A Quiet Homecoming

Startled out of her wits, if the figure hadn't looked vaguely human, He Zhuoming would have fainted on the spot.

But staying conscious was worse. She collapsed into the coffin, trembling and weak, her mind blank as she stared at the young man, at a loss for words or action.

The young man reached out, gripped her arm, and pulled her out of the coffin. "Did I scare you? But I think I'm pretty good-looking, so I shouldn't have scared you unconscious."

He Zhuoming instinctively tugged her arm back—he seemed harmless, but his grip was surprisingly strong. She couldn't break free, and her struggles only made her arm ache.

The young man continued, "I actually wanted to say hello last night, but you were sleeping so soundly that I knocked on the coffin lid several times, and you didn't stir."

He Zhuoming: "..."

The young man said with a smile, "I'm not a bad person, just a passing good Samaritan. You look terrible, and your lips are cracked... Poor thing. Here, have some water. Don't worry, there's definitely no poison in it."

With that, he released her arm, unhooked a water pouch from his waist, took a sip himself, and then handed it to her.

He Zhuoming watched his throat move as he swallowed and couldn't help but swallow herself. She took the pouch and drank greedily.

After draining the sweet water in one go, He Zhuoming licked her lips—the cracks were slowly regaining sensation, and now they stung.

The young man reached for her again, and He Zhuoming, startled, stumbled backward—only to step on a corpse. She tripped over it and fell, the pain stinging her eyes and bringing tears.

The young man was surprised. "How did you fall?"

He Zhuoming was shocked by his audacity. "Isn't it because you scared me?!"

She hadn't spoken in days, so her voice came out hoarse and strange, and the odd pronunciation startled even herself. She touched her throat, wondering if that was really her voice.

The young man said seriously, "But I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted my water pouch back. You kept backing away and stepped on the corpse."

He might as well not have mentioned the corpse. The moment he did, He Zhuoming realized what she was lying on, and disgust washed over her. She scrambled to her feet, tossed the water pouch back to him, and hurried out of the temple.

The young man caught the pouch with one hand, then crouched down, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped clean the corpse's clothes where He Zhuoming had stepped on them.

His eyes still curved in a smile, he whispered to the headless corpse, "Kids don't watch where they're going. They didn't mean to step on you. Don't hold a grudge, okay?"

He Zhuoming finally stepped into the sunlight—though her face stung from the sun, she was once again on solid ground, basking in the warmth, smelling the fragrance of rice and wildflowers in the air, and seeing the rolling mountain lines all around. She couldn't help but start crying again.

She wiped her tears with the red silk wrapping her beads, thinking that she was lucky to have transmigrated wearing sneakers. If she'd been in sandals or slippers, there was no way she could handle the mountain paths.

The young man walked over to her and asked, "Everyone in the village is dead. What do you plan to do next?"

He Zhuoming was on guard and didn't want to reveal her plans, so she lied, "I'm going to the city to seek refuge with relatives. What about you?"

The young man didn't answer. Instead, he looked toward the rice field not far away. On the ridge between the rice seedlings stood a greenish-white horse, appearing out of nowhere.

The horse wore a green bridle, and its back was covered with a small green blanket woven from vines, with willow leaves hanging down from both sides, like green tassels decorating it.

The young man whistled with his index finger in his mouth. The horse walked over gracefully, its hooves making a steady 'clop, clop' sound.

He Zhuoming looked at the horse warily, then at the young man, and quietly tucked the bundle of gold and jewels behind her.

She studied his profile, feeling a strange sense of familiarity. But she was certain she didn't know him—where had he come from? He said he'd noticed her last night, meaning he'd arrived before then. Had he encountered the ghost groom who had been on a killing spree?

The young man hung the water pouch back on his waist, and He Zhuoming's gaze followed his movements.

Around his waist was a black belt half a palm wide, fastened by a red buckle on the side. The buckle was odd—adorned with fresh red crabapple flowers and an exquisite wooden token.

The token was carved with crabapple blossoms and three bold characters: Lin Qingyun.

