The night was as dark as ink, enveloping the entire prime minister’s residence in a deathly silence.
Wen Yan sat at the table, her fingertips gently caressing the handkerchief that Chun’er had returned.
The stitches were fine and delicate, the orchid still as before.
But Wen Yan knew that the so-called “Plot Correction Force” was like a low-level antivirus software that only scanned keywords—it couldn’t understand the true secret behind this orchid.
This was the first drop of blood she had shed since arriving in this world.
Not only had she infiltrated the system’s “absolute safe zone,” but she had also turned Chun’er into her own human-shaped cloud backup.
“Young Miss, you… you’re smiling?” Chun’er brought over hot tea, feeling a slight chill as she noticed the faint, elusive curve at the corner of her mistress’s lips.
“Am I?” Wen Yan snapped out of her thoughts, instantly switching back to her aloof mode. “You must be mistaken.”
But she was indeed smiling. It was the kind of pleasure a hunter feels when they see through a fox’s tail—a feeling called “control.”
After sending Chun’er off to rest, the room fell silent once more.
The death countdown in her mind was still ticking away, but Wen Yan’s mindset had changed.
The “murder weapon” for the poisoning was now in hand, the executor “Qiu Chan” had been identified, and the procurement channels “Jishi Tang” and “Wang Fu” were linked. This chain of evidence had formed a closed loop.
But there was still a massive black hole looming at the end of the logical chain—
Motive.
Why kill Gu Xiewei?
Simply because she stood in Bai Wanyin’s way? Don’t be ridiculous. Such a low-level reason for household strife didn’t match the high-level dark art of “puppet curse,” let alone the meticulous, interconnected scheme.
In forensic science, a corpse never lies. Since Gu Xiewei’s body was no longer here, she would conduct a psychological autopsy of her “life.”
Early the next morning, Wen Yan used the same excuse to send Qiu Chan and Chun’er away once more.
With the door closed, this room became her crime scene.
This time, she wasn’t looking for poison—she was looking for the “person.”
She opened the wardrobe. Brocades, Shu embroidery, Suzhou satin—colors ranging from pale yellow to lotus root purple, all standard attire for noble ladies in the capital, devoid of any personality.
She opened the vanity. Gold hairpins, jade bracelets, kingfisher feather ornaments. They matched her status and aesthetic, but lacked the soul of “Gu Xiewei” herself.
On the bookshelf, “Admonitions for Women” and “Biographies of Exemplary Women” were neatly arranged, the handwriting delicate yet overly polished.
Wen Yan flipped through a few pages casually, her frown deepening.
From these remnants, the original owner seemed like a standard NPC thoroughly formatted by feudal ethics. What reason would such a person have to deviate from the “plot”? And what right did she have to be erased by the world’s will?
It wasn’t scientific, nor was it logical.
Until her gaze fell on the dusty sewing basket in the corner.
This was a standard accessory for women in ancient times, something Wen Yan, who was used to wielding a scalpel, felt the least connection to. She walked over and instinctively overturned the basket onto the table.
With a clatter, silk threads, thimbles, and half-finished pouches scattered across the floor.
Nothing special… wait.
Wen Yan’s fingers paused on a piece of fabric pressed at the very bottom.
It wasn’t silk—it was coarse linen.
She pulled out the cloth, and as she unfolded it, her pupils trembled violently.
This stitching… was too jarring.
It lacked the fluid grace of traditional embroidery, instead composed of tiny, stiff “X”-shaped crosses. It looked clumsy, rigid, and filled with a cheap, pixelated feel.
Wen Yan’s breath hitched for half a second.
This was… cross-stitch?!
This pixelated beginner’s craft, like a virus from another world, abruptly appeared in this ancient realm filled with Su embroidery and cloud-patterned brocade.
An electric shock instantly pierced through her skull.
She stared fixedly at the cloth. Besides the crooked little flowers, there was a string of cold yet familiar characters embroidered in black thread.
31.2304°N 121.4737°E
No fancy metaphors, no obscure poetry. Just a string of GPS coordinates precise to four decimal places!
Wen Yan’s mind raced at high speed, the world map from her memories instantly overlapping.
