After Transmigrating into a Novel, I Turned on Easy Mode - Chapter 15

The snow, tireless and unending, had been falling for over half a month. This year’s snowfall was truly unusual; many official roads were already closed off by the ceaseless drifts.

The snow lay thick, snapping branches under its weight, and there were already cases of people and livestock freezing to death.

Wu You gripped the letter in her hand, unsure whether to feel pleased or worried. The letter was from the original body’s father. With the roads blocked, who knew where he’d found someone willing to deliver it.

Setting the letter down, Wu You no longer had to fret about exposing herself in front of the original’s father. Urgent business at the border meant he couldn’t return anyway. The storm had cast its net wide—Daxin was suffering, and the neighboring Yu Dynasty had been hit by disaster as well.

Yu’s culture differed from Daxin’s. This time the heavy snow had cost them dearly; their solution, however, was simple—take from others.

And so the nearest neighbor, Daxin, became their first target. Now the enemy had massed troops along the border, a posture of “poised to strike.”

With troubles both within and without, the original’s father had broken his promise once again. It didn’t bother Wu You-now, but if it were the original girl, she’d be heartbroken all over again.

She looked out the window. Snow still fell; the table and chairs in the little courtyard were half-buried already—even though she’d shoveled just yesterday. Wu You tried to recall the plot of the novel; all she could remember of this time was the male and female leads and the second male lead having a snowball fight. Nothing at all about a snow disaster…

What use is that original text! Isn’t transmigrating supposed to come with a golden finger? Sigh.

As for the border war, Wu You wasn’t too worried. It felt like the other side just wanted to rattle sabers for concessions—after all, with roads sealed by snow, transporting grain would be a nightmare. The horses would freeze to death before the carts made it.

The trouble was Da Xin’s current stance: conciliatory rather than bellicose. Not necessarily wrong, but taken too far it made them look easy to bully—especially when the country was wealthy, like a fat lamb laid on the chopping block.

So Yu’s bluster might very well wring benefits from them. Wu You couldn’t help fretting. In this historical moment, who knew what fate awaited Daxin? Not that she felt loyalty to the dynasty, but she lived here now; her life was bound up with its fortunes.

She remembered her birthday was in half a month. In the original memories, the girl always spent it alone, without those wastrel “friends.” Now that the original was gone, it’d be Wu You’s turn to pass it solo.

That was fine too. Sleep a whole day and—poof—birthday over. Wu You was good at self-adjustment. Too bad the original was a “sun tribe” spender—money gone in a day. Wu You couldn’t bring herself to bully-shop like a tyrant; otherwise she’d head to Fujinyun and buy herself a set of jewelry.

One glance outside and the snow had piled even higher. She sighed, thinking to go shovel again—any longer and the doors would be snowed shut.

She wasn’t the only one shoveling. Under the eaves, Zhao Qingzi watched her brother sweep the courtyard, wanting to help but unable; in the end she could only give up.

The snowfall truly was strange this year. Yungu had reported changes at the border—Yu was massing troops.

A cold laugh rose in her heart. They’d played this game more than once or twice, and each time Yu wrung what it wanted with such rogue tactics. Her “good” imperial uncle was gentle at home—and far too gentle abroad.

As for Wu You’s father, he wouldn’t be able to come back. Subordinates’ reports said that even without open war, the border folk were suffering far worse than the capital; most here were wealthy, but not there.

So never mind birthdays, they might not even reunite for New Year. General Wu would likely stay to relieve disaster. Zhao Qingzi felt a twinge of heartache. She’d find time to slip out and keep her company.

She drifted, dazed. Having cleared the yard, Zhao Qingshu saw his little sister staring into space and waved a hand in front of her eyes.

When her spirit seemed to fly back into her body, he chuckled. “Zier, what are you thinking?”

She didn’t dare say she’d been thinking of Wu You. Ever since they’d been caught last time, her brother had been extremely vigilant, keeping a tight watch. It wasn’t hard to slip past his guard—if she meant to go out, she could.

Looking at her brother’s gentle smile, her heart softened. “I was thinking when the snow will stop. If this keeps up, what will happen to the people of Daxin?”

Hearing such concern from her, Zhao Qingshu frowned too, worry shading his face. “This snow is merciless this year… But His Majesty is working on it. I hope we can lessen the losses.”

Sensing his concern was sincere, Zhao Qingzi smiled and steered away from the heavy topic.

“Brother, aren’t you going to meet friends in verse?”