The young man stroked the horse's neck, grabbed the reins, and said to He Zhuoming, "The mountain roads are rough. A girl like you might not make it out alone. I'll lend Qing Yang to you. He's a good horse that knows the way and can take you to the nearest city beyond the mountains."

When he saw that He Zhuoming was still staring blankly and not responding, he smiled gently and said softly, "Don't worry, I know you're afraid of me. I won't go with you—just the horse. Once you reach the city, get off and find your relatives. Qing Yang can find his way back on his own."

He Zhuoming: "You're Lin Qingyun?"

The young man tilted his head, looking at He Zhuoming without speaking, just curling his lips, dimples appearing on his cheeks, the bead chain on his left ear swaying gently in the breeze, the translucent beads glinting.

His silence seemed to confirm—but in truth, the young man was trying to recall who Lin Qingyun was. He didn't think he knew such a person... probably not?

The young man wasn't sure.

Because he was famously bad with memory—he held no grudges and remembered no names.

He Zhuoming's eyes widened. "You really are Lin Qingyun?!"

Lin Qingyun, the male lead of the original novel, was characterized by indecisiveness, kindness, and gullibility, especially susceptible to women. Even if a harmless-looking woman tricked him a hundred times, he'd still fall for it the hundred-first time.

No exaggeration: of all the hardships Lin Qingyun endured in the earlier arcs, eighty percent were his own fault. Whenever He Zhuoming read about him being tricked by women again, she'd roll her eyes in frustration.

In contrast, the villain had much more style—he oppressed every man and woman equally, showing no mercy based on gender. A character who loses the concept of gender in his actions always seems especially charming.

But fiction was fiction, and reality was reality. He Zhuoming had learned that in reality, a handsome psycho should be locked up in prison for life, not allowed to terrorize people on the streets.

He Zhuoming looked at the young man hopefully. The young man thought for a long time but still couldn't remember who Lin Qingyun was, so he casually admitted, "Yes, I am."

He Zhuoming took a breath and muttered to herself, "I knew it..."

No wonder this guy was so kind and willing to lend her his horse—he was the male lead!

To be honest, since transmigrating, the original plot had become increasingly blurry in her mind. She'd even forgotten the names of many important characters around the protagonist. As for the appearance descriptions of minor male characters that appeared rarely in the original work, she had no recollection at all.

After all, the original only described the male lead as 'delicate features' and the villain as 'refined features.' Any other male character got the treatment of just being labeled as 'this is a guy.'

The novel had no illustrations, so who knew the difference between 'delicate' and 'refined'? He Zhuoming had only confirmed the young villain's identity by directly asking his name.

And it turned out villains were villains—even as kids, they were rotten to the core!

After muttering to herself, He Zhuoming looked up to see Lin Qingyun still holding the horse's reins, waiting for her answer.

Now that she wasn't so afraid of him, she probed, "What about you? You haven't answered—what are your plans after this?"

Lin Qingyun pointed to the temple gate. "There are so many corpses here. I'll have to dig many graves and bury them all, and carve gravestones for them."

His mention of the corpses reminded He Zhuoming of something.

After hesitating, thinking of how he'd shared his water and offered his horse, she said, "These people were killed by a ghost groom. He might still be in the village. If you stay, you should be careful of him."

Lin Qingyun blinked. "Ghost groom?"

He Zhuoming nodded. "Yes, a ghost groom."

Lin Qingyun burst out laughing, laughing so hard he leaned onto the horse's smooth neck, his hair getting ruffled by the horse.

He Zhuoming was confused. "What are you laughing at?"

Lin Qingyun said, "I'm just laughing because I find it funny that there's a bride in this world who, after paying respects to heaven and earth, still can't recognize her groom."

With that, he reached up and wiped his face. His healthy, cheerful appearance instantly turned pale and stiff, with corpse spots on his skin—utterly grotesque and terrifying.

He Zhuoming's eyes widened in shock, and she instinctively stepped back several paces. Lin Qingyun shook his head, and his appearance returned to normal. He explained with a smile, "Don't be afraid. That was just an illusion."

