AUBTN -Chapter 1 Buried Alive from the Start, One Thigh Each

“Cough, cough…”

Yu Qing coughed twice, still dazed.

So choking!

She hadn’t opened her eyes yet and was blindly groping at the ground with her hands.

“Don’t push… Counselor, I’m sorry, I’ll never eat snail noodles in the rehearsal room again…”

She mumbled, thinking it was her counselor scolding her.

But the surface her fingertips touched wasn’t the smooth wooden floor of a rehearsal room—it was cold, rough stone tiles.

Yu Qing’s eyes snapped open.

What met her gaze was a bleak, pale white.

Paper offerings floated everywhere, white silk hung from the beams and pillars, and people were kneeling all around.

Her ears were filled with waves of wailing.

Next to her was another woman dressed in plain white hemp clothing.

“Wow…”

Yu Qing’s first thought was—this production is really rich.

She turned her head and saw a girl kneeling beside her, her face equally pale.

Su Hewan—her best friend and history major.

“Wanwan!” Yu Qing whispered excitedly, nudging her with her elbow.

“What script is this? A live evidence-gathering scene or immersive theater? The background actors’ crying is incredible! Look at the one on the left—her eyelashes are trembling as she cries. So professional! Quick, help me find the DM—I need a clue card!”

Su Hewan didn’t move.

Her gaze was fixed on the large, tightly shut door in front of them, and the pale lantern hanging from the door frame.

“Qingqing,” Su Hewan’s voice was dry.

There was a faint, almost imperceptible tremor beneath her calm.

“Look at your sleeve.”

“My sleeve? The costumes are a little rough, I guess…” Yu Qing muttered while glancing down, then froze.

The coarse hemp mourning robe had no patterns—only a subtle cloud pattern embroidered in fine white thread at the cuffs.

“This is the Cloud Pattern of Broken Souls,” Su Hewan whispered, explaining.

She worked part-time as a museum docent and knew a lot about ancient clothing styles.

“This pattern only appears in Ming-style or Ming-era settings. When an emperor dies, if there are low-ranking palace concubines in the harem with no children or titles, they would be forced to be buried alive as sacrificial attendants. Smell it—you’ll notice the scent. It’s soul-return incense, used to mask…”

She paused, her eyes sweeping over the girls around them, faces ashen.

“…to mask the blood that’s about to spill.”

Yu Qing blinked. Her brain froze for three seconds.

“You mean…”

“No script, no NPCs, no cameras,” Su Hewan said, turning her head so Yu Qing could see her reflection in her eyes.

“The previous emperor has died, and the new emperor is still a child. If I’m correct, we’ve transmigrated—and this is a hellish start. We’re the sacrificial palace maids—they’re going to stuff us into the imperial tomb to accompany the dead old man.”

She had woken earlier than Yu Qing, which was why she could be so calm.

“Wa—!”

Before Yu Qing could even scream at the wailing around them, Su Hewan grabbed her mouth.

“Lower your voice!” She glanced around and hushed her scatterbrained best friend.

But Yu Qing’s composure shattered.

She clutched Su Hewan’s thigh tightly—and this time, it was real crying.

Compared to the local palace maids around her, she felt even more grief-stricken: “I quit! I don’t want to transmigrate! I finally landed the lead female role in a big play after graduation! I haven’t even had my curtain call at the National Theatre! I’ve never even dated, my first kiss hasn’t happened yet! Waaaah, my credits, my scholarship, my grilled cold noodles…”

A few young eunuchs stood in the corners holding dusters, expressionless, staring at them as if they were watching corpses.

Su Hewan grabbed Yu Qing’s mouth with one hand, gripping so hard it almost distorted her face.

“Shut up!” Su Hewan hissed in her ear, her eyes scanning the surroundings swiftly.

“If you want to live, listen to me! According to the rules of transmigration, the worse your start, the bigger your golden finger. As long as you’re not dead yet, there’s still a chance to turn things around.”

Choking back tears, Yu Qing sobbed, “H-how do we… turn it around? The doors are locked…”

“Something as serious as a sacrificial burial won’t have just a few eunuchs present. The new emperor is young and can’t control the situation. To prevent palace unrest or anyone taking advantage, there must be powerful ministers supervising the execution,” Su Hewan analyzed calmly.

“If we can prove that being alive is more valuable than being dead, we can survive!”

“More valuable?” Yu Qing sniffled hopelessly, pointing at herself.

“I can sing, dance, rap, and even improvise a little widow performing a tomb ritual—does that count as value?”

Su Hewan: “……”

“I’ll tell you, I’ve read this historical unofficial record before, vaguely remember the plot. Right now, it’s the power vacuum between the late emperor’s death and the young emperor’s ascension. According to the story, the male lead is Lu Yan—he’s the top commander of the Jinyiwei, the emperor’s close aide, and mortal enemies with the Eastern Depot’s overseer Shen Jue. If I remember correctly, Shen Jue will come soon—he might save us. Actually, he’s…”

Su Hewan’s words were cut off by a faint vibration.

The previously loud crying stopped instantly. The eunuchs in the corners immediately straightened up, their faces showing extreme humility, even fear.

“He’s here.” Su Hewan’s pupils constricted as she grabbed Yu Qing’s wrist.

“Remember what I said. When Shen Jue arrives, you have to give me Oscar-level acting. Life or death depends on whether we can cling to a big thigh!”

Yu Qing wiped her tears fiercely, her expression resolute: “Got it! Debuting as the center C-position! If we’re clinging, we’re clinging to the most imposing, untouchable one!”

“Rumble—”

The heavy vermilion door slowly opened.

The dim sacrificial hall instantly filled with two completely different, equally suffocating auras.

On the left came a delicate, mysterious ringing.

Two rows of attendants in Feiyu uniforms, each with an embroidered spring knife at their waist, walked in silently.

Their faces were pale, their eyes sharp and predatory.

Then, an extremely luxurious dark red sedan chair was carried in.

Black gauze hung around it; when the wind blew, a tall figure sitting inside became faintly visible.

A strong scent of agarwood quickly filled the air.

At the same time, from the right came the solemn aura of clashing armor and weapons.

A squad of heavily armored Jinyiwei entered in single file, led by a tall man with broad shoulders and a narrow waist.

Yu Qing’s eyes widened, her fear instantly replaced by pure fangirl instinct: “Holy crap! Is this the legendary uniform temptation? That waist, those legs, that aura! Even if I die at his hands, it’s better than being buried alive!”

The two teams stopped at the front of the hall, clearly divided like fire and water.

From the sedan chair on the left, a hand as pale as jade reached out, gently lifting the black gauze.

Shen Jue casually brushed off nonexistent dust from his sleeves, his voice lazy and soft, yet chilling: “Lord Lu, you’re really dedicated—personally escorting a few ants on their final journey?”

Lu Yan glanced coldly at the sedan chair, his voice low: “Governor Shen hasn’t been idle either. If I hadn’t come, there might be a few more innocent souls among these sacrificial victims.”

“Heh.” Shen Jue laughed lightly, full of mockery.

“Lord Lu, we are loyal to the emperor. But you, full of killing intent—don’t scare these delicate little girls.”

Su Hewan, lying on the floor, whispered.

“Why are there two people? Which thigh do we cling to? Who’s the other one?” Su Hewan panicked!

Su Hewan didn’t have time to explain, pulling her down: “Doesn’t matter—one each!”