Transmigrated into the Villain's Cannon Fodder Ex-Wife (Transmigrated into a Book) - Chapter 12

Lin Chu’s breath caught as she turned to look at the person who had called her.

It was an unremarkable face, with features barely managing to pass for delicate. Her hair was styled in a married woman’s bun, and her clothes, though old, were presentable—better than Lin Chu’s patched burlap garments.

Lin Chu racked her brain for information about the woman before her.

Shaoyao. She had once been a maid alongside the original owner of Lin Chu’s body. However, due to her plain appearance and stiff, wooden personality, she was relegated to being a third-class maid tasked with cleaning. The original owner had almost no impression of her, which suggested they had barely interacted.

Why had Shaoyao suddenly called out to her?

Could it be that she had noticed Lin Chu tailing Lan Zhi? A pang of uncertainty surged within Lin Chu.

But since the other party had already initiated the conversation, Lin Chu felt she had to respond. “You’re here too?”

Shaoyao raised the food box in her hand, and her tone was neither complaining nor resentful. 

“My mother-in-law wanted to eat the braised lion’s head made in this restaurant, so she asked me to come and buy it.”

Her words didn’t seem to imply that she had noticed Lin Chu following Lan Zhi. Lin Chu scrutinized Shaoyao’s face for any clues, but all she saw was Shaoyao’s gaze lingering on her temple before a look of shared misery and pity emerged.

“Back when we were maids together, you were the most favored by the master’s family. And now in Qiang City… who would have thought you’d end up like this…” Shaoyao spoke without realizing how inappropriate her words were and continued, “Of all of us, Lan Zhi has the best life now. She’s a bona fide official’s wife.”

Lin Chu suddenly understood why the original owner disliked Shaoyao. Considering the prickly relationship between the original owner and Lan Zhi, Shaoyao’s words were like stabbing at an open wound.

Fortunately, Lin Chu was now in control of this body.

Seeing that Shaoyao had not uncovered anything, Lin Chu relaxed and replied, 

“Everyone has their destiny. Wealth and status are determined by the heavens. What isn’t meant to be yours will never be yours.”

Her words ended Shaoyao’s speech, and just as Lin Chu was about to say goodbye, Shaoyao suddenly asked, 

“If you’ve truly accepted your fate, why are you still following Lan Zhi here?”

Lin Chu’s heart instantly leapt into her throat, and she fixed Shaoyao with a wary gaze.

Shaoyao seemed satisfied with Lin Chu’s reaction and continued in a tone that was hard to distinguish as either sympathy or disdain, 

“Lan Zhi married a Qianhu¹. That Qianhu’s sister is the General’s favored concubine. Thanks to her, Lan Zhi frequently visits the General’s residence. I’ve seen the General’s concubine before—she’s not as pretty as you. But the General dotes on her anyway. Tan Yun, it’s just fate. We’re all unlucky people.”

Finally, Shaoyao ended her speech with a conclusion.

Lin Chu frowned deeply. Why did it feel like Shaoyao was deliberately digging at people’s vulnerabilities to make them uncomfortable? Then, she spoke words about accepting fate, followed by claims of how miserable everyone was.

Shaoyao interpreted Lin Chu’s silence as a sign of having struck a nerve. She patted Lin Chu’s shoulder and said, 

“Once you truly let go, it won’t hurt as much. It’s getting late. I should head back, or my mother-in-law will scold me. I’ll come to your house to visit when I’m free.”

Please don’t come! Lin Chu thought but didn’t say aloud.

Lin Chu felt uncomfortable as she watched Shaoyao leave, comparing her to an upgraded version of the nagging and tragic Xianglin’s Wife.

By the time Lin Chu returned home, it was already late. Jiang Wanxue wasn’t there, but little Han Junye sat in the courtyard holding a gray puppy. When he heard someone opening the gate, his eyes lit up. But upon seeing it was Lin Chu, the light in his eyes quickly dimmed.

“Where’s your mother?” Lin Chu asked, pretending not to know Jiang Wanxue’s whereabouts.

“She went out,” Han Junye pursed his lips, unable to hide his disappointment.

He’s just a child after all. Lin Chu couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. She tried to cheer him up. 

“I bought a duck. For lunch today, we’ll have sour radish and old duck soup.”

The little bun, Han Junye, glanced at her but pursed his lips, seemingly debating whether to talk to her.

Lin Chu wasn’t particularly patient, so when the boy ignored her, she didn’t mind. She entered the main house, casually asked Yan Mingge what he wanted to eat, and then headed to the kitchen.

Yan Mingge’s response was predictable: “Meat.”

As Lin Chu cooked, her thoughts drifted to the events of the morning. The doctor had said Jiang Wanxue’s medicine bottles contained only flour? She’d thought she had wronged Jiang Wanxue but then saw Lan Zhi leading her into the General’s residence, showing an unusually deferential attitude…

It all seemed more complicated than she had imagined. Lin Chu felt her limited intellect wasn’t sharp enough to figure it all out.  

While handling the duck she had bought, she failed to notice a small figure sneaking into the kitchen.

Han Junye, too short to see over the countertop, stood silently for a while before mustering the courage to tug on Lin Chu’s sleeve.

Lin Chu looked down, surprised to see the delicate little boy.

“The duck?” Han Junye asked hesitantly, his eyes betraying both curiosity and worry.

