Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Jiang Jiang’s Plot Recap (1)

Outside the capital, Ten-Li Pavilion was a roaring sea of people. Liu Cheng An’s triumphant return had turned the place into a full-blown holiday—noble ladies shrieked, commoners shouted themselves hoarse, and everyone acted like they’d personally marched to war and come back with a medal.

Meanwhile, in the Outer City, on Willow Spring Lane, the Jiang household was unusually quiet.

Mu Wan Ling was already napping. She took a short rest every day, and Jiang Jiang didn’t dare disturb her. So Jiang Jiang slipped back to her room alone, because she understood one thing better than anyone: now that Liu Cheng An was back, the entire capital was about to explode.

She sank into her chair, absently poking the coals in the brazier, and began replaying the novel’s plot in her head. She didn’t know if it was because of her cheat, but the original story felt stamped into her mind—every line, every word, painfully clear. Every arc, every scene, right down to the fine print.

The first heroine of this world was Chu Yun Yue, Eldest Miss of the Chu family.

As a child, Chu Yun Yue had been sickly and “foolish.” In the Chu family, that made her a burden. A disgrace. Nobody liked her. And the capital loved gossip more than it loved warm tea, so rumors ran wild: the Chu family’s eldest daughter was mad, unhinged, a complete idiot.

Then came the “accident.”

She fell into the water.

And she woke up with memories from her past life.

Her soul, it turned out, had crossed over from another era. In the beginning, her spirit had been too strong for this young body, and the mismatch was what caused her “foolishness.”

Once her memories awakened, Chu Yun Yue did the first thing any self-respecting transmigrator heroine did: she marched to the Liu family to break off the engagement.

But the male lead, Liu Cheng An, refused.

So their story opened with the classic double feature: engagement-break drama plus bickering enemies who couldn’t stand each other—and, unfortunately, couldn’t stay away from each other either. Chu Yun Yue only wanted to cancel the engagement and build her own career. Jiang Jiang had to admit, she liked that type. A heroine who wanted a future, not a man.

Of course, Liu Cheng An didn’t remain immune for long. He was pulled in, little by little, until their sharp clashes turned into something else entirely. Enemies to partners. Partners to life-and-death companions. Then, finally, lovers.

Honestly? The novel was pretty good.

And in a story like this, the supporting cast—the ones who shoved the plot along—couldn’t be missing.

Chu Yun Fei—Second Miss of the Chu family—was early-arc cannon fodder. Not much brainpower, not much firepower. Her specialty was “pitiful,” the fake-innocent type who looked like she’d cry if you blinked too hard.

She didn’t last long, but she knew how to gather a crowd. She had plenty of “handkerchief friends” and a little pack of followers.

Huang E Er—Jiang Jiang’s third grandaunt’s daughter-in-law’s niece’s husband’s side cousin—was one of them.

According to the original owner’s memories, Huang E Er seemed to have feelings for Jiang Chao Sheng. So whenever there were flower-viewing parties or spring outings in the capital, Huang E Er would invite the original owner along, hoping to get closer to her future sister-in-law.

[If Huang E Er invites me again, I should go.] Jiang Jiang’s thoughts jumped to the upcoming spring flower-viewing party—the heroine’s first major glow-up after transmigrating. Jiang Jiang was not missing a front-row seat to a villainess getting publicly humiliated.

She was a nameless background extra. The heroine wouldn’t notice her. Going to watch the drama was practically civic duty.

And Chu Yun Fei was useful in a pinch.

Mm.

Jiang Jiang smiled faintly and kept sifting through the plot.

If there was one villainess with the most scenes, the biggest arc, and the wildest personality shift, it was Gu Yan Huan—the first “truly vicious” female supporting character.

Gu Yan Huan had been born into poverty. She and her brother had depended on each other since childhood. When her brother rose like a rocket, she rose with him, landing in the Chancellor’s Residence as a celebrated miss, chased by more noble young masters than she could comfortably ignore.

But deep down, she was still insecure. She fell for Liu Cheng An at first sight and nursed that crush in silence. Early on, she’d been written as devoted and humble. She wasn’t evil by nature. She even admired the heroine’s talent. When she learned Chu Yun Yue wanted to break off the engagement and focus on her career, Gu Yan Huan had wanted to be friends.

Then the later plot happened.

Gu Yan Huan watched Liu Cheng An fall for Chu Yun Yue. The two of them started appearing together everywhere—openly, often. At the same time, because of Gu Yan Qing, Liu Cheng An began deliberately distancing himself from Gu Yan Huan.

That was the crack.

And once a crack formed, everything poured in.

Gu Yan Huan convinced herself it was all because Chu Yun Yue existed. Chu Yun Yue had deceived her. Chu Yun Yue had stolen what should have been hers. Jealousy curdled into hatred.

And jealousy had a way of hollowing people out until there was nothing left but obsession.

“Love turning into hate,” Jiang Jiang murmured, exhaling softly. “Pathetic. Tragic. And still disgusting.”

In this novel, Gu Yan Huan was responsible for every meltdown, every scheme, every attempt to ruin the heroine. She also became the key force that shoved Gu Yan Qing and Liu Cheng An from tense rivalry into outright, endless hostility.

Gu Yan Huan herself only turned deadly when she aimed at the heroine. To everyone else, she was surprisingly harmless.

But the one standing behind her—Gu Yan Qing—was another story.

That man’s combat power was absurd, and when he got angry, he didn’t pick targets. Anyone could get caught in the splash.

Touch him and you died.

Not someone she could afford to offend. Not even a little.

Jiang Jiang quietly filed the Gu siblings under “absolutely do not mess with.”

Ah. Why did women have to make life hard for other women?

Fine. Think about something cheerful.

Like, say… the heroine’s “inner palace.”

No, wait. Wrong genre.

She meant the men who loved her and couldn’t have her.