—Story Synopsis—

The Great Liang Dynasty had well and truly fallen.

As the rebel army approached the city gates and the capital was on the verge of collapse, the idle Prince Shen Shaoyuan and his daughter crouched inside the royal treasury, trembling, fully prepared to die for their country.

However, the rebels never stormed the vault. Even the faint sounds of battle gradually faded into silence.

Eventually, the father and daughter mustered their courage and pushed open the door to the treasury.

A neighbor passing by with a hoe slung over his shoulder called out, “Old Shen the Seventh, the sun’s out! Time to get to work!”

Good news: They had transmigrated. Their lives were intact. The treasury was still with them.

But—

Bad news: Everything here was vastly different from Great Liang. Flaunting wealth? That was basically asking for death.

Shen Shaoyuan declared firmly, “We’re poor. Dirt poor!”

—

As a commandery princess of Great Liang, Shen Mo’er had received multiple marriage proposals before her transmigration. Her suitors included, but were not limited to: the son of the Grand Councilor, the youngest son of a general, the newly appointed top-ranking scholar, and even the second prince of a neighboring kingdom.

Shen Mo’er had only one requirement for her husband: he had to be good-looking.

Unfortunately, just as stacks of portraits were delivered to the prince’s manor, the rebels launched their attack.

After transmigrating, Shen Mo’er glanced at the treasure vault behind her, then at the neighbors grunting as they carried buckets of manure, and let out a deep sigh.

Fine. She’d change her standards: first, good-looking. Second, poor.

Before long, Shen Mo’er had found her target—the educated youth Fu from the village work brigade. Fair-skinned and handsome, always dressed in tattered clothes. His family must be dirt poor.

He was the one!

Fu Mingze had been sent to the countryside by his family during a time of political tension. Before his departure, his elders had solemnly instructed him: “Just pretend to be poor. That’s your only task. If you find someone suitable, you can marry and settle down in the countryside. Don’t be too picky—just make sure she’s poor.”

Fu Mingze looked at the girl in front of him: messy hair, ragged clothes, but her brightness couldn’t be hidden. And her family was known throughout the village as the most impoverished.

She was the one!

Later—

Shen Mo’er took a fancy to a courtyard house in the capital. “I want to buy this house. Money doesn’t matter.”

The door opened, and standing beneath the osmanthus tree was her husband—supposedly back to visit his impoverished, sickly father—dressed in a tailored suit, his handsome face showing a hint of impatience. “What do we look like? Desperate for money? Not for sale.”

Their eyes met.

Shen Mo’er: Poor? Impoverished, sickly father? Ha! I believed your nonsense!

Well, at least now they didn’t have to pretend anymore.

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