A Flawed Story

Lin Qingyun smiled at He Zhuoming. She thought for a moment, but when he remained silent and she couldn't figure out what he meant, she offered a smile in return and turned to grab the waterskin he'd just set down, gulping down a few big mouthfuls.

The water in his waterskin was sweet.

After drinking her fill, He Zhuoming wiped her mouth. Looking down, she noticed her hands were dirty, and her sleeves were dirty too.

Now that she'd had enough to eat and drink, and her most basic survival needs were met, it was only natural for He Zhuoming to start wanting something a little more refined: for instance, she really wanted a bath right now, and if she could have a hot bath, even better.

She set down the waterskin and glanced at Lin Qingyun. He was still smiling at her—which made He Zhuoming wonder: why was he smiling? And why did he keep staring at her?

Lin Qingyun was waiting for He Zhuoming to explain which three characters made up her name.

Usually, when people introduced themselves to him, they would speak their name, then write it out for him as well.

But after hesitating for a long while, He Zhuoming opened her mouth again and asked, "Um... that—Lin, Lin..."

Lin Qingyun: "Just call me Qingyun."

He Zhuoming breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, Qingyun—I'd like to take a hot bath. Could I borrow a set of clean clothes from you?"

Lin Qingyun had never heard such a request before. He blinked, not answering right away.

He Zhuoming was a bit dense, so after asking, she just stared at him with wide eyes. When he didn't speak for a moment, she didn't suspect he was unwilling to lend clothes; she just thought the male lead was a bit slow to react.

The two looked at each other in silence for a long moment.

Finally, Lin Qingyun gave her a smile and said, "Of course. There's a stove in the woodshed over there, and the well is over there. If you want a hot bath, just draw some water and boil it, and you can wash up."

"Here," he said, "a candle. You can take it into the woodshed for light."

He Zhuoming watched as he turned his wrist, and a white candle appeared in his palm, as if by magic.

She took the candle, then curiously looked at Lin Qingyun's hand. Her curiosity was too obvious to miss, and he noticed, so he explained, "I have a mustard-seed realm, just like the storage pouches cultivators carry. I can store a few odds and ends inside. These things were already in my mustard-seed realm from the start; they didn't just appear out of thin air."

He Zhuoming nodded eagerly, pretending to have an epiphany. "I see—"

But she really hadn't understood. When she read novels, she always skipped the parts about summoning magic treasures and long, wordy battle scenes.

Still, this male lead was truly kind-hearted. He explained things to her even before she asked. Remembering how she used to curse him in the comments, calling him an incurably saintly fool for saving every woman he met, He Zhuoming felt deeply ashamed.

She held the candle and said sincerely to him, "I'm sorry."

Lin Qingyun maintained his smile. "Hmm?"

He was still waiting for her to say something else, but He Zhuoming ran off after saying sorry, leaving Lin Qingyun alone in place, still smiling, utterly confused.

He tilted his head and looked at her retreating figure. The girl was lighting her candle from the campfire, then holding it up as she went to the well to draw water.

There was a bucket by the well. He Zhuoming saw it wasn't too big, and figured she could carry it. She studied the windlass for a bit, clumsily tied the bucket on, and lowered it into the well.

The night was dark, and the candlelight couldn't reach the bottom. He Zhuoming had no idea how deep the well was, so she just kept letting the rope out.

While cranking the windlass, her mind wandered. One moment she thought about her bundle of gold and pearls, wondering how currency worked in this world, how much the gold was worth, and whether she had enough to live on. The next moment she worried about how to use the stove and whether it was okay to bathe in cold water.

She had never done housework in her life. She hadn't even washed her own socks, so of course she didn't know how to light a stove.

With these scattered thoughts, she hauled the dripping bucket out of the well and carried it into the woodshed.

The flickering candlelight filled the little shed with a dim, wavering glow. He Zhuoming looked around by the light, but she couldn't figure out how the stove worked. She did notice a sickle leaning against the wall, so she picked it up and set it nearby.

Of course, He Zhuoming didn't know how to use a sickle either.

But she felt safer having a weapon within reach. As for the stove, she gave up on it entirely and decided to take a cold bath.

She found a wooden tub big enough, poured the cold water in, and when it didn't seem like enough, she made two more trips until the tub was half full.

When Lin Qingyun saw she was about done, he walked over to the woodshed window and set a set of clean clothes, shoes, and socks on the windowsill. "I've left the clothes here," he said. "I'll be right by the campfire, so if anything strange happens, just call for me."

He Zhuoming asked, "What counts as strange...?"

Lin Qingyun's smile hinted at something ominous. "Spirits and monsters that aid the Corrupted Deity tend to gather around them."

His smile was naturally quite charming, but his words were terrifying.

He Zhuoming remembered that eerie idol with the strange face and couldn't help but shiver. She nodded quickly. "I—I'll be careful!"

After his warning, Lin Qingyun turned and walked away, very openly and gentlemanly keeping his back to the woodshed window.

But He Zhuoming didn't notice that at all. She took the clothes, then shut the window—but after staring at the closed window for a moment, she opened it again just a crack.

She took off her clothes and shoes, and when she settled into the bath, she found the well water even colder than she'd expected. Shivering, she couldn't help crying a little from the chill, and she solidified a resolve: she had to find a way back to the modern world!

But she didn't know how.

How did I even get to this world?

He Zhuoming bit her finger and tried to recall, but the memories were blurry, like looking through a fog, impossible to make out clearly.

