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Shi Yue opened his eyes to the scent of dried hay, cold air brushing his cheek like silk, and an unfamiliar heaviness in his limbs. His head throbbed, and his throat felt dry, as if he hadn’t drunk water for days.

Wait… where is this?

The ceiling above him was made of rough, dark wood. The walls were thin and cracked. There were no wires, no paint, no fan — only an oil lamp flickering in the corner of the room.

A sense of dread prickled his spine.

The last thing he remembered was crossing the street — a blaring horn, a screeching brake, then everything went black.

But now…

He slowly sat up, and something shifted on his head — a red cloth, heavy and embroidered. It slipped from his hair to his lap. The bedding he was wrapped in was red too. His clothes were unfamiliar, old-fashioned — wide sleeves, stiff collar, and silk that smelled faintly of incense.

Then the door creaked.

A man walked in, carrying a wooden bowl.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with skin tanned from years of labor. His hair was pulled back, face clean but plain, clothes patched and dull. Yet his eyes — dark, quiet, and steady — locked onto Shi Yue with a startled expression.

“You're awake...” he said. His voice was low, slightly hoarse.

Shi Yue stared.

The man placed the bowl down. “You fainted during the wedding ceremony. You’ve been asleep for three days. The physician said you were weak and malnourished.”

Wedding...?

Shi Yue’s gaze dropped to his hands. They were smaller than his original ones — the nails a little cracked, skin dry. Not his hands.

Not his body.

His pulse quickened.

“Who am I?” he asked, cautious.

The man blinked. “Shi Yue… my husband.”

Shi Yue froze.

Husband?

The man hesitated, then looked away. “I’m Han Liang. We… were matched through the town registry. You agreed to the marriage.”

I agreed?

Shi Yue felt like laughing. What kind of cosmic joke was this? He died, and now he had transmigrated… into a world where he was married to a man, living in a barely-standing house?

A wave of dizziness returned. He leaned back against the wall.

“I don’t remember anything,” he muttered.

Han Liang turned toward him, confused. “You don’t remember… me?”

Shi Yue shook his head. “Nothing. Not even who I was.”

There was a long pause.

Han Liang didn’t move closer. He simply nodded once. “Alright. You should eat. Then… rest more.”

He turned and walked out, his footsteps soft despite his heavy build.

Shi Yue stared at the steaming porridge beside him — too watery, barely seasoned.

His stomach growled.

Well, modern or ancient… hunger was still hunger.

He picked up the wooden spoon and took a slow sip.

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.

That night, Shi Yue didn’t sleep.

He lay awake, staring at the wooden beams above him, thinking.

So he had transmigrated — that much was clear.

Into a world where "gers" existed — third-gender people who could bear children. And from the looks of things… he was one.

And he was married. To a quiet man. In a poor house. With no memory, no money, and no plan.

A long sigh escaped his lips.

“Fine,” he whispered to himself, “If this is fate, then I’ll live it my way.”

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Shi Yue awoke to the sound of coughing and the chill of morning wind slipping through the cracks in the wooden walls.

He wrapped the thin blanket tighter around himself, glaring at the patchy window.

No glass. Just a sheet of oiled paper fluttering.

He sighed. “Right. Ancient world problems.”

The cold bit into his bones. He shuffled out of bed, bare feet touching the cracked floor. There were no slippers.

The room was nearly empty — a wooden table with one chipped bowl, a stool missing a leg, and a bucket of stale water in the corner.

He opened the door.

Outside, Han Liang was splitting firewood with calm precision. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing lean arms lined with old scars.

Shi Yue cleared his throat.

Han Liang turned toward him, nodding once.

“You should stay in bed. It’s cold.”

“I noticed,” Shi Yue said dryly. “Do we have anything other than rice water to eat?”

Han Liang hesitated. “We have some old radish and millet. I was going to make porridge.”

“Just porridge?” Shi Yue frowned. “Anything else? Eggs? Flour?”

A pause.

“…We don’t raise chickens. And we can’t afford flour.”

Shi Yue raised an eyebrow. “Can’t afford flour? It’s the cheapest grain.”

“Not when you don’t have copper.”

Shi Yue stood there for a moment, the wind tugging at his sleeves.

Alright, so they were seriously poor.

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.

Back inside, Shi Yue looked around the kitchen — if you could call it that.

The stove was made of stone, soot-covered and full of ash. A single pot sat there, dented and cracked. No proper storage, no tools, no spices except coarse salt in a paper pouch.

Even the oil lamp was low on oil.

Shi Yue pinched the bridge of his nose. “God... You really dropped me into a life of hardship.”

But he didn’t cry. He’d lived worse before — foster homes, part-time jobs, ramen for weeks. At least here, he had a roof and a husband who wasn’t violent.

He turned to Han Liang, who stood awkwardly by the doorway.

“Let me cook today.”

“You’re still weak.”

“I’m not made of glass. Just get me the radish and millet.”

Han Liang nodded and disappeared. A few minutes later, he returned with a withered radish, a handful of dusty millet, and… one onion. Shi Yue nearly kissed it.