31 degrees north latitude, 121 degrees east longitude.
That was… Shanghai.
The place known as the “Magic City,” and also where she had been buried in her previous life.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, as if trying to break through her ribs and leap out.
Case solved.
Gu Xiewei was not an original native.
She was a fellow traveler!
Wen Yan’s fingers trembled slightly from extreme excitement as she quickly flipped the handkerchief over.
Amidst a tangled mess of threads, a line of small characters embroidered in beige silk thread was hidden.
If you didn’t look closely, you would never notice it.
But if you recognized it, it struck like thunder.
It was not any script from this dynasty.
It was simplified Chinese.
Straight horizontal and vertical strokes—the square characters etched into her very bones!
“If there is a newcomer, go to the ancestral hall of Prince Jing’s residence. Nine steps in on the blue bricks, turn left three feet.”
Boom—
All the clues were forcibly connected at this moment, igniting the truth.
Wen Yan slumped into her chair, clutching the handkerchief tightly as if it were the only token connecting two worlds.
So that was it. The logic made sense now.
The legendary “sweet, naive Gu Xiewei, who pined for Prince Jing and fell ill from lovesickness” was nothing but a persona forcibly overwritten by the system. The real her was a fellow time traveler who had also fallen unluckily into this devouring script.
She did not die from heartbreak.
She was “banned” by the “administrator.”
Because she had discovered something extraordinary—that coordinate was her “identity verification,” and that line of simplified Chinese was the cheat code she left for subsequent “players”!
What kind of household strife poisoning case was this?
This was a systematic purge targeting all “outsiders.”
Recalling the women in the case files who had died under mysterious circumstances, Wen Yan felt a chill run down her spine.
That so-called “Plot Correction Force” was systematically hunting down time travelers.
It was clearing out bugs.
And now, Wen Yan was the new bug.
Go to the ancestral hall of Prince Jing’s residence!
A mad idea instantly seized her mind.
Dig up that blue brick!
See what earth-shattering secret that “predecessor” had left behind—one so dangerous it warranted the system silencing her!
Wen Yan abruptly stood up.
But the next second, years of forensic experience poured over her like a bucket of ice water, forcing her back into her seat.
She couldn’t go.
This was a death sentence.
The message on the handkerchief had no expiration date, but her life did.
Right now, in this world, she was like a max-level account that had been hacked, left with nothing but a level-one character and no gear. Investigating the secrets of the highest-level dungeon at this point would be like delivering herself to her death.
Not only would she fail to save herself, but she would also hasten her demise.
Calm down. Wen Yan, you’re a forensic examiner, not the protagonist of a hot-blooded manga.
The more critical the situation, the more you must remain as calm as dissecting a corpse.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm her racing heart. The massive conspiracy targeting transmigrators had to be investigated—but not now.
The immediate priority was to survive in the beginner’s village.
She had to first resolve the “Gu Xiewei Poisoning Case,” climb out of this quagmire, and secure enough authority and freedom of action before she could even think of touching that core secret.
Meals must be eaten bite by bite, monsters must be defeated one by one.
Wen Yan carefully tucked away the handkerchief that had changed the nature of the case, keeping it close to her body.
This was her talisman, her declaration of war against this damned world.
Just as she had steadied her emotions, her gaze regaining its scalpel-like sharpness, urgent knocking sounded at the door.
“Young Miss! Young Miss!”
It was Chun’er.
The little maid was panting heavily, but her voice carried the excitement of having accomplished something:
“This servant… this servant just saw Sister Qiu Chan change into plain clothes and sneak out through the side gate!”
Wen Yan’s eyes narrowed instantly.
All the turbulent emotions were suppressed deep within her heart, replaced by absolute focus.
That grand main quest could wait.
Right now, this beginner’s village’s minor boss had respawned.
“Bring the cloak and follow me.”
Wen Yan’s voice held not a trace of fluctuation, as if she were merely instructing the most ordinary of tasks.
She neatly adjusted her sleeves, her eyes gleaming with the cold light of a hunter closing in on prey.
“We’ll leave through the main gate, head to the street corner, and intercept her.”
“—The hunt has begun.”