After Transmigrating Into a Cannon Fodder, I Got a Happy Ending with the Female Lead [Transmigration Into a Novel] - Chapter 8

In the boundless thick fog, Yue Xi wandered aimlessly. This place seemed like an absolutely motionless space; aside from the sound of her own breathing, she couldn’t hear anything at all.

A faint but clear chime rang out, and the fog gradually dispersed. Before her appeared a towering tree that reached straight into the sky.

Its trunk was straight, without a single branch. Near where the clouds nearly covered it, clusters of small purple flowers bloomed.

Yue Xi had never seen such a tree before. She walked closer and stretched out her hand to touch the trunk, wanting to test if it truly existed.

The moment her hand pressed against it, the trunk quivered as if alive, and then the purple flowers fell in flurries, transforming into specks of light that sank into her body.

Yue Xi raised her hand to look—those purple flowers had vanished without a trace, as though everything just now had been an illusion.

She had clearly seen the petals land on her hand, so how did they disappear in the blink of an eye?

Before she could think further, the fog surged in from all directions, the tree before her becoming blurred. At her ears came the sound of a night watchman.

“Beware of fire, the air is dry!”

Dong, dong, dong—three strikes of the clapper, followed by dogs barking furiously.

Yue Xi opened her eyes, and was so startled by Qing He standing beside her bed that her very soul nearly flew away.

It was late at night. The candlelight flickered dimly. Qing He stood with her back to the light, her features hidden in shadow, her expression unreadable.

She said nothing, only stared at Yue Xi, and the weight of that gaze made Yue Xi’s skin crawl.

Could it be… she had done something while asleep that offended this little ancestor?

“What exactly… are you?”

Qing He’s voice seemed wrapped in a layer of mist, damp and obscure. Yue Xi’s heart sank at the sound, as though something had seized her.

After a long silence, Yue Xi weakly replied, “I think I’m human.”

The candle flame flickered, and Yue Xi clearly saw the heavy gloom in Qing He’s eyes. Cold, like ice that had never melted for ten thousand years.

Not long ago they had been lying on the same bed, sharing the most intimate of acts. But in the blink of an eye this little ghost girl looked as if she wanted to devour her whole.

Yue Xi tried to ask what was wrong, but before she could open her mouth, Qing He walked toward her, black mist radiating from her body, her aura terrifying.

Yue Xi reached for her peachwood sword, but no matter how much she groped, she couldn’t find it.

Her sword… hadn’t come into the dream with her!

Her cultivation was already low—without her weapon, wasn’t she even more powerless?

Just as Qing He was about to raise her hand, the scene around them suddenly shifted.

From the luxurious bedchamber of the Princess’s mansion, in an instant they were on a desolate stretch of countryside. The crescent moon was veiled by clouds, its faint glow barely enough to see each other’s faces.

Tree shadows swayed, cool wind brushed across their cheeks, an inexplicable eeriness filling the air. Logically, Yue Xi should have stayed close to Qing He in such a place, but after what just happened, she was too afraid to approach.

This little ghost girl not only fed on human essence, but her moods were unpredictable—one moment sharing a bed, the next looking ready to eat her alive.

They stood not too far and not too close, silently guessing at each other’s thoughts.

A gust of wind passed, rustling the leaves. Yue Xi thought she saw purple petals drift before her eyes. The wind stung her eyes, and when she blinked to look again, nothing was there.

Another illusion?

Qing He walked toward her. Yue Xi, wary, stepped back. Qing He, impatient, hooked her hand and pulled her close, stared for a few seconds, then embraced her.

Yue Xi froze stiff. She thought the ghost girl was about to strike her, but why had her attitude suddenly changed?

Qing He said nothing, just held her tightly, until a crisp rattling sound rose.

Over Qing He’s shoulder, Yue Xi saw countless skeletons closing in on them.

She opened her mouth to warn her, but Qing He had already wrapped an arm around her waist and leapt skyward. With a few bounding steps, they had broken free of the encirclement.

“How could these things even…” Yue Xi muttered.

Usually, only when souls attached themselves to a corpse could it move. But these skeletons were clearly long dead—mere ordinary bones.

The two were pressed close; Yue Xi’s warm breath fell against Qing He’s neck as she spoke, tickling and tingling.

Qing He released her waist and awkwardly turned her face slightly aside.

“This is Chen Wu’s corpse.”

