After Becoming the Cannon Fodder Live-in Spouse A (GL) - Chapter 18: The Eighteenth Day

Chapter 18: The Eighteenth Day

The servants in the mansion knelt all over the room, but the person lying on the bed in the inner chamber still showed no reaction—

After a long time.

Ye Fuguang struggled to stand up from the ground and took half a step toward the bed. When she saw Shen Jinglan’s eyes still tightly closed, she inexplicably breathed a sigh of relief, but then noticed the slight frown on Shen Jinglan’s brow.

…Was she having a nightmare?

Ye Fuguang leaned down, took her hand, and gently smoothed her forehead, flattening the faint wrinkles. Even so, Shen Jinglan did not let go of her skirt.

She turned her head to look at Yu Qing.

Her eyes were innocent and obedient, yet they nearly made Steward Yu faint from anger again. Fortunately, no matter what, the prince had been asleep for so long and finally showed a response to the outside world. Though it was unclear what spell this green tea Qianyuan had cast on her in her unconscious state, Yu Qing firmly believed that once the prince woke up, everything would change.

For now, she ordered the two Dikun who were caring for the prince, “Yinping, Quhua.”

“From today, you will live in the side courtyard with Jixiang and Ruyi, attending to the prince alongside the princess.”

Her words sounded so nice, but weren’t they just forbidding her from going out?

Ye Fuguang thought it didn’t matter. Writing was like being in prison; you had to lock yourself in a dark room to write well.

…

That evening, sipping bland mung bean soup, Ye Fuguang flipped through a stack of rag-like manuscripts in front of several maids. Perhaps the mung beans were too cooling, as she read with a clear mind and little desire, even curiously discussing the background and plot with Ruyi:

“Huh? This book says the prince is the third child at home, and besides the emperor, there’s another brother. Is that true?”

Yinping and Quhua had already retreated to the side when she took out those books, ignoring everything. Only Jixiang was adding lamp oil and grinding ink for her, while Ruyi was massaging her shoulders. Hearing this, Ruyi immediately said, “Yes, but that eldest young master… Prince Jing passed away before the Great Dynasty was established.”

Ye Fuguang put down the brush she had been holding for a while. After skimming the beginnings of these books and understanding the tastes and preferred tropes of the Great Dynasty’s people, she spoke up, “Why don’t you tell me about the prince’s matters?”

“What does the princess want to hear?”

“Everything about her, maybe starting from when she was born?”

“That might require asking Steward Yu.”

“No way.”

Shadows flickered with the candlelight in the room.

When Jixiang added lamp oil for the seventh time, Yinping and Quhua, who had only been listening, couldn’t hold back and joined the tea talk about Prince Qi’s grand life, somehow ending up with handfuls of melon seeds.

Ye Fuguang listened with relish and realized that compared to Shen Jingming and Su Wanqiu, the two protagonists of the explicit stories, Shen Jinglan’s life was like an out-of-place leveling-up journey. No wonder she could only be a cannon fodder in those stories.

How tragic.

Why not give the natives of this world a little shock of an overpowered protagonist?

She picked up the brush, thought for a moment, and decided not to touch politics too much. She’d better wrap it in a fictional shell to avoid being discovered by the palace and having both her and her book banned.

So, she solemnly wrote the title: ‘Nine Rebirths: The Fallen War God After the Kingdom’s Fall’

The story began at the end of the previous dynasty. A Dikun named Alan was reborn. She was a renowned general in a later era, rising through military achievements, but sadly, she was not favored by the emperor in her later years and ended her lonely life in depression. Upon waking, she returned to her youth, knowing that the kingdom would fall into war in a few years, the people would be displaced, and her originally peaceful life would soon be disrupted—

Rebirth, apocalypse, cute pet elements, leveling-up journey.

Ye Fuguang thought, my mentor was right; I truly am the dazzling pearl lost to the online literature world.

—

Feeling down from producing academic trash but energized by writing spiritual comfort food, Ye Fuguang stayed up all night, only reaching the first major battle in Shen Jinglan’s life.

According to Ruyi and the others, Shen Jinglan became famous in one battle. On her first battlefield, she won against greater odds, fighting a very splendid battle.

In Ye Fuguang’s writing, the character named Alan would win this battle in an equally splendid way, but afterward, she would die in a way no one could have expected.

Then, her second rebirth would begin. Her nine rebirths would subtly align with the turning points in Shen Jinglan’s life.

Ye Fuguang yawned, called Ruyi over, and proudly pushed the manuscript across the table, “Take a look?”

Ruyi: “…?”

She gasped, looking at the pages where the strokes were initially recognizable but later crawled like four-legged lizards. “Princess, could it be that the private tutor the Ye Family sent you to was run by a Taoist priest? Why does your writing look like talismans?”

Ye Fuguang: “Uh.”

Trying to save face, she said, “As long as it’s readable, right?”

Ruyi sincerely said, “I’m willing to read it, but the bookstore owners won’t bother with the effort.”

The pearl shattered with a snap.

Ye Fuguang, like a frostbitten plum blossom outside, said, “Then… then find someone with nice handwriting to copy it for me?”

Sighing, Ruyi said, “I’ll do it.”

…

Ye Fuguang, exhausted and hungry from staying up, had only a bowl of lily and lotus seed soup for breakfast.

She drank it glumly, feeling that writing stories was like defying the heavens, and she was about to die halfway. Unable to sleep despite trying to rest, she tossed and turned on the bed faintly scented with Shen Jinglan’s fragrance.

Scattered snowflakes, imperceptible to others, melted one by one into the camellia fragrance.

Flower buds that had been sleeping on the branches suddenly bloomed, one petal, then two—

The full-leaved camellia branches stretched out.

As Yinping and Quhua were not in the inner chamber, the branches with vibrant clustered flowers climbed onto the pale ankle outside the brocade quilt, with lush green and dazzling red growing like vines from Ye Fuguang’s ankle up her calf.

Half-asleep, she kicked at the strange, faint tickle of the breeze.

Unbeknownst to her.

The same red camellias wrapped around her wrist and neck. To other Qianyuan and Dikun, she seemed to have fallen into a trap woven by a flower demon.

The fragrance, dissatisfied, drew her toward another source of warmth, as if punishing her doubly for her absence last night, demanding she make up for the intimacy now.