After My Faked Death Failed, Can I Still Find a Happy Ending? - Chapter 1

In psychology, there is a term called the “hippocampal effect,” commonly known as déjà vu.

When you are in a specific environment and feel an inexplicable familiarity with your current surroundings, you may not consciously remember it, but your subconscious seems to predict the progression of events. Your heart tells you, over and over, that you have personally experienced this before.

Psychologists call this a form of memory disorder.

Ji Mian was experiencing déjà vu. At this very moment, she was trapped in a square, enclosed space. The scent of damp, rotting wood permeated the air, drilling into her nasal cavity. The air felt compressed, and she struggled to breathe, desperate to snatch whatever oxygen she could to survive.

She had transmigrated into a book. She was one hundred percent certain of this because this scene was exactly what she had just conceived in her own mind, only now, she did not need to imagine it; she had become Ji Mian.

Ji Mian: The Sect Leader of the Demonic Cult in the original novel, a peripheral villain character.

At this moment, Ji Mian could not spare a thought for anyone else; she was suffocating. She felt weak, and the coffin, designed specifically for her, was airtight. Once inside, there was not a spare millimeter of space to move.

She stretched out her hand desperately, like a fish dying of thirst on the edge of a dried-up lake, longing to return to her own waters.

Ji Mian reached out to touch the coffin lid above, but it was too heavy; she could not budge it. She tried to knock on it, hoping to gamble on making a sound that might attract attention.

Ji Mian did not know how long she had been knocking. Her vision remained shrouded in darkness. Her subconscious continued to reach out, but her hand had already fallen, limp and powerless.

Scenes she had never read in the original plot flashed before her eyes: she was meeting someone, embracing someone. They were bathed in the warmth of the dawn, painting a beautiful picture, only for the world to shatter the very next moment.

Before her eyes was a blinding light. Outside, there was no morning sun, but there stood a swordswoman clad in white.

Ji Mian adjusted to the harsh glare, her chest heaving. Having escaped the suffocating sensation of oxygen deprivation, she was finally able to see the person before her.

The swordswoman’s phoenix eyes were long and narrow; her irises were an icy, cerulean blue, clear and bright like high-quality sapphires. Her gaze was fierce, piercing like needles, making one’s hair stand on end. Her hair was slightly disheveled with a few stray locks falling loose, and fine beads of sweat clung to her forehead. She glared at Ji Mian with a look of deep dissatisfaction.

Ji Mian could not utter a single word. Even as the cold tip of the sword pointed at her throat, within inches, ready to pierce her carotid artery and spill the blood that would end her life, she felt not a shred of fear. It felt as if it were meant to be this way, and as if this person before her was meant to be exactly like this.

Lin Qingye. It was meant to be Lin Qingye.

Right and wrong stood opposed; she was destined to kill her.

Yet, why did she feel like crying?

Lin Qingye looked down at Ji Mian in the coffin. Behind her lay the members of the Demonic Cult she had just defeated. She was stained with blood and mud, yet a wave of emotion that did not belong to her rose in her heart.

She frowned. The person before her was deathly pale, with bruised, blue-tinted lips. This sight actually pained her; her heart felt as if it were being tightly squeezed by an invisible hand. She even harbored a sudden impulse to rush forward and embrace Ji Mian.

“Lin… Qing… ye.”

As Ji Mian spoke, froth bubbled from her lips. Her vision blurred, and she lost consciousness.

Lin Qingye moved faster, pulling her out. Her fingertips touched the other’s wrist; the pulse was chaotic, a sign of poisoning.

Lin Qingye whisked her away to a dilapidated, long-abandoned wooden hut. After tidying it slightly, she began to treat Ji Mian’s wounds.

Lin Qingye was not faring well either. She felt 30 percent of the pain that Ji Mian was suffering. The two were bound by the “Twin-Heart Gu.” If Ji Mian died, she died; only if Ji Mian lived could she survive. But looking at Ji Mian’s current state, she hardly looked like someone with long to live.

What a selfish, vicious parasite.

Her previous pulse check had only confirmed that the situation was critical, without revealing the specific ailment. She reached out again to check, only to find that Ji Mian had already awakened.

That meant it was unnecessary.

“Do you have the antidote on you?”

Ji Mian fumbled through her clothes and indeed produced a medicine vial. Lin Qingye took it, swallowed a pill with practiced ease, and stood up to leave.

“Ji Mian, even if it is just for my sake, you should try to take better care of your body.”

By now, Ji Mian was sitting up, her face expressionless.

Indeed, she should have gotten used to this; this poker-faced woman.

“My apologies.”

That was, of course, not what Lin Qingye wanted to hear. She flicked her sleeves and left.

The place was chilly, and the shack was in shambles, letting in a draft from every direction except where she was lying. She had no idea what godforsaken corner of the world this was.

Ji Mian summoned the original owner’s sword. It was a pitch-black lump, lacking any discernible shape, with only the hilt being vaguely identifiable.

Seemingly sensing Ji Mian’s disdain, the object emitted a red glow as if to threaten her.

“Don’t, I did not mean it. It is just that your aesthetic is really far from mine. I will try my best to adapt, after all, I know you are very powerful.”

