Forced to Become the Female Lead's Beloved Wife [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 20.1

Even after leaving the room, Li Wancheng remained in a daze, her mood as gloomy as the overcast sky outside. Her breath frosted in the air. Just then, a light rain began to fall, fine droplets pattering against the glass, coalescing into rivulets that snaked down the pane.

Three years at most, six months at least. Liu Liang’s words echoed in her mind, disturbing her peace.

She reached out to touch the glass, but the barrier prevented her from making contact. She could only watch as the water trickled down, clinging to the surface before vanishing into the window seam, quickly obscured by fresh rain, leaving no trace of its passage.

The water streaks kept disappearing, being covered, and disappearing again.

Like the trajectory of fate, which she could not alter no matter how hard she tried.

Li Wancheng sighed softly, withdrew her fingertips, and stared at the dark clouds for a long time, muttering to herself, “Isn’t she the protagonist? Why can’t she be cured?”

Everything had been progressing so well. Why did fate have to deliver such a crushing blow at this moment?

The System, unusually silent for a long while, finally explained slowly, “She is merely a vessel for the World Consciousness. Her life and death are predetermined by the World Laws and cannot be changed.”

Though cruel, this was the truth.

“In every world, the protagonist functions like a ‘stabilizer,’ no different from the countless ordinary people. There’s no such thing as a ‘protagonist’s halo’; they still experience joy and sorrow, separation and reunion, birth, aging, illness, and death.”

Li Wancheng had never asked about the World Laws before, so the System hadn’t proactively mentioned them.

Li Wancheng closed her eyes briefly, seemingly accepting this reality. After a long pause, she murmured, “So her death was predetermined from the beginning.”

“And the so-called ‘healing’ was merely to ensure the ‘stabilizer’ wouldn’t malfunction, preventing her resentment toward the world at the moment of death from disrupting its operation. Is my understanding correct?”

The warm breath she exhaled fogged the glass, blurring the scenery outside the window.

Though cruel, this was the fundamental truth.

As the vessel of the World Consciousness, if a dying vessel harbored overwhelming resentment toward the world, the World Consciousness would erupt with that resentment, triggering the world’s collapse.

Li Wancheng had articulated the truth so clearly that the System could only nod. “Yes. After she disappears, another ‘protagonist’ will emerge, just like the withering and rebirth of plants. The World Consciousness also undergoes continuous cycles of death and rebirth, perpetuating the world’s endless cycle of existence.”

Life without end…

She murmured the four characters softly, a wave of helplessness washing over her.

So, were all these living, breathing people merely tools, forced into existence to maintain the world’s stability?

No, perhaps not even tools.

The thin layer of mist clinging to the windowpane couldn’t withstand the passage of time. In mere moments, it gradually cleared from the edges inward, peeling away layer by layer as if crushed by the weight of time.

The woman remained silent, her gaze fixed on the distant chimneys as she let out a slow, drawn-out sigh.

So, even though she had successfully prevented her suicide, she couldn’t delay the inevitable fading of her life?

Li Wancheng couldn’t understand. If the ending was already predetermined, why give her hope again?

She had poured her heart and soul into pulling Wen Yige from the abyss, showing her the sunlight. Just as Wen Yige was filled with hope for the future, fate had mercilessly plunged her back into darkness.

In that moment of realization, Li Wancheng felt an overwhelming urge to question the heavens.

Why must you be so cruel?

Sensing Li Wancheng’s turbulent emotions, the System dutifully warned, “Host, please do not become overly attached to the mission target.”

The voice, cold and mechanical after programmed processing, remained utterly flat, stirring no ripple in Li Wancheng’s thoughts. It barely pulled her back from the brink.

She stared at the distant mountain peaks shrouded in rain. Through the misty haze, the lush green slopes seemed tinged with gray. Slowly, she closed her eyes.

I see the distant mountains, and the distant mountains pity me.

Even as the machine’s voice grew increasingly human-like, it remained a machine—without a heart, how could it ever truly understand human emotions?

Nearby, Wen Yige returned from the pharmacy with the medicine. Turning around, she saw Li Wancheng standing by the window, head slightly bowed, gazing at something.

Her silhouette was desolate, surrounded by an aura of faint sorrow. Wen Yige couldn’t quite name the feeling, but she sensed a deep melancholy emanating from Li Wancheng.

She approached the woman from behind and softly called out, “A-Cheng, why are you standing here?”

Hearing her footsteps, Li Wancheng swiftly concealed the worry in her eyes. She turned with a gentle smile, took Wen Yige’s hand, and led her to the window.

