“You can’t keep being this lazy!”
“Get up, do something, go find clues!”
“Did I bring you here just to sleep? Don’t you want to earn money anymore?”
Jiang Miao was jolted awake by a series of annoying prompts. She cracked open her eyes to check the time and saw it was only ten o’clock. Frowning, she rolled over and buried her head under the covers.
“Hey, this is passive resistance! Don’t think I won’t dock your pay!”
“If you keep sleeping and miss the main storyline, you’ll never get back, you know that?”
“I’m seriously going to lose it. Why did I end up with a host like you? Other hosts are diligent and go above and beyond, but you—what, you’re here on vacation?”
The voice grew increasingly frantic. Jiang Miao abruptly threw off the covers and snapped, “Can you just shut up?”
The voice shrank back timidly. “I’ll shut up if you get up and get to work.”
Jiang Miao lunged to hit it, but it was just a phantom—her fist passed right through. After wasting her energy, she stopped, panting, and glared at it for a long moment before finally deflating in defeat.
There was no other choice. She had to get dressed and out of bed.
This annoying thing was her system. Ever since she transmigrated into this book, this kind of exchange happened between them every day, always ending with Jiang Miao giving in. After all, she was essentially a conscripted laborer—bullied by her boss in the real world, and now nagged by a system in this one. Such was the fate of an exploited corporate drone.
Only this time, her job was a little different.
She had been summoned because the original host had awakened, refusing to accept her predetermined fate. So, Jiang Miao, a substitute impostor, had to step in and continue the plot. Speaking of the original host’s life—it was truly tragic. Unloved by her parents since childhood, she finally found love, only to discover her partner was the protagonist of this book, destined to rise from the ashes and ascend to immortality. Once he overcame his low point, his path would be smooth sailing.
But she? She could only drift aimlessly, sinking into the mire.
And that wasn’t all. When they reunited later, their statuses were worlds apart. As a righteous protagonist, he naturally held the power to judge her. A swift death sentence would have been kinder, but he was a saintly figure, repeatedly trying to save and redeem her, leaving her tossed between hope and despair for years—until he finally killed her with his own hands.
She served as his stepping stone, preserving his purity.
But no one ever asked why she had fallen into the dark path.
Fate had been too cruel, toying with her at will. The moment the original host awakened, she decided she wouldn’t play the fool anymore. Breaking free from her constraints, she abandoned this body. But as a crucial antagonist, the story couldn’t go on without her, and the world risked collapse. The system had no choice but to grab someone as a last-minute replacement.
And that reluctant stand-in was Jiang Miao.
Jiang Miao once asked the system: Why her?
Sure, she scraped by as an extra on set, but her acting skills were at best bit-part level—nowhere near capable of carrying a leading role. Wasn’t the system afraid she’d mess up and make the situation irreparable?
The system was brutally honest: Because you’re cheap.
Jiang Miao felt deeply insulted.
Though she had her inner complaints, she wasn’t particularly resistant to this job. After all, as someone studying acting, who didn’t dream of being the lead? Even if this play was a bit cliché, the role had plenty of screen time. Moreover, the system had promised that as long as she successfully completed the mission, she could return to her original world and exchange her points for cash—a guaranteed three million, with bonuses for outstanding performance.
Three million might be nothing to a top-tier actor, but for her, it was a considerable sum. With careful budgeting, she could live comfortably for the rest of her life.
Jiang Miao spent a long time nervously preparing, only to find that after entering the set, she hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the protagonist.
The system explained that the exact time of their meeting wasn’t specified in the book, so she had to arrive early and wait.
Jiang Miao had no choice but to wait patiently. But a month had passed without any sign, and her initial excitement had completely faded. At first, she had made an effort to dress up, fearing she might miss the plot if she wasn’t careful. These days, however, she had grown accustomed to it, even too lazy to get out of bed, simply tying her hair up and resigning herself to whatever happened.
She was staying in a secluded little bamboo hut, where there wasn’t even a dog nearby, let alone people.
The only one who would come here was the protagonist, guided by the plot.
She reluctantly walked outside to check—no one in sight—and was about to head back inside when the system stopped her: 【What are you doing?】
“Going back. No one’s here.”
【Aren’t you going to look around nearby?】
“I can’t be bothered. If you want to go, go ahead.”
【No way! Are you trying to fool me again?】
The system’s attitude was firm, so Jiang Miao reluctantly walked along the small path in front of the hut. She had taken this path once when she arrived, but it was nighttime then, and she couldn’t see clearly. Now, walking it again, she realized the scenery was quite beautiful—lush greenery and birdsong everywhere. If not for her mission, this would truly be an ideal place for seclusion.
Since she had nothing else to do, she decided to treat it as a leisurely stroll.
After walking for a while, she suddenly realized she had gone too far. If something happened at the bamboo hut, she wouldn’t be able to get back quickly.
Just as she turned to head back, she heard a faint sound.
Jiang Miao paused, turning her head, but didn’t see anything unusual.
She was about to take another step when the faint sound came again, this time clear and unmistakable.
Jiang Miao wasn’t particularly afraid—in fact, she felt a bit excited. After all, this place was isolated, and the only one who would come here was the protagonist. She had waited so long that she was practically desperate.
