After Transmigrating into a Novel, I Turned on Easy Mode - Chapter 9

After returning from the Hundred Flowers Banquet, the more Wu You thought, the more something felt off—like she’d forgotten something, but no matter how she racked her brain, she couldn’t recall it and had to let it go.

Today had gone nothing like her expectations: the second male lead hadn’t shown up at the scene, yet the assassin had.

Lying in bed, Wu You felt adrift. She really should have realized sooner—her appearance would be a variable. The original Wu You wouldn’t even have lived this long.

Speaking of which, it was already this late and Zhao Qingzi still hadn’t “dealt with” her. What exactly was Zhao Qingzi’s attitude toward her?

Back then, to save her own skin, she’d blurted out something mortifying. Even now, remembering it made Wu You’s toes curl into the floorboards.

She tugged the quilt up to cover the lower half of her face, leaving only her eyes exposed—as if that could bury the embarrassment.

Calming down, she began replaying the original plot. With the banquet past, the next important beat should be Mo Ziyi’s appearance.

But Mo Ziyi wasn’t due for a while. If the plot hadn’t changed, he wouldn’t appear until next spring. Judging by the banquet, her arrival could alter some storylines, yet other things might still unfold in different forms.

Tossing and turning, she couldn’t sleep. She got up, threw on a robe, grabbed a lantern, and headed for the kitchen.

This was an old habit from her previous life—when she couldn’t sleep, she wanted a snack. Not hunger, just a craving.

Night was colder still. Wu You hugged the robe tighter. Darkness lay on all sides; now and then the wind came, hissing through leaves.

Spooked by the ambiance, she found herself remembering horror films from modern times.

Suddenly, Wu You chickened out. She decisively abandoned the kitchen, turned back, and walked away—glancing over her shoulder every few steps, convinced someone was following her.

Fear rising, she quickened her pace. Passing a step, she slipped and sprawled.

Her lantern skittered far away. Rubbing her bruised knee, she stood, picked it up, and lifted her head—was that a white-clad figure in the tree ahead?

Her scalp prickled. She rubbed her eyes and looked again—nothing there. Panic swelling, she wanted no part of lingering in the dark and hurried back to her room.

Bang—she slammed the door. Only after lighting every candle did she feel a shred of safety.

No chance of sleep now. Thinking of her own antics, she half-laughed, half-cried. Truly, she was too timid.

Bored, she pulled out paper and brush to doodle. What to draw?

Zhao Qingzi’s image flashed through her mind—the Zhao Qingzi from last year’s lantern festival in the original’s memories.

White-clad still, seated in a wheelchair, head slightly bowed with a faint smile—yet all those lantern lights on the street couldn’t seem to reach her eyes.

She set the brush to paper and drew from memory, concentrating hard. Sadly, the picture in her head and the one under her brush were two completely different things.

One look at her “masterpiece” and she broke into laughter. What was this! A beautiful girl reduced by her hand to a short-legged, long-armed gremlin.

Which page of the Classic of Mountains and Seas would this creature be on?
(TN: Shan Hai Jing is a classic catalog of mythic beasts.)

Oh no you don’t! I refuse to believe I can’t draw a human being!

Apparently boredom is an illness. Wu You really started taking it seriously—one sheet after another, until failed attempts carpeted the floor.

Maybe she’d spent too much energy. Her eyelids began to duel, her head bobbed, and finally she slumped over the desk and fell asleep.

Not long after she’d dozed off, her door opened from outside. Yungu carried Zhao Qingzi in. Zhao Qingzi was a woman of action—when she wanted something, she did it at once.

For instance, she suddenly wanted to see Wu You. She’d spent the day with her at the banquet, true, but here she was anyway.

Yungu set Zhao Qingzi on the stool beside the sleeping Wu You, then withdrew and considerately shut the door.

Zhao Qingzi studied the sleeping face. Because Wu You slept with her head turned, the ink smudges on her cheek were plain as day.

Laughter warmed Zhao Qingzi’s eyes. She wanted to wipe them off, but feared waking her, and refrained.

The floor was littered with paper balls; the desk, too. She picked one up and unfolded it—nearly laughing out loud. What even was that?

Looking closer, it seemed to be… someone in a wheelchair. The smile died. Was this supposed to be me…

Shaking her head, she remembered the figure she herself had seen in the tree earlier. To think the capital’s fearless little tyrant was afraid of ghosts.

She lowered herself in the same posture, facedown on the desk. The distance between them was quite small—small enough that Zhao Qingzi could hear Wu You’s even breaths. She couldn’t help inching closer.

Just looking like this, a swell of contentment rose. The girl’s lashes were long; her eyes, shut; her mouth smacked lightly as if murmuring—

Leaning in: “Braised ribs, don’t run… just one bite, just one!”

This person is… unexpectedly adorable.

With the beloved so close, how wonderful it would be to stay like this forever. She couldn’t resist lifting a hand, reaching to brush Wu You’s cheek.

Just as she was about to touch—Yungu’s voice came from outside. “Miss, we should go. If we linger, the young master will notice.”

She drew back in a small panic, straightened. “Understood. Let’s go.”

Yungu cracked the door, lifted Zhao Qingzi, and vanished into the night.

Only, Yungu forgot to close the door. It opened directly onto the sleeping Wu You, and the night wind blew through till dawn; unsurprisingly, Wu You caught a cold.

“Achoo!” Wu You sniffled. Her luck was rotten: slashed by an assassin yesterday, fell down last night, and now she’d managed to sleep herself sick…

But she was sure she’d closed the door. Why was it open this morning? She recalled that vague white shape from last night and shivered. Could there really be ghosts in this world? Then again, she herself had “crossed over”—in a sense, also a ghost.

The more she thought, the more she scared herself. She bundled the quilt tighter and told the servants to boil ginger soup.

A bowl of ginger soup later, she felt much better.

This “delicate and fragile” feeling didn’t fit the original’s persona at all. Out of embarrassment, she hadn’t let the maids clean up the paper balls scattered everywhere.

Now that she felt a bit stronger, she decided to tidy up herself. Slipping on shoes, she got down, picking up the balls one by one. Suddenly she remembered she hadn’t read what the emperor wrote. Was it really as Zhao Qingzi said?

At last she remembered what she’d forgotten—she’d handed the slip to Zhao Qingzi and forgotten to take it back, too busy with the dagger gift.

Well, it wasn’t urgent. If it’s gone, it’s gone. There was about half a year until the next plot point. She could use that time to make contact with the villain first.

Counting days, Wu You realized the original’s birthday was the same as her own—and only about a month away. Digging through the inherited memories, it seemed the original’s father would return to celebrate.

A shadow passed through her eyes. She wasn’t ready to face Wu Zhan—not sure how to meet the one person the original had truly been close to.

Forget it. I’ll deal with it when it comes.