"Catherine Whitmore, we've got solid proof you colluded with the enemy. Do you admit it?"

"I don’t admit to anything!"

"The order’s already signed. In three days you’ll be executed by firing squad. No appeal."

"..."

"Someone come quick! The prisoner just slammed herself into the wall!"

***

Bang!

Her forehead hit the concrete hard. Warm blood sprayed out.

Catherine snapped her eyes open, still trapped in the image of herself crashing into the wall, feeling the blood drain from her body. Her whole frame shook uncontrollably, cold sweat soaking her back.

At the same time, a flood of completely foreign memories crashed into her mind.

She… crossed into a book?

And landed inside some retro‑era novel as a side character?

The original owner of this body was also named Catherine Whitmore, a concubine-born daughter of the Whitmore family, whose patriarch, Jonathan Whitmore, chaired the Hushi Chamber of Commerce.

Jonathan Whitmore was a big figure in Hushi, and women were practically his hobby. Besides his legal wife, Mrs. Barnett, he kept seven or eight concubines, not to mention all those women outside.

The original girl’s mother was the late Fourth Concubine.

Mrs. Barnett had given Jonathan two sons and one daughter: the second young master Warren Whitmore, the fifth young master Andrew Whitmore, and the sixth young lady Rosalind Whitmore.

The second concubine had bad luck. She pushed herself to deliver the Whitmore family’s eldest son, Matthew Whitmore, only to die in childbirth. Because of that, Matthew was raised personally by Jonathan, kept close at all times.

The third concubine never bore a son. Her daughters, Roxanne Whitmore and Yvonne Whitmore, had both married out already.

The fourth concubine gave birth to Catherine and soon after fell into the water and vanished. The police ruled her dead.

The Fifth Concubine was once favored, but after years without children, her status dropped. She treated the original Catherine like her own, which only caused more fights with Jonathan and eventually left her frozen out.

Sixth Concubine had given birth to Eighth Young Master Charles Whitmore and Ninth Young Miss Winifred Whitmore.

Seventh and Eighth Concubine were the last ones brought into the household, and oddly enough, they were about the same age as Catherine Whitmore.

To Jonathan Whitmore, sons carried on the family line, while daughters were nothing more than bargaining chips for marriage alliances. Catherine, like the original girl she replaced, couldn’t escape that fate.

At first, Jonathan had planned for the Sixth Young Miss, Rosalind Whitmore, to marry into Liao‑sheng and fulfill the childhood betrothal with Harrison Blackwood, grandson of the old General Harold Blackwood.

The original Catherine was supposed to marry the third young master of the Xu family, Chandler Beckley, while Winifred Whitmore was meant to wed the son of Jonathan’s old friend, Christopher Coaker.

But none of these marriages went as planned.

Mrs. Barnett wasn’t willing to let her daughter marry far away, and she looked down on the modest circumstances of Liao‑sheng. So she secretly pulled some strings and sent Rosalind into the Beckley household ahead of time.

With that, the original Catherine had no choice but to take Rosalind’s place and head to Liao‑sheng to marry a man she had never even met—Harrison Blackwood.

Worse still, just as she was about to board the train, the newspapers announced that Harrison had already married someone else.

She panicked and wanted to speak to Jonathan about canceling the engagement, but he forced her to go anyway, telling her that even if she became a concubine, she still had to keep the two families tied together.

She set off unwillingly and was robbed on the way—her dowry gone without a trace.

When she finally arrived at the Blackwood home looking utterly disheveled, Harrison humiliated her in front of everyone.

Homeless and helpless, she stayed simply for the sake of having a roof over her head. But people plotted against her, arranging for her to share a room with the Blackwood family’s groom. In the end, she had to marry that groom, living under constant scorn and mistreatment.

What broke her completely was the false accusation of “colluding with foreign enemies and betraying the nation.”

For someone who loved her country as fiercely as she did, that accusation was a fatal blow, crushing what little strength she had left.

She threw herself against the wall, using her death to prove her innocence.