Ji Mian heaped praise upon the lump of black iron as if it were the greatest treasure in the heavens and on earth. The Black Iron seemed to understand, and it became quite puffed up with pride.

It flew up on its own, circling Ji Mian several times, hovering up and down before her eyes. When it grew tired of spinning, it realized Ji Mian had not understood its intent.

The little black iron leaped up and slapped down heavily on Ji Mian’s palm.

Ji Mian: “!!!”

“Hiss.”

Ji Mian grimaced in pain, but realized it did not hurt much; her palm was just burning. She was about to settle the score with the Black Iron, only to find the little fellow lying obediently on the ground.

Ji Mian had a sudden whim and stepped onto it. Sure enough, the Black Iron carried her into the sky.

The world was set in a Wuxia context, but the author had specifically introduced the concept of “sword flight” to satisfy Ji Mian’s own childhood dream of martial arts.

All in all, the experience was quite good.

Ji Mian landed in a small pavilion, and the Black Iron immediately turned invisible. She glanced ahead; the compound in the distance was likely her own sleeping quarters.

The original story was told entirely from Lin Qingye’s perspective, so there was little description of a peripheral character like Ji Mian. However, she remembered that Ji Mian was a rather incompetent leader; there were hardly any cult members who were genuinely loyal to her.

Looking at it now, the disparity was a bit too great. She had assumed the Sect Leader’s quarters would be resplendent, built with materials worth a fortune.

But what stood before her… the two bronze beasts at the entrance had lost their luster. In fact, one of them was missing a leg, the cut smooth and flat as if someone had sawed it off.

The plaque above the door should have been inscribed with gilded calligraphy, but it was replaced by a few sloppily scrawled characters. Half of the wooden frame was broken and missing.

Moreover, she had been put in a coffin, yet the people in the cult seemed completely unbothered by her return. Along the way, no one was dressed in mourning clothes, and the buildings showed no signs of such.

Walking further in, Ji Mian had managed to lower her expectations. Once inside the courtyard, it was not all bad; one could tell it was being meticulously maintained. However, unkempt weeds grew in the corners, even the grass looking withered and yellow.

A pool of water in the courtyard held two thin, small carp; at least they had each other.

Ji Mian squatted down, brushing the cool water with her hand. It was clear enough to see the bottom, where decorative stones covered in moss lay scattered.

The two carp darted away the moment they saw her, disappearing without a trace.

Ji Mian rested her chin on her hand, daydreaming on the bank. A woman in black light armor walked toward her. Ji Mian glanced at her inadvertently and noticed a white strip of cloth tied around her waist.

“Master.”

“You have returned.”

Yu Huai bowed at her side, holding a bowl of thick medicinal soup. Seeing Ji Mian lost in thought, she did not interrupt.

Ji Mian stared at the pool for a while, feeling quite bored, before turning her attention to Yu Huai.

The girl’s features were not striking, but her brows and eyes held a sharpness like a sword forged from meteorite iron; no one could blunt her edge. Yet, when she looked at Ji Mian, there was a touch of gentleness and loyalty.

Yu Huai did not evade Ji Mian’s gaze, merely reiterating her duty.

“Master, it is time for your medicine.”

Was this medicine normal?

Beside the medicine bowl Yu Huai brought, there lay a red hibiscus flower.

Looking at the scene, it should be deep autumn; the wind was bleak, constantly fluttering her robes. Hibiscus flowers bloomed in the spring, and it was certainly not the season for them now.

“Where did this medicine come from?”

“The medicine was brought from the kitchen, Master. It is the medication you take every month.”

Yu Huai’s expression did not change; she only raised her eyes slightly.

“Have you forgotten?”

“Who was it that fetched the person who brought me up the mountain?”

“It was me.”

“Oh.”

She had not had the chance to look at that group of people yet; she did not know if they were dead or alive.

“Then go and handle it.”

“Master.”

Yu Huai took the empty medicine bowl, but hesitated as she was about to leave.

Ji Mian glanced over; the white strip of cloth around the woman’s waist was gone.

“Please, take care of your health.”

Ji Mian sat back in her room alone. On the desk lay a small wooden box, which looked as if it had not been touched for a long time, covered in a thin layer of dust.

The box looked exquisitely crafted, the carvings on its surface vivid and lifelike, though the dust made it hard to see clearly.

It seemed to depict a large bird standing upright on a rock with its two legs. The rock itself was unremarkable, but the bird held a sword in its beak. At the hilt of the sword, there was a faint, glowing secret mark; the whole design resembled a totem of some mysterious tribe.

Ji Mian did not dare to act rashly, instead letting her thoughts drift back to the original plot. The world was in chaos; imperial power and the martial arts world were in collusion to serve their own interests. The boundaries between “right” and “wrong” sects were practically non-existent. There were even many Taoists who had forsaken their ancestors’ vows to form pacts with demons.

It was during this time that rumors of the “Lisheng Order” emerged. It was said to have the power to create heaven and earth, as well as turn back time. If it could be mastered, one could easily dominate the world. Naturally, everyone clamored for it, leading to countless wars.