“Chen Wu’s corpse?” Yue Xi jolted.

Wasn’t Chen Wu alive and well in this dream? How could there be a corpse?

Qing He cast a deep glance at the crescent moon, then said in a distant tone, “Who knows? Perhaps this isn’t a dream at all.”

Truth and illusion blurred, reality and fantasy indistinguishable.

Living itself was but a fleeting illusion.

After Qing He’s words, light and shadow shimmered before them. Leaves fluttered past their eyes, and in the blink of an eye, the two stood once again in the Princess’s mansion courtyard.

Peonies bloomed in brilliant splendor. The courtyard was filled with scholars and beauties, yet none admired the flowers—they were all staring at the two of them.

Being stared at by so many eyes, Yue Xi felt uneasy. Qing He remained calm, her gaze unerringly finding Chen Wu. She strode toward her.

Yue Xi quickly followed. Drawing closer, she saw Chen Wu sitting beside Cui Ping. Whatever Cui Ping said had Chen Wu laughing happily, the two of them looking harmonious—nothing like quarreling.

Perhaps sensing Yue Xi’s puzzlement, Qing He said faintly, “It’s already the spring of the second year.”

Only then did Yue Xi realize. No wonder the peonies bloomed so vividly.

When Chen Wu saw them, she beckoned. As they approached, she introduced them to Cui Ping:

“These are the sisters I mentioned earlier, staying temporarily at my residence.”

Cui Ping looked over, swept her gaze across Qing He, then fixed her eyes on Yue Xi.

“You look familiar. Have we met somewhere?”

Yue Xi thought, Yes, but it was after you died.

“We’ve only just arrived in the capital. We shouldn’t have met.”

At her reply, Chen Wu found nothing amiss—despite a whole year having passed.

Chen Wu urged them to sit, then said excitedly, “I was just discussing marriage with Sister Ping. You two can give me some advice.”

Yue Xi glanced at Cui Ping. The woman responded warmly, her smile flawless.

What had happened in this year? Why the sudden change in Cui Ping’s attitude?

Yue Xi doubted a libertine like her could truly reform; it was more likely she was using Chen Wu again. Hadn’t she once said she would inherit a title? Could this be related?

Cui Ping smiled as she turned toward Yue Xi. “Miss Yue, is something the matter?”

Yue Xi quickly said, “No.”

Cui Ping’s smile deepened with something unspoken. “You kept staring at me. I thought perhaps there was.”

Both Chen Wu and Qing He turned to look at her. Yue Xi forced an awkward laugh, secretly cursing Cui Ping to death.

What nonsense! I only glanced at you once, okay!

Chen Wu, deep in the throes of love, immediately dragged Cui Ping away at those words, leaving Yue Xi and Qing He alone in the pavilion.

After a long silence, Qing He suddenly spoke. “Do you think she’s beautiful?”

“Huh?” Yue Xi looked up, but their gazes missed.

Qing He stood, her voice as cold as ever. “Let’s go. We need to find out what happened this past year.”

After much inquiry, piecing together scattered rumors, Yue Xi formed a rough picture.

The Marquis of Cui felt his daughter lacked the power to stand alone, so he planned to adopt a son within the clan. Cui Ping’s position was severely threatened. To secure her inheritance, she sought to rely on Chen Wu’s influence and marry her.

Just as Yue Xi suspected. A selfish, reckless person like Cui Ping would never yield unless her own interests were at stake.

That night, Qing He went out and did not return even after dark. Yue Xi, restless, took a walk in the courtyard—only to run into a drunken Cui Ping.

The sight of her face made Yue Xi bristle. She turned to leave, but Cui Ping rushed forward, grabbing her sleeve and clinging close.

“Miss Yue, have we truly never met?”

Yue Xi said coldly, “Miss Cui, I can assure you we haven’t. Please conduct yourself with dignity.”

Cui Ping chuckled, pulling her into her arms, her laughter wanton and loathsome.

“No matter. It’s enough that I’ve seen you.”

Yue Xi tried to break free, but the drunkard’s strength was brutish. She struggled with all her might, but Cui Ping wouldn’t budge.

Just as she prepared to flip Cui Ping onto her back, an angry voice rang out behind her.

“What are you two doing?!”

She froze and turned. Chen Wu stood glaring furiously at her, while Qing He’s eyes glimmered darkly, her face cold as ice.

Oh no. She was doomed.

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