After Transmigrating into a Novel, I Turned on Easy Mode - Chapter 2

It wasn’t easy, but once she finally set down the bronze mirror, the gloom welled up again.

As a devoted reader, Wu You’s favorite character wasn’t the male or female lead, nor the second male lead Zhao Qingshu. The one she liked best happened to be Zhao Qingzi.

The author had written this character with great charm. In the original book, Zhao Qingzi fell gravely ill when she was young and was disabled from then on. She suffered greatly in childhood; the only warmth she had was from her gege Zhao Qingshu, so for Zhao Qingshu’s sake, there was nothing she wouldn’t do.

Zhao Qingshu was the textbook “deeply devoted” second male lead. To fulfill her brother’s wish to be with the heroine, Zhao Qingzi did quite a few bad things.

In the end, the truth came out. Zhao Qingshu couldn’t accept that his sister had taken so many lives for his sake, and he cut his own throat. Zhao Qingzi held her brother’s body, set a great fire, and buried herself in the flames. That was where the story ended.

Back then the comment section was a battlefield, everyone arguing over Zhao Qingzi. Though Wu You liked the character, she also felt that after so many lives had been taken, perhaps this was the best ending she could have.

Wu You murmured, “If only I hadn’t become this antagonistic cannon-fodder role… For now, I should just think about how to avoid her.”

Her worries grew until she felt stifled. Suddenly she clutched her head and shouted, “Ah!!! I don’t care anymore! One step at a time. Worst case, before she ‘takes care of me,’ I’ll take care of myself first!”

With that she flopped onto the bed in a big X and stared blankly at the delicate bed canopy.

The incense in the room curled up gently, faintly soporific.

After half a day of constant tension, now that her thoughts had settled, weariness crept in.

Wu You’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier. At last she fell asleep, her breathing steady.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself floating in midair. Below was a spread of pavilions and towers; it must have been summer, for the lotuses on the lake were in full, glowing bloom.

What’s going on??? I’ve transmigrated again? You can’t be serious! Is this my soul state? If I’m going to transmigrate, at least give me a body…

She sized up her surroundings, tried moving, and discovered she could move simply by thinking. She swooped down, wanting a closer look at the lotuses.

A koi leapt from the pond and tugged a nearly-fallen lotus petal free.

Weaving between red and emerald, Wu You admired the scene: the water so clear she could see the fish schooling below.

She reached out to touch—and realized she truly was in ghost mode. The creatures here couldn’t see her, and the water held no reflection of her.

In a daze, she heard a fierce argument not far off. Curious, Wu You drifted toward the sound.

From a distance she could make out a few figures. Drawing closer, she realized two of the faces were familiar.

Startled, she saw three people facing off against a woman in white—the woman in white was Zhao Qingzi. Of the three, two men and one woman: in blue was the male lead Zhang Boyu; another man in blue bore some resemblance to Zhao Qingzi—Wu You guessed he was the second male lead, Zhao Qingshu.

And the woman in yellow, if she wasn’t mistaken, had to be the heroine, Li Yingying.

Wu You’s guess proved right. Zhao Qingzi sat in her wheelchair, gaze lowered, head turned aside from the three.

Zhao Qingshu’s face was all collapse and yet held a shred of hope; carefully, he asked Zhao Qingzi, “Qingzi, did you do these things? Tell me you didn’t kill them. As long as you say so, I—your gege—will believe you.”

Looking at the devastation on her brother’s face, Zhao Qingzi lowered her eyes and stayed silent, only clenching the wheelchair’s handles so tightly the knuckles turned white.

In the end she said softly, “It was not done by me.”

Hearing this, Zhao Qingshu turned, delighted, to the other two. “See? My sister said it—she didn’t do these things. She’s gentle and kind; there must be some misunderstanding here!”

Mockery flashed across Zhang Boyu’s face. He ground out each word through his teeth: “Not done by you? Then why did Yungu appear here, and why are the wounds identical to those inflicted by that culprit?” He turned to Zhao Qingshu. “I respect your gentlemanly conduct, but you know full well your sister did this. You’re just trying to shield her! You simply refuse to accept that your own sister is a demon who kills without blinking!”

Zhao Qingshu was struck as if by lightning; every word from Zhang Boyu hacked into his heart. He looked back at the sister behind him, then at the hatred burning in his beloved’s eyes.

Pain lanced through him; his heart twisted. Wu You, Mo Ziyi, and the one hundred thousand soldiers who died in battle—these were all harmed by his sister, and the root cause was her wish to help him be with Yingying.

Zhao Qingshu felt he had no right to blame his sister; he blamed himself. If he hadn’t harbored that delusion, would everything have been different?

He began to laugh, tears spilling as he laughed. Then he drew the sword at his waist, laid it across his neck—and fell to the ground.

Hovering at Zhao Qingzi’s side, Wu You watched this tragedy unfold helplessly. She turned to look at Zhao Qingzi and saw the light drain from her eyes, leaving only endless emptiness, despair, and bone-deep regret.

Zhang Boyu and Li Yingying were stunned by the sudden turn. They lifted Zhao Qingshu and tried to staunch the bl00d at his neck, but it was already useless. Wu You heard the thud of a heavy body hitting the floor; Zhao Qingzi had tumbled from her wheelchair and was clawing her way toward her brother.

Her snow-white clothes were smeared with dirt. Wu You tried to help her up, but her hand passed straight through. Even in soul state, Wu You felt a suffocating tightness.

Then an old woman flew out from a room behind them, a deep, bone-revealing wound on her cheek still oozing bl00d. She snatched up Zhao Qingzi with one hand, grabbed Zhao Qingshu with the other, and dragged them into the room.