.

Using what little he had, Shi Yue chopped the radish finely, soaked the millet in water, fried a portion of the onion in salt over the weak fire, and made something halfway flavorful — a hot porridge with a golden oil drizzle and soft-crunchy radish topping.

He served it in two bowls and pushed one toward Han Liang.

The man stared at it, visibly surprised.

Shi Yue smirked. “Eat. I promise it won’t kill you.”

Han Liang took a bite — and blinked.

Shi Yue noticed. “Good?”

“…Better than usual.”

Shi Yue chuckled. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my cooking.”

For a moment, the air between them warmed.

After breakfast, Shi Yue began cleaning. The house was coated in dust. Rat droppings in corners. Cobwebs under the bed. The smell of mildew clung to everything.

Han Liang offered to help, but Shi Yue shook his head.

“You go chop more wood. I’ll handle this.”

He rolled up his sleeves and got to work — sweeping, scrubbing with boiled water and salt, fixing the bed mat with twine. From the backroom, he found an old shirt and tore it to make rags. He set up a system to store tools, dried herbs, and cooking ingredients.

By evening, the house still looked poor… but cleaner. Lighter. More alive.

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That night, as they sat by the stove with their feet soaking in warm water, Han Liang glanced at him.

“You’re… different now.”

Shi Yue looked at him. “Do you mind?”

Han Liang shook his head. “No. You… seem happier. More alive.”

Shi Yue gave a small, tired smile.

“Maybe I am.”

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The house next door was barely six steps away. In fact, Shi Yue could hear every shout, every gossip, every banging pot from that direction.

Han Liang’s family lived there — and from the noise, they were as quiet as a market square during festival week.

Shi Yue stood by the window, drying his hands on his sleeves. “Is it always this loud?” he asked flatly.

Han Liang stirred the pot slowly. “…Yes.”

Just then, the door banged open.

A shrill voice rang out, “Ah Liang! Come carry the firewood! Your second brother’s leg is sore again!”

Shi Yue blinked.

Han Liang set down the spoon, wiped his hands, and moved to go.

Shi Yue grabbed his arm gently. “You’re cooking. Let them carry their own firewood.”

Han Liang hesitated.

Shi Yue narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me this is every day.”

“…Every day,” Han Liang admitted, embarrassed. “They say I’m the youngest, and unmarried… or was.”

“Hmm. And now that you're married, I suppose they think I’ll carry firewood too?”

Han Liang didn’t answer.

Shi Yue smiled coldly. “Let’s go see.”

---

Next door, chaos reigned.

Han Liang’s mother, Madam Li, was sharp-tongued and sharp-eyed. His father, Old Han, died amost a year .

He had four brothers:

Eldest Brother: A butcher. Blunt and sweaty.

Second Brother: Always “injured.” Lazy.

Third Brother: Smiles too much. Sells rumors more than rice.

Fourth Brother (a Ger): Named Han Qing, delicate and kind-hearted, but soft-spoken. Married and often ignored, live with Liang's.

Their wives were busily sorting beans, shelling peas, and gossiping in the courtyard — but none lifted a finger for housework.

When Han Liang entered, his eldest sister-in-law called, “Ah Liang, wash the laundry too, hmm?”

Shi Yue followed in quietly, arms crossed.

They noticed him.

“So this is the little wife?” one wife smirked.

“Looks like a sick chicken,” another whispered not-so-quietly.

Madam Li looked him over. “You fainted the first day? Hmph. Hope you’re not as useless as you look.”

Shi Yue smiled politely. “Hope your eyesight’s sharper than your tongue, Aunty.”

A silence fell.

Han Liang looked horrified.

But Shi Yue continued calmly, “I’m his husband. Not a free servant. And Ah Liang is not your mule.”

Madam Li gasped. “He dares speak back?!”

Shi Yue turned to Han Liang. “Let’s go. You’re not cooking today.”

He turned and walked out without waiting. Han Liang paused, then followed.

Behind them, the courtyard exploded in indignant whispers.

.

------------

Back home, Shi Yue stirred the stew slowly, fingers tapping the spoon like a drumstick.

“You let them treat you like that every day?” he asked without looking up.

Han Liang lowered his head. “They’re family.”

“No,” Shi Yue said sharply, “they’re leeches. There’s a difference.”

He tasted the soup and added a pinch of salt.

“Starting tomorrow,” he said, “we work for ourselves. If we give, it will be because we choose to — not because they demand it.”

Han Liang stared at him.

Shi Yue gave a small smile. “You married me, remember? I’m yours now. And I take care of what’s mine.”

-------------

That night, Shi Yue sat alone, combing his hair with an old wooden comb.

He looked into the copper mirror.

This face wasn’t his. It belonged to a Ger named Shi Yue, who had no parents, no siblings. He was raised by an old widow in the corner of the east district.

She had passed away quietly one winter night — her only family.

And shortly after… the town registry married him off to Han Liang.

Why? He still didn’t know. Maybe someone paid for it. Maybe it was fate.

But now this body was his.

And this life… he was going to live it differently.

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