Female Stunt Double in the Entertainment Industry [Ancient Transmigration to Modern Times] - Chapter 1

Tuoba Yan knelt before the Buddhist altar, her expression was stern and cold and her back straight. If not for her black-and-gray monk’s robes, no one would have guessed she was a lay practitioner, reciting prayers and blessings for the souls of those she had “caused to perish.”

The small Buddhist hall contained only an altar table, a gilded Buddha statue, and a worn, hard prayer cushion. Tuoba Yan knelt on the cushion, her knees numb from pain. She gazed at the merciful-looking Bodhisattva within the altar, as if the eunuch Dai Jinzhong, standing beside her with the Imperial Edict, didn’t exist.

“Lady Tuoba, receive the Imperial Edict,” Dai Jinzhong said. He knew this woman—the former Great General Who Guards the North, the former Empress—looked down on eunuchs like him. Her eyes held undisguised contempt, unlike the imperial concubines, including Imperial Noble Consort An, who flattered him by calling him “Chief Eunuch Dai.”

Tuoba Yan had never acknowledged his presence. But what did it matter? She was still going to die by his hand.

Dai Jinzhong repeated, “Lady Tuoba, the Imperial Edict has arrived.”

The Deposed Empress lowered her lashes and performed a deep, respectful bow toward Dai Jinzhong. “This guilty woman receives the Imperial Edict.”

Dai Jinzhong gazed at Lady Tuoba’s slender back, wrapped in Buddhist robes. This was his last chance to humiliate her, and he felt a smug sense of superiority. He deliberately ignored the Deposed Empress for a long moment before slowly unfurling the bright yellow Imperial Edict:

“By the grace of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: Lady Tuoba, the Deposed Empress, is cruel, jealous, and superficial. She has harmed imperial concubines and royal heirs, deserving death. However, considering her past merits, we cannot bear to execute her. Instead, we grant her a jar of poison, allowing her to retain her dignity in death. She shall be buried with the honors of a Noble Consort in the Consort Mausoleum. Thus ends the decree.”

He smirked sinisterly. “Lady Tuoba, please receive the Imperial Edict.”

The Deposed Empress received the edict with respectful poise and opened it to read.

Dai Jinzhong, unamused by Tuoba Yan’s lack of expected disgrace, waved a Junior Eunuch waiting outside into the room. “The poison.”

The Junior Eunuch entered, bearing the poison. Dai Jinzhong swept his horsetail whisk. “Please, Your Majesty the Empress, drink this.” He deliberately emphasized the title “Your Majesty the Empress.”

Lady Tuoba’s gaze, sharp as a blade, swept across Dai Jinzhong’s face. The Chief Eunuch recoiled two steps, shrieking, “Guards! Guards!”

The Imperial Bodyguards stationed outside the hall rushed in and surrounded Tuoba Yan. Though she hadn’t led troops into battle for over a decade, having spent most of her life within the palace walls, she was still the Great General Who Guards the North—the very name that had struck fear into the hearts of the Huns and soothed the nightmares of children. The guards dared not underestimate her for a moment.

Tuoba Yan didn’t spare a glance for Dai Jinzhong as he scrambled out of the Buddhist hall. She reread the Imperial Edict once more, then closed her eyes.

Years ago, when she had campaigned across the battlefield, she and her soldiers had feasted on Hun flesh when hungry and quenched their thirst with Hun blood. What a spirited time that had been. The people along the border had erected memorial tablets to her in every household, and when she returned to the capital in triumph, she had nearly been crushed by the fruits thrown by adoring maidens.

The Tyrant, listening to slander and fearing her growing influence, had summoned her back to the capital to marry her as his empress.

In the early days of their marriage, there had been moments of sweetness and tenderness. But at some point, they had grown distant. Tuoba Yan didn’t know how to flatter or please her husband, and could only watch helplessly as he wandered through the harem, showering favor upon other concubines.

Fortunately, she later became pregnant and gave birth to a child. The Tyrant was overjoyed, immediately naming their only legitimate son the Crown Prince. From then on, the Crown Prince became Tuoba Yan’s entire world.

The Crown Prince died before his first birthday, his death shrouded in mystery. That morning, he had been happily nestled in her arms, giggling. By afternoon, he was a tiny, cold corpse.