“Look over there.”

Rain fell in a continuous curtain, a blurred, shimmering veil. Wen Yige followed the direction of Li Wancheng’s gaze.

At the entrance of the convenience store downstairs, a pair of white-haired elders stood under the awning, sheltering from the rain. Perhaps fearing the grandmother might get cold, the grandfather held her hand tightly.

The unspoken tenderness between them seemed to create a barrier against the sudden, annoying rain. Compared to contrived displays of romance, this ordinary happiness often touched the heart more deeply.

Li Wancheng leaned her head against Wen Yige’s shoulder, her soft hair cascading down. Their intertwined fingers radiated warmth, inseparable.

Perhaps thinking of Wen Yige’s hidden secrets, a sudden wave of melancholy and helplessness washed over her.

It would be a lie to say she didn’t mind. After all, they were lovers who shared the same bed. This concealment, regardless of its nature, would inevitably become an indelible chasm between them.

The spring rain, as fleeting as it was sudden, quickly dissipated. The once-dark, cloud-laden sky was abruptly pierced by shafts of sunlight.

As the rain stopped, the elderly couple prepared to leave. Though their shoulders were stooped with age, their figures, supporting each other, stepped forward steadily and slowly into the warm sunlight.

It brought to mind the saying: “I never envy couples passionately kissing in the streets; I only envy the elderly couples supporting each other in quiet alleys.”

This, perhaps, was what it meant.

A flicker of intense envy crossed Wen Yige’s eyes, but it gradually faded into darkness.

But… she feared she wouldn’t live to see such a beautiful scene.

She subtly shifted her gaze to the person beside her. The woman’s profile was exquisitely refined, like a work of art meticulously sculpted by God.

Unlike her carefree, golden-haired student days, Li Wancheng now exuded a mature and composed aura, tempered by the passage of time. Yet beneath this composure lay a growing weight of unspoken worries.

Wen Yige felt a sudden pang of confusion. She wondered if her love might be a burden to Wancheng.

Both women remained lost in their thoughts until the elderly couple disappeared around the corner. Wen Yige blinked, parted her lips to speak, but before she could utter a word, a scorching breath brushed her cheek, and her hand was gently squeezed.

The familiar fragrance drew closer, the delicate skin of her neck grazed by soft lips. Those lips, slightly burning, parted to speak in a low, deliberate tone that melted into a tender, winding melody.

Warm breath lingered near her ear as Wen Yige heard her say, “Yige, we’ll grow old together too.”

In that instant, her heart twisted like a knife.

*****

Over time, secrets inevitably create distance. The tiny cracks, left unrepaired, widen into gaping chasms.

After returning from the hospital that day, Wen Yige sensed Li Wancheng was avoiding her. A transparent film seemed to have settled between them. On the surface, nothing had changed, yet the palpable barrier between them was unmistakable.

Wen Yige had intended to talk to her, but since Xu Zhou’s imprisonment, she had been overwhelmed with handling the company’s backlog of urgent matters, leaving her no mental space for anything else.

Li Wancheng was equally swamped. The launch of the East City housing development had her working around the clock.

For the past two weeks, overtime, business trips, and endless meetings had kept them both running ragged. Though they shared the same room, the time they actually spent together each day was fleeting.

“A-Cheng…” The woman on the bed frowned deeply, as if trapped in a nightmare. She instinctively reached out for the person beside her, only to grasp at empty air.

After a moment, Wen Yige opened her eyes, breathing heavily. The dream had been so vivid, she was still shaken.

The room was silent, save for the sound of a single person’s breathing. She had forgotten that Li Wancheng was still abroad on a business trip.

In the conference room, the fatigue from days of work, combined with emotional strain, left Wen Yige feeling dizzy and breathless.

A staff member reporting on their work noticed her pale complexion and asked with concern, “President Wen, are you alright?”

Wen Yige pressed her temples, trying to stimulate her mind into alertness. She had always disliked letting personal matters disrupt work progress, so she forced herself to say, “Continue.”

She thought the feeling would pass, but her body seemed to be deliberately rebelling. Her lungs felt as if an invisible hand were squeezing them, making it difficult to breathe, and her thoughts grew increasingly muddled.

“President Wen—”

When she opened her eyes again, everything was a blur of white. Wen Yige felt a splitting headache, and her body was limp and weak. Her throat, parched from lack of water, was dry and hoarse. “A-Cheng, where am I?”

The antiseptic smell in the air was both familiar and foreign. Sunlight streamed through the window, mostly blocked by the woman’s silhouette. Her eyes, accustomed to darkness, were suddenly exposed to the harsh light, causing a few tears to slide down her cheeks.