What followed matched the original book: a skyful of flames devoured all three, as if trying to burn away every sin. Through the window, Wu You saw the inhumanly beautiful girl cradling her brother and smiling gently—so very gently.

She said, “Gege, let’s go home. In the next life I won’t be so headstrong. Can you forgive me?”

By the end, her voice trembled with tears.

Pain racked Wu You’s heart, wave after wave of suffocation crashing over her.

“No!!!!!!”

She jolted awake from the dream, heart thundering, sweat beading all over. Opening her eyes to find herself in bed, she rubbed her forehead, mouth dry as sand.

She slipped on her shoes and stood—only then realizing how weak she felt, nearly stumbling. After steadying herself, she poured a cup of tea, tipped back her head, drained it, and let out a long breath.

Feeling her heart racing: So it was a dream… No, not a dream—this was the future.

Am I really just going to ignore her? The question hovered over Wu You’s heart, leaving her unable to decide.

A sudden knock sounded, making her jump.

“Miss, there’s a visitor at the door—Zhao Qingshu from the Yongding Marquisate requests an audience.”

It was only the maid; she exhaled in relief.

“Got it. Ask him to wait a moment.”

The one coming to demand answers had arrived. The dream flashed again. When reading the novel, she hadn’t liked Zhao Qingshu much—too timid, too much the gentleman.

But she still had to see him. After straightening her attire, she headed to the main hall.

Zhao Qingshu sat drinking tea with elegant poise, every bit the paragon of manners. He looked just as he had in the dream. Perhaps because of the nightmare she’d just had, the image of him slitting his throat began playing in her head on its own.

She closed her eyes briefly. Could we not?

“I didn’t welcome you from afar, Young Marquis Zhao—pardon the discourtesy. You’re here about Miss Qingzi, I assume?”

Zhao Qingshu was studying the woman before him. Her beauty lived up to the rumors—stunning. But given that she harbored improper thoughts toward his most precious sister and had even dared to stab her, his face remained thunderous.

“Yes. My meimei is magnanimous and won’t hold it against you. I’m different. I respect General Wu—he’s guarded the border for half his life—so I won’t make things too hard on his child. I’ll only make one request.”

Wu You arched a brow. “Please say it.”

Zhao Qingshu looked her over again and decided this woman was unworthy of his sister in every way.

“I hope Miss Wu will not entangle herself with my little sister from this day on.”

At that, Wu You lifted her gaze to meet his. Zhao Qingshu’s eyes were a bit like Zhao Qingzi’s, which made her think of the pair from her dream, brimming with despair.

If this had been before, she would have agreed readily. But now she found she couldn’t say the words no matter what.

Reason and emotion tugged at each other; in the end, Wu You made her choice.

She considered how to begin. “Young Master Zhao is magnanimous; I, Wu You, ought to agree readily to such a request.”

She steadied herself and went on, “Unfortunately, my heart is already set. Your sister is the one I love—I absolutely will not give up!”

Watching the woman whose brows now carried a resolute air, Zhao Qingshu furrowed his own more tightly. On the one hand, the idea of two women together was shockingly out of bounds; on the other, he recalled the capital’s rumors—wasn’t she supposed to like Zhang Boyu?

So he asked, “Aren’t you in love with the Marquis of Chang’an’s eldest grandson, Zhang Boyu?”

Wu You choked. The original had indeed liked Zhang Boyu, which she couldn’t refute—but she couldn’t very well tell him the soul inside this shell had swapped out…

So she put on a wounded look. “No. My stubborn pursuit never earned a backward glance from him. Since there was no possibility, I let go of Young Master Zhang long ago.”

She didn’t look like she was faking it, which made Zhao Qingshu frown and ask, “Then when did you start liking my sister?”

She searched the inherited memories, then let a hint of sweetness touch her smile. “Last year’s Qixi lantern festival. Your sister wore white; in the glow of the lanterns she was like a fairy descending to earth—I fell in love at first sight.”
(TN: Qixi — the Double Seventh Festival, often called Chinese Valentine’s Day; lantern festivals are common festive scenes.)

“So you only like my sister’s looks!”

Wu You bit back the urge to swear; her impression of Zhao Qingshu plummeted into the negatives.

Fighting the impulse to plant a fist and give him panda eyes, she softened her voice to a feather-light gentleness. “No. That was only how we met. Later, I gradually discovered your sister’s gentleness and kindness—I was won over by her character.”

He found her expression sincere, yet for some reason unease prickled at his heart.

She’d laid it out that far, and still the man was oil-and-salt-proof. In truth, Zhao Qingshu was mild by nature and not very aggressive; faced with someone as shameless as Wu You, he had no idea how to parry.

He could only huff coldly, flick his sleeve, and take his leave.

Watching him go, she tipped her head back to glance at the beam overhead—nothing there. She frowned slightly. Did I mishear? I was sure someone was up there.

Maybe she was just too wound up. She turned back toward her room to rest and sort through the plot to come.

In the Yongding Marquisate, a girl in white sat quietly by the window listening to the report of an elderly woman in black, her thoughts unreadable.

“She really said that?”

“Yes. I was hiding on the beam and heard it—her conversation with the young master.”

If Wu You had been here, she would have recognized this old woman as the one from her dream.

Complication flashed in the girl’s eyes. “You’ve worked hard, Yungu. You may go.”

“Yes.”

After Yungu left, Zhao Qingzi began to murmur to herself, “Last year’s lantern festival, was it? So she fell for the surface version of me.”

She let out a self-mocking laugh. “Enough, enough.”