If the protagonist was here, she could finally start her mission.
With excitement and anticipation, Jiang Miao followed the sound. The moment she pushed aside the grass, her heart settled—yes, it was the protagonist, Ling Gu. She had seen photos, but the real person was even more stunning. Ling Gu lay by the river, half-submerged in the water, injured somewhere, with the water around her tinged a faint red.
Yet even in this state, she was breathtakingly beautiful.
Not the kind of beauty that stirred desire, but a lonely, fragile elegance that created an insurmountable distance between her and ordinary mortals.
Perhaps it was the pallid lips, perhaps the crimson blood, perhaps the ragged breaths and torn garments—in any case, in her battle-worn state, she appeared far more vivid and fragile than in those cold, lifeless photographs. She existed in the liminal space between life and death, like a dying butterfly or a dewdrop on the verge of shattering, as if the slightest movement could break her.
Jiang Miao bent down to help her up and inadvertently caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the river.
Not only was her appearance utterly ordinary, but her hair hung loosely, and her clothes were disheveled.
Instantly, she felt a pang of self-consciousness, her movements faltering slightly.
Was there still time to go back and put on some makeup?
The thought flashed through her mind only to vanish just as quickly. Jiang Miao knew how absurd it was. As she helped the woman onto her shoulder, she prayed silently that the other wouldn’t wake up during this time. Otherwise, what should have been a beautifully poetic first encounter would turn into an utterly awkward one. From the protagonist’s perspective in the novel, the original host had been ethereal and fragrant, with flowing sleeves and an enchanting aura. But now, herself…
Jiang Miao discreetly sniffed her collar. Thankfully, there was no unpleasant odor, but it was far from fragrant either. If the other saw her in this state, there would likely be no tragic, heart-wrenching romance to follow.
The more she thought about it, the more she cringed inwardly. Lost in her thoughts, Jiang Miao nearly stumbled.
Ling Gu, who was leaning on her shoulder, jolted heavily, likely aggravating some wound, and was jolted awake by the pain. Guiltily, Jiang Miao steadied her and looked up, meeting her eyes.
They were phoenix eyes, their curve breathtakingly beautiful even when half-open—only they were empty, unfocused, and devoid of light.
Jiang Miao immediately realized something.
“You… you can’t see?”
Ling Gu didn’t answer. Instead, she struggled violently. Thinking she was in pain, Jiang Miao was about to offer comfort when, before she could speak, Ling Gu struck her in the abdomen with an elbow. Caught off guard, Jiang Miao gasped in agony and instinctively let go. Ling Gu fell heavily to the ground, let out a muffled groan, and began dragging her injured body forward.
Clutching her stomach, Jiang Miao took several sharp breaths before gradually recovering. The blow had come so suddenly, and she had been completely unprepared. Yet, she couldn’t understand why the other had acted this way.
In the original novel, Ling Gu had indeed been injured when they first met, and that encounter had sparked their ill-fated relationship. But her eyes had been perfectly fine. Perhaps something had gone awry here. Jiang Miao couldn’t figure it out, but eyes could be treated. What was truly abnormal was this attitude. According to the setting, Ling Gu, rescued in her time of distress, should have been deeply grateful. Even if not grateful, she shouldn’t have been so hostile.
Jiang Miao wasn’t a pushover either. Having been struck for no reason, she wasn’t about to grovel. Suppressing the sharp pain in her abdomen, she limped after Ling Gu, determined to see what she was up to.
Unable to stand, Ling Gu could only crawl slowly. The mountain path was rugged and treacherous, littered with stones and dust. As she crawled, she left a clear trail of blood behind her, a sight too gruesome to bear. After watching for a while, Jiang Miao couldn’t take it anymore. She quickened her pace to catch up and said, “You’ve misunderstood. I’m not a bad person.”
Ling Gu showed no reaction, not even a change in expression. Rebuffed, Jiang Miao felt somewhat awkward and added, “It’s normal if you don’t trust me, but we’re in the middle of nowhere, and there’s no one else around. If you don’t let me help, you might die here.”
Unexpectedly, Ling Gu still refused to respond. Jiang Miao didn’t dare to force contact, so she could only follow closely behind step by step.
But soon, Jiang Miao noticed something.
At first, she thought Ling Gu was simply afraid of her and had fled in a random direction. However, the further they walked, the more she realized this wasn’t the case. Ling Gu was deliberately heading toward a specific direction—and at the end of that path was the sound of water.
Was she thirsty and trying to drink?
If they had continued along their original route, the end would indeed have been the riverbank. But they had already climbed quite a distance upward, so now there was a significant height difference between them and the river surface. The path Ling Gu was currently taking led to a cliff. Though not particularly high, falling from it would be no trivial matter—especially for Ling Gu, who was already covered in injuries. Even staying still might not guarantee her survival; if she fell, it would almost certainly be fatal.
Once Jiang Miao grasped this, she was about to call out a warning when she saw Ling Gu had already climbed to the edge of the cliff.
The hair ribbon on Ling Gu’s head fluttered in the wind rising from below the cliff, gently brushing against her face. Sensing something, she paused.
Jiang Miao felt a bit relieved—surely she wouldn’t run now?
But in the very next moment, Ling Gu leaned forward with difficulty and plummeted downward.