With her last breath, she saw Mr. Blackwood with reddened eyes, and the paralyzed man who struggled to wheel himself over, closing her eyes for her and pulling a thin blanket over her, giving her the final bit of dignity she had in this world.

Catherine felt a deep ache in her chest. The original girl had been so strong. Even after being treated like a pawn, sneered at, trapped into losing her honor, and forced to marry someone beneath her status, she had clenched her teeth and survived.

What finally destroyed her was that burning loyalty to her country.

“If anyone truly betrayed the nation, I’d rather die to prove my innocence—let the organization dig out the real traitor to the very end!”

The book said the original Catherine Whitmore slammed her head into a wall, and with Mr. Blackwood and that paralyzed man arguing on her behalf, the case finally got reopened. In the end, the truth came out.

She cleared her name, and the mole hiding inside the organization got dragged out too.

You could say that one head‑first crash cut straight through the fog and brought daylight—just a pity she didn’t live to see it.

Catherine took a long breath. Sure, the novel spelled out the ending, but who exactly had worked with foreign forces? That part was treated like some secret extra chapter you had to pay for—completely missing.

"Since I’ve taken over your body and your life, I’ll finish what you couldn’t. Catherine Whitmore, don’t worry. I’ll make every last one of them pay for what they did to you."

She said it silently to herself.

Right then, Autumn Lotus’s anxious voice came rushing in from outside the door.

"Miss Catherine! Something’s wrong—Mrs. Barnett took Fifth Aunt away! You better go quick!"

Fifth Aunt taken by Mrs. Barnett?

Catherine’s eye twitched. She shot a glance at the calendar on the wall, and her heart sank straight to the bottom. She didn’t even bother fixing the mismatched shoes on her feet—she bolted toward Qixiage like her back was on fire.

This timing… it lined up exactly with the swap‑bride episode in the book.

Fifth Aunt had spoken up for her, and Mrs. Barnett ordered thirty heavy strikes as punishment, refused to let anyone treat her injuries, and before the original Catherine left to get married, Fifth Aunt died from infection.

That was one of the regrets the original Catherine carried all the way to her grave.

She couldn’t let it happen again. She wouldn’t.

But no matter how hard she pushed herself, this body just wasn’t as agile as the one she used to have. If it weren’t young, she would’ve collapsed already.

And before she even got through the gates of Qixiage, she was blocked. Mrs. Clarendon, built like she could stand in for two grown men, stood at the entrance and let out a rude snort the second she saw her.

"Miss Catherine, the madam and Fifth Aunt are talking about private matters. Maybe you should wait a bit?"

Wait?

Catherine could already hear Mrs. Barnett shouting from inside—things were about to get ugly any second now. She wasn’t going to stand here twiddling her thumbs.

Her face darkened instantly.

"Get out of my way, all of you!"

Mrs. Clarendon froze for a second under that sudden burst of force from Catherine Whitmore. Her first instinct was to step aside, but Mrs. Cleese gave her a shove, snapping her back to her senses. Once she recovered, irritation flashed across her face.

"Seventh Miss, we’re just servants. Don’t make things hard for us. If you’ve got a temper to throw, go yell at Madam instead."

In the Whitmore household, Catherine had never held much weight. She’d always kept her head down, spoke politely to the staff, never caused trouble. So to Mrs. Clarendon, she was just someone easy to push around.

But Catherine’s mind was spinning now.

This place was full of servants who acted high and mighty just because they could. Being called a “Miss” sounded grand, but when things really happened, that title was worth about as much as dust.

Forcing her way in clearly wasn’t going to work—but Mrs. Clarendon’s own words had sparked something.

"Sure. You said it. You want me to go find Madam and throw a fit, right?"

She hiked up her skirt and dashed straight toward the nearby small kitchen. The cooks were stoking the fire for dinner, flames crackling bright. Without hesitation, Catherine grabbed a few burning logs right off the stove, her pale face stretching into a wicked, almost unhinged grin.

First thing after landing in this story? Light a fire. Burn this damned place down.