Tuoba Yan was driven to madness by heartache as she traced the incident back to Imperial Noble Consort An, the former Consort Xian An. Overwhelmed with grief and fury, she confronted the woman. The Fourth Prince, who was officially recorded under Consort Xian An’s name, viciously bit Tuoba Yan’s leg. In pain, she flung him away. But unexpectedly, a sharp stone appeared on the meticulously maintained lawn of the Imperial Garden, and the Fourth Prince’s head struck it, leaving him unconscious and bleeding profusely. When he awoke, he was left mentally impaired.

She tried to explain, to say she hadn’t meant it, but the Emperor wouldn’t listen and slapped her hard across the face. “You venomous serpent! You scorpion! How dare you presume to be Empress!” He deposed Lady Tuoba from her position as Empress and confined her to the Buddhist hall.

As these memories resurfaced, Tuoba Yan opened her eyes, coldly surveying the Imperial Bodyguards surrounding her. With a swift movement, she stepped forward and effortlessly seized a ceremonial sword.

Gripping the blade hilt-down, she tilted her head haughtily and sneered, “There’s no need for poison.”

She raised the sword and slit her throat.

Scarlet blood sprayed across the Buddha statue in the niche.

In a daze, Tuoba Yan found herself in a strange place. Buildings stretched out around her, some squat and only three or four stories high, others soaring into the clouds and making her heart race. She touched her neck—it was unharmed. Her dark blue Buddhist robes had transformed into the old armor she used to wear.

The pedestrians passing by were dressed in an unusually revealing manner. Girls wore skirts so short that their entire thighs were exposed, and some even wore only skimpy tank tops that revealed their blindingly pale chests. Tuoba Yan quickly averted her gaze, wondering how such brazen women could exist. Even the foreign girls at the border posts hadn’t dressed like this.

Yet everywhere she looked, she saw white thighs and chests. She was the one who stood out.

She stood there, bewildered, gradually realizing that the people around her couldn’t see her. She deliberately stood in front of a girl, but the girl walked right through her without a flicker of emotion, continuing on her way.

Tuoba Yan realized she might have become a ghost.

She wandered aimlessly for a whole day. As night fell, she drifted to the side of a large building. A strange, tinny vehicle emblazoned with a red literacy mark screeched to a halt. Men in white coats and masks emerged, carrying a bloodied, unconscious girl.

Tuoba Yan glanced at the girl and froze in shock:

She looked almost exactly like herself!

But this seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl was skin and bones, her cheeks sunken, her skin a waxy yellow—she looked like a famine refugee from days gone by.

Several women in white coats wheeled the gurney carrying the young girl through the corridors at high speed. A disheveled middle-aged woman ran alongside, wailing repeatedly, “Yanyan! Yanyan!” She must be the girl’s mother.

Yanyan? Tuoba Yan’s face flashed with surprise. That was the girl’s nickname.

Tuoba Yan felt an inexplicable force driving her forward, following the gurney deeper into the brightly lit building. The smooth floor was so polished it reflected her figure, nearly dazzling her and causing her to lose sight of the swiftly moving gurney.

A man in a white coat, presumably a doctor, quickly stemmed the girl’s bleeding. He shone a light-emitting metal rod into her eyes and declared, “The situation is critical. Prepare for surgery.”

Outside the operating room, Qiao Chunyi sat alone on an oddly shaped chair, her eyes red and swollen from relentless tears. Between sobs, she muttered to herself, “Mommy’s sorry, Yanyan… Mommy’s so sorry… It’s all my fault for being too focused on work and letting you take your medicine alone… Yanyan… What am I going to do…”

Tuoba Yan had stopped wondering why precious steel was used to make chairs, or why flawless, bubble-free glass was casually embedded in doors. She looked at the weeping woman with sympathy; having been a mother herself, she understood the pain.

Her heart heavy, Tuoba Yan tried to push open the glass door and walked into the innermost room. The little girl lay motionless on the bed, a strange transparent mask covering her mouth. Several green-robed doctors were intently treating her mangled wrist, while a bag of bright red plasma continuously flowed into her body through a thin tube.

Suddenly, the gleaming iron boxes surrounding the room emitted a long alarm. Tuoba Yan heard someone cry out, “The patient’s breathing has stopped!”

Caught off guard, Tuoba Yan felt a sudden, crushing pain, as if her bones were being shattered. She felt herself being stuffed into something narrow, and then lost consciousness.