She couldn't remember how she'd transmigrated, and she was already starting to forget the novel's plot. This 'forgetting' wasn't natural—it was as if an eraser were wiping away her memories, and she couldn't stop it.

The more she tried to remember, the more scared she got, and the more scared she got, the more she cried like an idiot. Suddenly, the male lead's smiling face, with those little dimples, popped into her head.

The male lead was such a good person—the original novel made it clear he would never deceive a woman. Could he help her?

He Zhuoming hesitated, then crept closer to the crack in the window. The cold well water in the tub rippled slightly as she moved.

She leaned against the windowsill and peeked out through the gap: outside, everything was dim, and the campfire's flame wavered unsteadily, tracing the blurry outline of the young man sitting with his back to the window.

His earring was very eye-catching. She couldn't tell what material it was, but under the firelight it glinted like a star, swinging by his ear and drawing the eye.

Suddenly a night breeze blew, making the fire leap up half a foot and He Zhuoming shiver. She couldn't hold back a sneeze.

Startled, she spun around and ducked underwater, holding her breath. Her heart hammered in her chest, and for some reason she felt nervous. Wide-eyed, she watched a stream of bubbles rise from the tip of her nose.

After a long moment, when she was about to run out of air, she finally surfaced with a gasp.

She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and carefully peeked through the window crack again—the male lead didn't seem to have noticed anything; he was still sitting by the fire with his back to her, his long earring glinting.

He Zhuoming let out a sigh of relief and patted her chest. "Phew, just my imagination..."

Lin Qingyun flicked his finger and tossed the half-burned wind-summoning talisman into the fire. His eyes curved into a smile as he muttered to himself, "Phew, just my imagination~"

The words he spoke were in the exact tone He Zhuoming had used moments ago.

Not long after, footsteps came from the woodshed. Lin Qingyun turned to look and saw He Zhuoming approaching with wet hair. Her face was clean now, but her eyes were red and a little swollen, as if she'd been crying for a while.

His clothes hung loose on her, far too big, and she had to roll up the sleeves and pant legs all the way, revealing her wrists and half her forearms.

The red clothes he'd lent her were a blazing crimson, making her skin look very pale. It reminded him of the first time he'd seen her, in a red wedding dress.

Though it had been playacting, it was still the first time he'd been a groom, the first time he'd bowed to heaven and earth with a girl. When they made the first bow, the girl had been crying so messily, he'd almost wanted to skip the formalities and pull out some candy to coax her, to make her stop crying.

He Zhuoming wrung the water from her hair and crouched down near the fire—she wanted to use the flames to dry her hair, to make it dry faster.

But before she could lean in close to the fire, Lin Qingyun leaned in toward her first.

Lin Qingyun asked curiously, "What are you doing?"

His sudden closeness caught her off guard, and she answered a beat late, "...Drying my hair."

Lin Qingyun grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. "If you lean in like that, you'll set your hair on fire. Let me help."

He Zhuoming was still stunned by how strong he was—one hand could easily grip her shoulder—and then Lin Qingyun reached out and cupped her hair.

Drops of water seeped out from between the strands and fell to the ground. Within a few breaths, her hair was dry again.

Lin Qingyun ran his fingers through her thick dark hair, combing it a couple of times, then let go and said with a smile, "There."

It took He Zhuoming a moment to react. She reached up and touched the hair he had just combed, feeling a little odd.

So this was the power of a shared central heating system... Wait, no!

Not a central heating system! He's kind, considerate, gentle, and meticulous! This is the male lead's excellent character!

He Zhuoming said sincerely, "Thank you... Qingyun. You're such a good person. Thanks for lending me your clothes, and for drying my hair."

Lin Qingyun: "No need to thank me—why are your eyes red? Were you crying?"

He Zhuoming: "Ah..."

Lin Qingyun extended his index finger and gently pressed the tip against the corner of her eye.

His fingers were so cold, like stone, without any warmth, but after a moment against her skin, they gradually warmed.

He Zhuoming blinked uncomfortably, and her eyelashes brushed against the tip of his finger.

She said, "The well water for the bath was too cold... so I cried for a bit."

Lin Qingyun's eyes lit up in understanding. "Ah, I see."

He withdrew his hand and immediately stepped back, putting distance between them—and He Zhuoming noticed he was wearing the same red clothes as her.

She hadn't looked closely earlier, and had assumed he was still wearing the groom's outfit.

So that wasn't the groom's outfit after all.

She touched the corner of her own eye, where a chill lingered from his fingers.

A normal person's hand wouldn't be that cold, especially in summer—but He Zhuoming still didn't catch on to what that meant.

The sound of hoofbeats grew closer. He Zhuoming looked up: in the faint light of dawn, the blue-gray horse was walking over slowly.

It had an iron shovel in its mouth.

The horse came up to them, dropped the shovel, and Lin Qingyun stood, patting its neck and praising it with a smile, "Good horse, good horse—"

He Zhuoming rose too, watching the horse curiously.

It was a magnificent animal, tall enough to nearly reach her neck as it stood there, its coat glossy as if draped in silk.

Lin Qingyun grasped the reins with one hand and picked up the shovel with the other. He turned to He Zhuoming and said, "Dawn is almost here~ Hurry up and ride Qing Yang back into the mountains, and go find your relatives."

He Zhuoming looked up at the sky: the sun hadn't risen yet, but the sky was brightening. The stars and moon were dimming, fading like old paint, hanging in the sky on the edge of going out.