A sudden surge of fear gripped her heart, yet she hesitated, cautiously seeking reassurance from the woman.

“The hospital,” Li Wancheng replied, gently wiping the corner of her eye before turning around. Her smile remained as warm as ever. “How are you feeling? Would you like some water?”

At the time, she had been abroad negotiating a project when she suddenly received a call from Wen Yige’s assistant. Her heart felt as if it had been hoisted ten thousand meters into the air, poised to plummet at any moment.

Panic overwhelmed her, making her forget all about work. After hastily apologizing to her counterpart, she immediately boarded a plane back home, rushing without a moment’s delay.

She feared that if she arrived even a second too late, she would find only a cold, lifeless body.

Fortunately, by the time she arrived, Wen Yige had already been moved out of the emergency room. Her vital signs were relatively stable, though she remained unconscious.

A gentle tug on her sleeve brought Li Wancheng back to reality. She turned to look at the woman.

Newly awakened from her coma, the woman was exceptionally weak, her voice barely audible. “I don’t want to be here, A-Cheng. Can we go home?”

For the past three days, Li Wancheng had set aside all company matters to stay by her side without leaving for a moment. If it weren’t for the fluctuating numbers on the nearby monitors, she would have almost believed the woman would never wake up again.

But she hadn’t expected that the first words Wen Yige spoke upon opening her eyes were, “I want to go home.” The lingering fear in her heart, not yet fully dispelled, was instantly rekindled.

Li Wancheng’s voice turned cold. “No. You can only go home once you’re fully recovered.”

Wen Yige’s heart clenched with pain. She instinctively lowered her gaze, offering no reply.

Li Wancheng must already know about my condition, she thought. Will she resent me for not telling her?

A flood of thoughts overwhelmed her, her mind growing increasingly chaotic. Her knuckles trembled slightly, tensed with anxiety.

“A-Cheng, I’m sorry.”

The sudden apology startled Li Wancheng, who paused in tucking the blanket around her, remaining silent.

She was indeed somewhat annoyed. Setting aside the fact that Wen Yige had kept this from her, consider this: if she hadn’t collapsed at the office and been rushed to the hospital, what would have happened?

She didn’t dare dwell on the possibilities.

Seeing her silence, Wen Yige knew she was genuinely angry. She continued slowly, “I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I was just afraid…”

Her eyes reddened, her voice choked with emotion. “I was afraid you’d leave me.”

From the moment they reunited, she had been living in fear, torn between worrying about her deteriorating health and desperately clinging to Li Wancheng’s warmth.

Though she was young at the time, she knew Wen Feng had abandoned them because her mother was ill.

She feared Li Wancheng would abandon her too.

After all, who could wholeheartedly accept a partner who was terminally ill and incapable of doing anything?

The air grew heavy, as if a lump of iron had lodged in her chest, suffocating her. Li Wancheng stood motionless, silent for a long time.

More than an apology, what disappointed her most was Wen Yige’s lack of trust.

This distrust had directly and indirectly strained their relationship, leading them to this painful impasse.

But what was the point of saying more now?

She hadn’t given Wen Yige enough reassurance, and Wen Yige’s past trauma had driven her to hide and avoid the truth.

Ultimately, there was no clear right or wrong in this matter.

Li Wancheng sighed softly, a faint sorrow flickering deep in her eyes. She seemed to have so much to say, but in the end, she only murmured:

“Yige, you should have trusted me more.”

The weariness and pain etched on Li Wancheng’s face were like a sharp blade, mercilessly piercing Wen Yige’s heart.

******

As March arrived, the weather gradually warmed, and all things began to revive. From where she sat, Wen Yige could see the willow trees swaying outside the window, their newly sprouted branches glowing with a vibrant green.

Wen Yige’s health no longer permitted her to continue her high-intensity work. She relinquished her responsibilities at the company and remained in the hospital to focus on her recovery.

Li Wancheng, fearing that the nurses wouldn’t provide adequate care, stayed by her side almost constantly, only leaving for urgent matters.

One evening, as Wen Yige sat propped up in bed reading, Li Wancheng suddenly brought over a basin of hot water, a few sprigs of mugwort floating on the surface.

Wen Yige glanced up, puzzled, unsure what Li Wancheng intended.

“I looked it up,” Li Wancheng said, squatting down. “Soaking your feet in warm water can help heal frostbite.”

Before Wen Yige could react, Li Wancheng’s warm palms had already encircled her lower legs, the heat seeping through her pores.