“It’s in the basin,” Lin Chu replied while mincing garlic.

Realizing the boy had gone silent, Lin Chu finally understood his intentions. She wiped her hands on a clean cloth, crouched down, and met Han Junye’s gaze. 

“Do you want to see it?”

Han Junye nodded vigorously.

Lin Chu brought the marinated duck closer for him to examine.

As soon as he saw it, Han Junye’s face twisted in disdain. 

“It’s ugly.”

“It doesn’t matter as long as it’s tasty,” Lin Chu replied, returning to her preparations.

“Chickens look better than ducks,” Han Junye added, perhaps finding Lin Chu less dull to talk to than sitting alone.

“Baby ducks are cute too,” Lin Chu countered.

“No way. Ducks are ugly, especially without feathers.”

“That’s because this one is for soup. Living ducklings are just like chicks—soft yellow feathers and little flat yellow beaks.”

“That sounds even uglier.”

The meal was ready while she chatted with the little bun.  

To Lin Chu’s surprise, Jiang Wanxue still hadn’t returned by dinnertime.

For someone as cautious as Jiang Wanxue, it seemed out of character.

Han Junye, tired of waiting, went to sit by the courtyard gate, his eyes brimming with longing—a sight that would soften anyone’s heart.

Lin Chu glanced at Yan Mingge, who remained motionless in the main room, and asked, 

“Did Mrs. Han not tell you where she was going?”

Yan Mingge raised an eyebrow in surprise. 

“She’s not you.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

Lin Chu mulled over his words, but they still didn’t sit right with her. She picked up a needle and thread, intending to mend Yan Mingge’s torn clothes, but after a few uneven stitches, she decided to spare herself the embarrassment.

Apart from inheriting the original owner’s memories, Lin Chu had seemingly inherited none of her other skills… assuming the original owner had any to begin with.

Setting aside the needlework, Lin Chu rubbed her sore neck, muttering, 

“Sitting for a bit makes my neck ache.”

She then glanced at Yan Mingge, who had been bedridden since his injury. Wouldn’t he develop muscle atrophy from lying down for so long?

“Do you feel sore from lying down all the time?” she asked him.

Yan Mingge’s dark eyes fixed on her for a long moment before he replied coolly, 

“Are you offering to massage me?”

Lin Chu: “…”

This insufferable man always had a way of leaving her speechless.

“It’s late. Let’s eat,” she said stiffly, changing the subject.

The sour radish duck soup had simmered longer by the time Jiang Wanxue returned, and its rich aroma filled the room. Yan Mingge and Han Junye each ate half a bowl more than usual, leaving the steamer empty.

Just as Lin Chu began tidying up, someone knocked on the courtyard gate. Was that Jiang Wanxue? If so, what poor timing—there was no food left!

Lin Chu started for the door, but Han Junye, his belly round like a ball, darted ahead. 

“Mother!” he cried happily, only to stop abruptly.

Curious, Lin Chu was about to check who it was when the gate swung fully open.

A slender man stepped in, carrying Han Junye in his arms. Dressed in a white robe with a matching cloak, the only contrast to his attire was the black cloud-patterned boots he wore. His features bore a striking resemblance to Han Junye’s, albeit overly gaunt, making his sharp contours and Western features even more prominent.

He was Han Zichen, the heir to the prestigious Han Family, a noble house of ducal rank.

His appearance was indeed striking, but Lin Chu found it paled compared to her first encounter with a bloodied Yan Mingge.

Han Zichen’s deep, overly penetrating gaze lingered on the house, while Yan Mingge, inside, seemed to return the intensity.

Lin Chu felt as though the two were locked in a profound, unspoken exchange.

Stepping aside, Lin Chu made room for Han Zichen to enter. Carrying Han Junye, he entered the house. The scent of bitter herbs hung around Yan Mingge’s bed, where layers of gauze covered his injuries.

Looking at the bandages, Han Zichen met Yan Mingge’s gaze. What passed between them needed no words. When he finally spoke, it was only to say, 

“Brother Yan, you’ve suffered greatly beyond the border all these years.”

“Being alive is the greatest blessing,” Yan Mingge replied, his tone cold and steady.

Han Zichen turned away from Yan Mingge’s scrutinizing eyes and continued slowly, 

“All is well in the capital. After the Empress fell seriously ill, she devoted herself to Buddhism, withdrawing from court affairs. I had Chen Tingmao, who oversaw the execution of the Yong’an Marquis’ household, imprisoned… but the plum tree you planted before your residence withered last year.”

Standing nearby, Lin Chu felt her heart pound. Han Zichen’s tone carried a subtle message: You have nothing left to regret or hold onto.

So… was the true reason Yan Mingge killed Han Zichen’s family because they wanted him dead first?

T/L Notes:

To clarify the military ranks, Yan Mingge holds the title of Baihu, meaning he commands a unit of 100 soldiers. Moving forward, I will use the original term to better preserve the meaning in translation.

for reference:

Lower rank in Ancient China’s military hierachy:

• Bǎihu (百户, “Hundred Households”): Commander of 100 soldiers.
• Qiānhù (千户, “Thousand Households”): Commander of 1,000 soldiers.

Higher Ranks

• Jiāng (将, “General”): Commander of multiple Qiānhù units.
• Dàjiàng (大将, “High General”): Senior commander.