back for a second. She swept every last bit of it into the space.

After dealing with that, she decided to go check the main house.

According to the original owner’s memory, the main house had three rooms. The middle one was the main hall. The east room belonged to Rupert Blackwood’s parents. The west room was Rupert Blackwood’s, the bridal room they were supposed to move into after the wedding.

Maybe because they meant to leave the door open for Rupert Blackwood, the front door of the main house hadn’t even been bolted. Clara gave it a light push, and it opened right away.

She stopped and listened for a moment. Hearing nothing unusual, she bent low and slipped inside.

Once in, she saw Rupert Blackwood’s parents’ door shut tight, with loud snoring coming from inside. Rupert Blackwood’s door was half open, so she seized the chance and slid in at once.

The original Clara had known the layout of the room well. After all, it was meant to be the newlywed room. So with those memories to guide her, Clara quickly started rummaging through it.

Before long, she felt around under the wardrobe and found the box where Rupert Blackwood had hidden his cash and coupons. She didn’t even stop to check what was inside, just tossed the whole thing straight into the space.

Then she began gathering up the wedding things the original owner had prepared: the radio, the thermos, the enamel mugs, the washbasin, the basin stand, the quilts, the trunks, all those odds and ends. She stuffed everything into the space in one go.

As for the bigger pieces like the bed, the wardrobe, and the table and chairs, Clara left them alone. If those disappeared too, someone would notice right away.

When she was done, she left the main house and headed for the kitchen.

Everything in the kitchen—rice, flour, grain, oil, vegetables, anything edible at all—she swept into the space without leaving a thing behind.

In times like these, supplies were worth their weight in gold. Food was precious. There was no way she was going to leave it for that scumbag.

By the time she came back out of the kitchen, she had two more things in her hands: a box of matches and a bundle of dry firewood.

Hearing the racket inside getting hotter and hotter, Clara Whitfield thought to herself, Keep going. Don’t you dare stop now. The real show’s about to start.

She carried the matchbox over to the woodshed, struck one, and with a sharp hiss, a little flame leapt up.

Once she saw the fire catch, Clara Whitfield shoved open the courtyard gate and, on the way out, grabbed the enamel basin she had snatched from the kitchen.

She swung a wooden stick and banged on it loud and hard, clanging all the way as she ran outside, yelling at the top of her lungs,

"Help! Fire! It’s on fire! Somebody come put it out..."