Soon, dull thuds and suppressed screams came from outside the courtyard.
Lin Wan’er collapsed to the ground, trembling with fear.
Yet Lin Shu merely watched quietly, her eyes showing no ripple of emotion.
This was only the beginning.
Xiao Che hadn’t immediately convicted her, giving her a chance to catch her breath.
But that so-called Plot Correction System hung over her head like the Sword of Damocles, ready to fall at any moment.
She had to quickly find conclusive evidence unaffected by the plot—something that could decisively settle matters.
Moreover, she needed to figure out the limitations of this Word Spirit Ability and the operational rules of that system.
Otherwise, even if she narrowly escaped today, tomorrow would still lead to her demise.
Xiao Che left in a huff, leaving only Lin Shu and the prostrate Lin Wan’er in the woodshed.
Without another glance at her, Lin Shu pressed her throbbing temple and, under the guards’ cold yet wary gazes, was escorted back to her own courtyard—Tingxue Courtyard.
Along the way, the servants’ looks toward her had changed.
Where there was once disdain and contempt, there was now a layer of deep fear.
Several matrons who usually paid lip service and tripped her up while riding on Lin Wan’er’s coattails scurried away like mice seeing a cat at the sight of her, hastily lowering their heads as if wishing to shrink into the wall cracks.
This kind of awe felt more tangible than any flattery.
Lin Shu remained unmoved; such hollow intimidation offered her no sense of security.
Back in her familiar room, Lin Shu dismissed everyone except her personal maid, Hua Ping.
Hua Ping, left by her original self’s mother, had always been loyal, though somewhat timid.
Now, seeing her young mistress’s pale face, Hua Ping’s eyes reddened. She wanted to comfort her but didn’t dare speak, nervously twisting her handkerchief instead.
“Young Mistress, are you alri—”
“I’m fine.” Lin Shu waved her hand, signaling her to close the door. “Fetch me a cup of hot tea, then stand guard outside. Tell anyone who comes that I’m resting.”
“Yes.” Hua Ping hurriedly complied, brought the tea, and retreated with frequent backward glances.
The moment the door closed, Lin Shu’s forced composure shattered. She slumped into a chair, clutching her still-throbbing head, and cursed inwardly.
“Damn system! Show yourself! I know you can hear me!”
“Can’t handle losing, huh? Flip the table when you’re outmatched? I fought tooth and nail to turn the tables, and you just hit me with a backend warning, resetting everything? Have you no shame?”
“You set me up!”
She vented with gusto, channeling all the resentment she’d accumulated from her previous life’s corporate grind.
After a few seconds of silence, the icy mechanical voice indeed echoed in her mind once more.
[Host Lin Shu, greetings. I am the Plot Correction System of the “The Scheming Concubine’s Daughter” world, serial number 9527.]
[This system’s sole mission is to ensure the world’s timeline develops according to the original plot, eliminating any BUGs that cause deviations.]
[Scan results indicate that Host Lin Shu’s soul is anomalous and has acquired a Word Spirit Ability not native to this world, causing severe interference with key plot points. You have been classified as a Level 1 BUG.]
Lin Shu laughed in exasperation.
Well, isn’t this something? She escaped the “blessing” of 996, only to transmigrate into a book and become a BUG marked for elimination?
So, she’s just supposed to let Lin Wan’er step all over her on the way up and end up dying miserably?
“Why? Just because she’s the female lead, her harming others is considered strategy, while my self-preservation is a BUG?”
[The plot has its own predetermined course. Lin Wan’er is the Chosen One. Her success is the cornerstone of the worldline’s stability.]
“To hell with your Chosen One!” Lin Shu mentally flipped the bird. “My fate is in my hands, not Heaven’s, and certainly not yours, you broken system! Dare to warn me again? Just watch me hold daily concerts right here in the Marquis Manor—my opening number will be ‘Resist to the End’!”
The system fell silent.
