After Transmigrating into a Novel, I Turned on Easy Mode - Chapter 22

When Wu You returned to the General’s Manor, dusk hadn’t fully fallen. She handed off her horse to a groom, went back to her room, and lit the lamps.

She opened the storybook and began to read—only to feel something more and more off: the heroine’s temperament felt… familiar. It was practically the same as Zhao Qingzi’s.

Wu You’s expression turned a bit strange. From Zhao Qingzi’s tone, she’d clearly read this book too. What must she think of it?

Setting that aside, Wu You read on—and slowly got sucked in.

By the time it was fully dark, she was wiping tears with a handkerchief, sobbing so hard her breath hitched.

Uuu, the courtesan is too tragic. Her love is so humble! Just confess already—he won’t look down on you, surely!

For no reason Zhao Qingzi surfaced in her mind. Wu You shook her head. Someone as brilliant as Zhao Qingzi… she couldn’t imagine her falling for anyone.

When the angst got unbearable, she closed the book, tucked a slip of paper to mark the page, set it carefully aside, undressed, and crawled into bed. Maybe she’d exerted herself too much earlier; she fell asleep quickly.

She woke to sunlight spearing in through the window and straight into her eyes. She lifted an arm to block it. After a brief mental tussle, she decided to get up.

Once tidied, she read a bit more, then her eyes felt tired. She thought she’d go out for a walk—and maybe do some good deeds to improve her public image.

Riding a horse again would look too showy. She gave up the idea and went on foot.

It was the same as always: when she stepped onto the street, hawkers’ voices automatically dropped. She rubbed her nose. Thinking back on the original host’s deeds—shaking down “protection money,” dining and dashing, brawling—each one was a black mark.

In the end, it had all come from poverty. General Wu sent living stipends only every six months; he was rarely home. The original spent hers the moment it arrived, and too lazy to earn, she robbed instead.

Wrong is wrong.

Wu You stopped at a stall selling trinkets. The owner was a middle-aged uncle. Before she could speak, he clutched his head and squatted, panicked. “Boss Wu, I really don’t have money! I’ve got old and young to feed—please spare me!”

Wu You’s words died in her throat. The man was trembling all over. “Stand up,” she said.

Her voice was soft, her tone gentle, but he didn’t seem to register it. He sprang up like a spring. “B-Boss Wu, w-what do you need, just say it!”

Wu You rubbed her temples. Headache. She was about to explain when a voice sounded behind her.

“Miss Wu.”

She turned. Liniang.

She shelved the idea of explaining to the stall-owner. What a coincidence—yesterday and again today.

“Hello,” she said politely.

Liniang’s outfit was much like yesterday’s, though the flower in her hair was now a peony. A veil covered her face; her eyes were smiling.

“What a coincidence indeed. We just met yesterday. Miss Wu, you are…?”

Glancing at the trembling hawker, then at the unreadable curve of Liniang’s eyes, Wu You felt aggrieved. I’m not robbing him!

She sighed. “If I said I merely wanted to buy something like a normal person, would you believe me?”

Liniang smiled. “I believe you.”

For some reason, Wu You felt a prickle of emotion—even if she couldn’t tell if Liniang meant it. She eyed the flower in her hair and remembered her courtesan status… and then the storybook.

Noticing Wu You staring at her head, Liniang touched the ornaments. Nothing strange clung there. “What is it, Miss Wu?” she asked softly.

“Sorry, that was rude. You just… remind me of someone in a story I’m reading.”

Liniang’s eyes turned, as if recalling something. “Is the book called Record of Seventeen?”

Wu You’s eyes widened. The thrill of meeting a fellow reader shot up; she couldn’t help raising her voice. “You’ve read it too?!”

Startled by Wu You’s sudden enthusiasm, Liniang stepped back half a pace to recover. “Of course. The heroine’s prototype is probably me—though I don’t mean her temperament.”

Before Wu You could ask, Liniang explained, “Not long ago I was carried off by the famous bandit Jiang Hong. Some busybodies started rumors that she was enamored of me. Not true. She was only after money.”

So that’s it. People in this world loved their gossip as much as any.

Jiang Hong’s name rang a bell—wanted on imperial notices. They suspected the Hundred Flowers Banquet assassin was her.

“She didn’t do anything to you, did she?” Wu You asked.

Liniang shook her head. “No. She just took the redemption money I’d saved. Now I have to start over.” Her eyes clouded.