Caught off guard by Li Wancheng’s unexpected gesture, Wen Yige froze for a moment, then felt a slow blush creep up her cheeks, her heart racing.

“A-Cheng,” Wen Yige said, her fingers suddenly gripping the bedsheets as she tried to pull away. “Don’t… it’s not pretty.”

Her feet were red and swollen from frostbite, so unsightly that even she couldn’t bear to look at them.

We all want to show our best selves to our loved ones, and she was no exception. That’s why she desperately didn’t want Li Wancheng to see her in this frail, sickly state.

But with her meager strength, she couldn’t break free. She could only watch helplessly as Li Wancheng gently took hold of her ankle and carefully rolled up her pant leg.

The woman delicately removed Wen Yige’s frostbitten feet from their slippers. The moment her toes met the icy air, they curled slightly.

Weakened by illness, Wen Yige had grown alarmingly thin. Her once jade-like, shapely calves could now be encircled with a single hand, her ankle bones jutting prominently beneath the thin, bluish-tinged skin.

Her pale complexion only made the red, swollen toes stand out more starkly.

Heart failure had severely impaired her circulation, directly affecting her extremities. Li Wancheng felt as if she were holding a block of ice in her hand.

It was clearly March, yet she seemed to have never emerged from the depths of winter, her chill sending shivers down one’s spine.

Though Li Wancheng had never experienced frostbite herself, she knew it was an excruciating condition. As the weather warmed, the affected areas would become intensely itchy and painful. Even without Wen Yige saying a word, Li Wancheng could sense her discomfort through her subtle movements.

This woman was accustomed to enduring pain. On some nights, the pain must have become unbearable, causing her body to tremble uncontrollably. Yet she would clench her teeth and remain silent.

The warm water flowed over the back of her foot, initially causing a slight stinging sensation. But after adjusting, it enveloped her in soothing warmth, so comforting it made her feel drowsy.

“Is it too hot?”

Wen Yige shook her head. The water temperature was perfect, likely because she had tested it beforehand.

She was always like this, meticulously considerate in every aspect, leaving no room for criticism.

The angle of her lowered gaze allowed Li Wancheng to glimpse the faint dark circles beneath Wen Yige’s eyes. In recent days, Li Wancheng had been constantly shuttling between the office and the hospital to care for her. With such relentless exertion, how could she possibly get enough rest?

Wen Yige’s eyes suddenly felt warm, her breath catching in her throat as if each inhale and exhale were tearing at her chest. She gently closed her eyes.

Such a good person… How could she bear to let her go?

The frostbite on her hands and feet was severe, even disrupting her sleep at night. Li Wancheng, at a loss, resorted to the most basic method: soaking her limbs in hot water daily and applying ointment without fail, hoping to alleviate her suffering even slightly.

Yet despite all her efforts, there was no sign of improvement.

That evening, after finishing her work at the company, Li Wancheng rushed to the hospital without even stopping for dinner. She immediately set about boiling water to soak Wen Yige’s hands and feet.

But as she turned to leave, a cool hand suddenly grasped her palm.

“A-Cheng, don’t wear yourself out,” Wen Yige said softly, her voice gentle yet firm, brooking no refusal.

For the past two weeks, Li Wancheng had been pushing herself to the limit, living in constant anxiety, terrified that something might happen to Wen Yige.

The person she held dearest was being forced to endure such stress because of her.

Wen Yige couldn’t bear to see her like this.

Wen Yige knew in her heart that no matter how much she did, it would all be in vain. Frostbite caused by heart failure was not something easily cured.

Day after day, the wounds would scab over, fall off, and new ones would appear, repeating the cycle endlessly.

Li Wancheng lowered her gaze, silent. For a moment, only the soft, shallow breaths of the two women echoed in the quiet hospital room, intertwining like whispers.

After a long pause, she cradled the back of Wen Yige’s hand and gently pressed it to her lips.

The hand was icy cold, the fingertips swollen and red, some even ulcerated. Yet Li Wancheng kissed each one without hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

She hadn’t taken good care of her. She hadn’t been able to save her.

A tear touched her finger. The hoarse, powerless apology fell like a sudden snowflake on her heart, instantly shattering her composure.

Wen Yige could no longer hold back the tears welling in her eyes. She raised her arms and slowly drew Li Wancheng into her embrace.

“Silly girl, you haven’t done anything wrong. Why are you apologizing to me?”

It was she who should apologize to Li Wancheng. She had kept the truth hidden for so long, and now she was forcing her to accept it all at once.

She had been too cruel, too selfish.

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