Transmigrated Family C01

Chapter 1: No Money in Hand

“Stop… crying!”

The man lying on the bed rasped out a weak command, his voice hoarse and strained. The effort sent him into a coughing fit, his breaths coming in ragged gasps that wouldn’t stop.

The young girl who had been sobbing nonstop didn’t even have time to wipe her tear-streaked face before she threw herself onto the man, wailing loudly.

“Father! You can’t die! Don’t die, wuuu—”

Hearing the commotion inside, a little girl quickly rushed over. Without hesitation, she kicked the door open. The old, warped wooden door creaked loudly as it swung open just enough for her to squeeze through.

She glanced at her weeping older sister, who was sprawled across their uncle, nearly suffocating him in the process. The little girl let out a deep sigh in her heart, then dashed to the only table in the room, swiftly poured a cup of water, and carefully carried it to the bedside.

“Big Sis, if you don’t get up now, Uncle is going to be crushed to death by you.”

Her childish voice, though soft, carried a maturity far beyond her years—less innocence, more steadiness.

The older girl panicked immediately and scrambled to her feet. “I… I wasn’t… Father…” Tears welled up in her eyes again.

At least she had the sense to take the cup, sobbing as she carefully fed her father some water.

Alright, Sis, just stop making things worse…

The little girl couldn’t help but complain in her heart, but she didn’t say it aloud. Heaven knew her uncle’s daughter had practically been raised in tears—crying day and night. If it weren’t for the fact that her uncle was bedridden from his injuries and needed someone to take care of him, she probably would have already drowned in despair and ended her own life.

Not that the little girl had a wild imagination—just that in this era, where women had little agency, being harassed by a scoundrel and nearly losing her father over it left few options. Other than death to prove her innocence, what else could her cousin do?

“Er Ya! Er Ya! Hurry up and get your father some water—his throat is on fire!”

A gruff, raspy voice rang out from outside—it was her own father, and it was clear he was parched.

The little girl, called Er Ya, resigned herself to the rustic-sounding name.

She efficiently poured a cup of water for her hardworking father and carried it outside. She watched as her dad gulped it down in one go, smacking his lips afterward. He clearly wasn’t satisfied, but he rationally refrained from asking for more.

The heat was unbearable—unnaturally so. The small river outside the village had dried up, and even the wells in town had seen a significant drop in water levels. The elders in the village warned of an impending drought, so every household had been stockpiling water day and night. They were all rationing their own intake, pouring every spare drop into the fields. The wheat they had sown in the spring was nearly ready for harvest—they couldn’t afford to lose it now.

“Where’s Mom?” the little girl asked softly.

“She’s still in the fields,” her father sighed. “Tell me, what kind of luck is this? Our family never wronged anyone, so why are we suffering like this? Your mother was a city girl—she’s never worked the land a day in her life. Now she’s out there, under the scorching sun, harvesting wheat with a dull sickle that took her half the morning just to sharpen. We set out at dawn, and we haven’t even finished a single acre…”

Their little family had been living an honest life, but then one morning, they woke up in a completely different place.

Their daughter said they had transmigrated.

Well, if they had, then they had. At least they were together. Complaining wouldn’t change anything. It wasn’t like they could protest their situation to anyone.

After being educated by their daughter—an avid web novel reader—the three of them racked their brains, trying to recall any memories of their new bodies. They thought so hard they practically went bald, but they still couldn’t remember anything.

Then came the experiments. They sliced their fingers open multiple times, dripping blood on all sorts of objects, hoping for some legendary artifact to recognize them as its master.

Nothing.

After that, their daughter suggested they try summoning something.

“System! System-sama! System, my little treasure—”

It was… deeply embarrassing.

And still, nothing.

Eventually, they gave up. It was what it was.

They just had to survive in this unfamiliar ancient world.

The only silver lining?

Their age.

They were suddenly twenty years younger.

Aside from Er Ya struggling to adapt, both parents were actually… fine with it.

Ah, the long-lost days of youth!

They had returned!

…Though their new life was miserably poor.

The family they had transmigrated into had nothing—no money, no valuables, no assets. Worse, they had a severely injured older brother to take care of. The past few days had been spent running around, trying to get him medicine.

From their eternally weeping niece, they had gathered quite a bit of information.

Their older brother was a scholar. In these times, having a single scholar emerge from a farming family was rare—having one with an actual title was a miracle.

His wife had died in childbirth years ago, leaving behind a son and a daughter. The son was away studying in town, while the fourteen-year-old daughter was still at home.

Unfortunately, this poor girl had caught the eye of a local scoundrel. He had been chasing her relentlessly, spreading rumors that they were already involved, completely ruining her reputation.

Their scholar brother had been so furious that he confronted the man—but who knew what exactly was said?

All they knew was that he was carried back home in critical condition.

Anger, injuries, and stress had only worsened his fragile health. He had been burning with fever for days, and though the fever had finally broken, his cough lingered.

The doctor said it was a miracle he survived at all. He needed long-term rest and a nourishing diet.

And what about the body’s original owner—the so-called younger brother?

He was apparently a total waste of space.

Didn’t want to farm.
Didn’t want to work.
Spent all his time idling about.

He pretended to study, but even his nephew was more knowledgeable than him. Instead, he spent his days running off to so-called literary gatherings, which were really just excuses to freeload off others.

And he had the gall to rely entirely on his older brother.

His brother had built him a house.
Arranged his marriage.
Provided for his children.

The family had never been split, so they all ate from the same pot. With their sister-in-law gone, his wife had taken over managing the household. Their brother had even given them an allowance every month.

But now?

They had no memories of this life—no idea where the money was kept. The doctor’s fees had all been put on credit.

They could only pray that their scholar brother had savings somewhere to cover the costs.

And today, he had discovered an even more tragic piece of news.

He didn’t dare tell his wife yet.

He had run home first to consult with his daughter.

“Sweetie, uh… So, I just found out… we have another debt to pay.”

Er Ya—who still didn’t know her full name—went silent.

“What kind of debt? Who do we owe? How much?”

“…Gambling debt. We owe the gambling house twenty taels of silver. I even saw the IOU—his fingerprint’s right there, plain as day. What do we do? Thankfully, the debt collectors only spotted me when I entered the village. If they had come straight to our house, your uncle might have been so enraged he’d cough up blood and die! That’d be a real sin on our hands!”

“Twenty taels?!” Er Ya gritted her teeth. “Dad, do you even know how much twenty taels is worth in ancient times? One egg costs a single coin. A steamed bun costs two. It takes a thousand coins to make one tael of silver. That means twenty taels could buy twenty thousand eggs—or ten thousand steamed buns!”

As his daughter rattled off the calculations, her father could only sigh in exasperation.

He didn’t want this either!

He was just as much a victim here!

Who would have thought the body’s original owner wasn’t just a freeloader—he was also a gambler?