Too much. Wu You thought back to that night at the banquet. I went too easy. I should’ve beaten her until she spat teeth.

“If I see her again, I’ll thrash her,” Wu You said through her teeth.

Liniang’s gaze flickered. Inwardly, she apologized to Jiang Hong.

At that moment in Jinzhou, Jiang Hong—diligently sweeping as a shop maid—suddenly felt her nose itch and sneezed.

“A-choo!” She rubbed her nose. Which idiot is cursing me?

Mo Ziyi was tallying accounts nearby. The thunderous sneeze made her look up. “If you’re unwell, go rest.”

Jiang Hong’s heart melted. This young master is a saint. Way better than Zhao Qingzi—no, that devil doesn’t even belong in the same sentence. She quashed a treacherous urge to switch sides—Yu’er’s life was still in Zhao Qingzi’s hands.

“No need, young master. I’m fine.”

Mo Ziyi frowned, then, seeing she truly seemed fine, let it go. “Then be careful. Don’t push yourself.”

She bent back over the ledger.

Broom in hand, Jiang Hong watched from the corner of her eye. Why did Zhao Qingzi tell me to investigate this one? He looks like a pure victim. What could he have to do with bandits?

He did nothing but do accounts—till even looking at rows of characters made Jiang Hong’s head spin.

And this young master was odd—always leaving two locks of hair at his ears, as if trying to hide them.

She frowned and noted it down; Zhao Qingzi had said to include every tiny trait.

Lost in thought, her sweeping was purely mechanical. After a long while she realized she hadn’t moved from the same spot.

Mo Ziyi finished, stretched, kneaded her sore neck, and peered outside. Fewer customers now. Her stomach grumbled; she should find a meal.

She turned—and saw Little Red sweeping in a daze. Maybe she really is sick and forcing it.

She stepped forward and touched the girl’s forehead. Normal temperature. She relaxed. So she’s just slacking.

The sudden hand made Jiang Hong jump. Years of wandering had honed her reflexes; she almost flipped Mo Ziyi over her shoulder.

Thank goodness she held back. One strike here and she’d be done for.

“If you don’t want to sweep, don’t. Go rest. It should be near mealtime anyway,” Mo Ziyi said.

Jiang Hong realized she was hungry too, but she disliked the shop’s food. With Mo Ziyi’s gentle temperament, maybe she could ask to eat out.

Sure enough, she guessed right. They picked a restaurant. Mo Ziyi sat; Jiang Hong intended to stand, but Mo Ziyi insisted she sit as well.

Sob—what a celestial boss. Nothing like Zhao Qingzi. No! That monster doesn’t deserve comparison.

They were midway through when a voice called, “Brother Ziyi! Fancy meeting you!”

Mo Ziyi looked over. A slightly plump youth approached. Panic fluttered—she didn’t know him, but he might be her brother’s friend.

Forcing calm, she said, “What a coincidence.”

The youth plopped down opposite without ceremony, sorrow on his face. “I heard about your sister. Brother Ziyi, my condolences.”

Thinking of her brother, Mo Ziyi’s mood dipped. “Thank you,” she replied flatly.

The youth stared at her. The scrutiny made her skin crawl; her grip on her chopsticks tightened. Then he said:

“You look… a bit different somehow.”

Mo Ziyi’s heart squeezed. “People change. How am I different?”

He frowned, thought, then said, “Your skin’s better. Fairer than before.”

She exhaled. “The roads were snowed in, so I’ve been going out less. Staying indoors makes one paler.”

He accepted that and left after a few more pleasantries.

Mo Ziyi let out a long breath and lowered her head to eat.

Jiang Hong had watched the whole time. Prompted by the youth’s comment, she studied Mo Ziyi’s skin, then touched her own—and sighed.

Didn’t expect a man’s skin to be better than mine. Depressing.

Sensing Jiang Hong’s gaze, Mo Ziyi asked, “What is it?”

Jiang Hong snapped back, feigning embarrassment. “Nothing. Just… young master’s skin is really good. Who was that just now?”

How would Mo Ziyi know? She simply said, “A friend.”

Seeing no more to learn, Jiang Hong dropped it. After they finished, Mo Ziyi thought of the looming New Year—she’d have to go home.

Can I be calm with Father? She gave a wry smile. My opinions never mattered. Best not to overthink it.