"I wanted to lure out the Corrupted Deity here to eradicate it, so I disguised myself as a dead groom to get into that wild temple. I didn't expect them to use a dead groom but capture a living bride, which scared you."

Even though he said he'd scared her, he had no intention of apologizing. In his whole life, he'd never said the words 'I'm sorry' to anyone, nor did he ever think he could be wrong.

He Zhuoming hadn't yet recovered from what she'd just seen. Her voice trembling, she asked, "Are—are you alive or dead?"

Before she could finish, tears streamed down again from fright.

Lin Qingyun grabbed her hand and pressed it to his cheek, then blew a breath into her palm—it was warm, clearly a sign of the living.

The bead chain on his earlobe brushed against the back of her hand, the clear beads clinking together with a crisp sound that seemed to echo in her ear.

Lin Qingyun said, "Feel it. Am I alive or dead..."

Before he could finish his question, the girl in front of him collapsed. He quickly leaned forward, catching her in a half-kneeling embrace, only to find she'd fainted.

Half from fright, half from hunger.

There was another reason, though: He Zhuoming felt safe near the male lead, so her tightly wound nerves had relaxed a bit.

This faint turned into a deep, dreamless sleep, until hunger woke her.

Hunger left her body weak. When she opened her eyes, she lay in bed for a while, zoning out, then remembered her gold. She scrambled up anxiously to search—only to see her red silk bundle lying right next to her pillow.

She opened it; the gold and jewels were all there.

The beads were numerous, and she hadn't counted them, so she couldn't tell if any were missing. But she weighed the gold in her hand—it didn't feel lighter.

Relieved, He Zhuoming looked around, quietly tucked the bundle under her pillow, then, supporting herself against the wall, walked out of the crude farmhouse. Outside, it was already deep night.

A campfire burned in the yard, and Lin Qingyun sat with his back to her, roasting buns over the flames. The air was thick with the aroma of carbs, and drool pooled in He Zhuoming's mouth.

Dragging her weak legs, she walked over to Lin Qingyun and asked, "Can—can I have a piece?"

As she spoke, she wasn't even looking at him; her eyes were fixed on the roasted buns.

Lin Qingyun took one off the fire and handed it to her. "This one's done. Go ahead..."

Before he could finish, the bun in his hand had vanished—He Zhuoming was devouring it, managing to squeeze out a thank you between bites. As she ate, she was moved to tears.

Lin Qingyun watched her with a smile, set the water pouch beside her, and said, "Eat slowly, careful not to choke. There's water here."

He Zhuoming sobbed, "Waaah, thank you... thank you... you're such a good person... I—I'll repay you someday... waaah... Once I get back to the modern world, I'll delete all the comments I left cursing you... waaah... If anyone calls you a saint again, I'll curse them out... I'll buy all your merch at conventions... thank you so much, waaah..."

Lin Qingyun smiled in silence, appearing to listen attentively, but in truth he had no idea what she was talking about.

When he saw she was nearly done with her bun, he took two more from the fire and handed them to her—He Zhuoming kept crying and eating, while Lin Qingyun watched her eyes curiously.

He thought to himself: Are her eyes made of water? How can she cry so much? Her face is all dirty from crying... But she sure can eat—this is the fifth bun already.

After wolfing down twelve buns in one sitting, He Zhuoming finally felt somewhat full.

Looking at the now-bare fork over the fire, she realized she'd eaten all of Lin Qingyun's buns. She wiped her tears and apologized, "Sorry, I was just so hungry..."

Lin Qingyun waved it off. "No matter, just a few buns. Are you feeling better now?"

He Zhuoming nodded. "Much better!"

Lin Qingyun's eyes curved into a smile as he asked, "What's your name?"

When he asked questions, there was an air of entitlement, as if people were born to answer him while he owed no answers to anyone.

But He Zhuoming was terrible at reading the room, and she was completely oblivious to the authority in Lin Qingyun's demeanor. She answered simply, "He Zhuoming."