He shook his head, a little rueful. In this weather, how could scholars gather to swap poems? If they insisted, it would be more like meeting as corpses than as colleagues.
(TN: Wordplay—“以詩會友” (meet by poetry) vs. “以屍會友” (meet as corpses).)

“This cold and strangeness—we’d better prioritize staying alive.”

Then a smile flickered. “A blessing really. I can keep you company.”

At this, Zhao Qingzi’s smile grew even gentler. Then another thought struck. “Brother, aren’t you going to see Cousin Yingying? If you wanted to, it wouldn’t be hard. She must be bored in the palace.”

A fine suggestion—but since he finally had time to be with his sister, better to stay.

He patted her head. “No. Since I’ve got a rare free day to spend with you, I’ll do that first.”

She sighed inwardly—half delighted, half anxious. Brother, how will you ever win the beauty if you’re like this? Zhang Boyu is far more proactive—he’s already invited that silly girl out for a snowball fight.

Of course, that intel came from subordinates’ reports. She caught his hand before he could muss her hair further and looked him in the eyes, very solemn. “Brother, go see Cousin Yingying. I truly am fine.”

Hm? Why was his sister so intent on sending him away? Did she want to sneak out to find Wu You the moment he left?

He’d never been a father, but their own father was as good as absent. People said “the elder brother stands in for a father.” Thinking how the little girl he’d raised might be carried off by someone else, his chest soured.

Mostly he didn’t trust Wu You’s character. If the street gossip was true—if she only fancied his sister’s face and would be bored after a while—what would become of her!

Brother and sister each worried over the other’s lifelong happiness, more anxious by the minute.

In the end, he refused the tempting suggestion, firmly. No matter how his sister urged, it was no use. Zhao Qingzi was nearly driven mad—why was her brother so stubborn! At this rate that silly girl would fly off hand-in-hand with Zhang Boyu!

Zhao Qingshu was nearly as exasperated. What was so good about Wu You? Why was his sister so fixated!

After arguing herself hoarse, Zhao Qingzi gave up the struggle. She suddenly felt tired and didn’t want to quarrel. Brother truly had the makings of a censor—he was impossible to win against, absolutely impossible.

Seeing that he’d angered her, Zhao Qingshu felt guilty. Her cheeks were a little flushed—cold, or cross?—so he gently coaxed her back into her room and soothed her to sleep.

When she seemed to be breathing evenly, he wiped the sweat from his brow. Fancy sweating on a day this cold—he almost laughed.

He slipped out quietly, closing the door, and headed for the study to read.

As his footsteps faded, the “sleeping” girl opened her eyes. Remembering her brother’s careful manner just now, she let out a soft snort of laughter, then tugged the quilt up higher against the chill and truly drifted off.

Meanwhile, at Daxin’s frontier, Wu Zhan stared at Yu’s troops in the distance, frowning, anger stirring. To him, Yu was a pack of ruffians. Unfortunately, he couldn’t act rashly. If he could, he’d dearly love to thrash the lot of them.

The disaster weighed on him as well. Thinking of border folk freezing or starving, of those who slipped to their deaths on icy paths, sorrow welled up. He recalled the great drought years ago. Heaven did love its jokes—always another way to torment people.

After one last look over the enemy’s dispositions, Wu Zhan climbed down from the wall. All along the streets, people were shoveling snow—many poorly clothed. This wasn’t the wealthy capital.

The more he saw, the colder his heart felt. Soldiers were helping too—shoveling for households that couldn’t manage, and laying down tamped earth after the snow, since bare paths were slick and the soil would help prevent falls.

Wu Zhan pitched in himself when he saw someone in difficulty, carrying none of a general’s airs. His reputation in the city was excellent.

As he helped one family shovel, he noticed a small head peeking out from inside, watching him. He waved the child over.

A timid little girl edged out. Big clear eyes—adorable. He patted her head with a smile. “How old are you now, little one?”

She sniffled. “Five! Mother says you’re our Daxin’s big hero. Are you General Wu?”

“Hahaha, I am General Wu—but not a big hero. The great hero of Daxin is His Majesty.”

She looked puzzled. “Then can His Majesty beat you?”

Wu Zhan burst out laughing, but he didn’t know how to answer that one. He sidestepped: “Go ask your mother. I’ve got to shovel!”

The little girl bolted, calling as she ran, “Mother lies! General Wu isn’t a hero—he’s a weird uncle!”

He couldn’t help a wry smile. “Hey! You little rascal.”

Then he remembered—his own daughter had said something similar when she was small. He shook his head. How was You’er now? It was his fault.