It seemed utterly flummoxed by her shameless, thick-skinned retort.
Seizing the moment, Lin Shu calmed herself and began to analyze.
Though the system was overbearing, it appeared incapable of directly eliminating her—otherwise, it would have acted back in the woodshed.
Its method was correction: forcibly steering people and events back to the original plot whenever deviations occurred.
For instance, it could nullify her Incantation control over Lin Wan’er and Bi Yue, but it couldn’t erase the seeds of doubt in Xiao Che’s mind.
That was her opportunity.
She had to find something the system couldn’t correct.
Incantations were unreliable; witnesses could be manipulated by the system.
Then… what about physical evidence?
Lin Shu’s mind raced as she began testing her Golden Finger.
She focused on the teacup on the table and murmured softly, “Come here.”
The cup remained motionless.
She then turned her attention to a small spider in the corner and commanded, “Spin your web somewhere else.”
The spider, as if startled, scrambled frantically on its eight legs and scurried to the opposite end of the beam.
Lin Shu understood.
It seemed her Incantation only worked on conscious living beings—and the weaker their willpower, the more effective it was.
For simple-minded servants like the house attendants, the effect was immediate.
But against someone as resolute and sharp-witted as Xiao Che, it would likely be far less successful.
More importantly, using the Incantation seemed to drain her mental energy.
After several uses in quick succession, she now felt dizzy and heavy-headed, as if she’d pulled three all-nighters in a row.
Clearly, this Golden Finger wasn’t all-powerful—it had significant limitations and absolutely couldn’t be used to alter key plot points, or it would trigger the system’s forceful intervention.
She needed a different approach.
Leaning back in her chair, she forced herself to recall details from the original novel.
Though she had skimmed through that melodramatic story while ranting about its absurdities, the side character sharing her name had left a particularly vivid impression.
The poisoning?
The novel mentioned that Lin Wan’er’s mother, Liu Yiniang, had a fleeting romance in her youth with a wandering physician who peddled his services street to street.
That physician was skilled in brewing insidious poisons. The toxin Lin Wan’er used this time was purchased from a pharmacy in the southern part of the city called Huichun Pharmacy, using a token left by Liu Yiniang.
The resident physician at Huichun Pharmacy, Wang Daifu, was that very wandering doctor. His apprentice, Cen Yi, infatuated with Lin Wan’er, had supplied her with the poison.
The toxin was colorless and odorless, inducing a coma and slow organ failure that outwardly resembled a sudden illness.
Only he and his apprentice knew how to prepare the antidote.
To cover her tracks thoroughly, Lin Wan’er had buried the letter containing the prescription under an osmanthus tree in her courtyard after obtaining the poison. She thought no one would ever discover it, but Xiao Che inadvertently stumbled upon it.
To shift the blame, Lin Wan’er used this to frame the original host, leaving her to bear all the consequences.
But now, for Lin Shu, this was ironclad evidence that could settle the matter decisively!
The system could modify people’s memories and words, but surely it couldn’t make a tree vanish into thin air or fill in a pit?
Lin Shu’s eyes grew increasingly bright as a meticulous plan took shape in her mind.
She stood up and opened the door.
Hua Ping, who was guarding outside, jumped in surprise and quickly straightened up. “Miss, you…”
“Come in. I have instructions for you,” Lin Shu’s voice was calm yet forceful.
Hua Ping followed her into the inner chamber, watching her uneasily.
She realized that ever since her young mistress returned from the woodshed, she seemed… like a completely different person.
The former Eldest Miss, though noble-born as the legitimate daughter, had been simple-minded and easily provoked into furious tantrums—crying, making scenes, and smashing things after just a few inflammatory words.
The young lady before her now was pale as paper, covered in wounds, yet her gaze shone so brilliantly it seemed capable of seeing through people’s hearts.
That combination of composure and sharpness was something Hua Ping had never witnessed before.