[Quick Transmigration] I Cried After Scumming the Little Puppy - Chapter 18

The window rattled violently before being blown wide open by a fierce gust. A deluge of rainwater lashed inside, drenching Ren Xingxian’s face.

The shock cleared her mind. Below her, Fang Yu shivered, curling into herself and mumbling about the cold. Another crack of thunder shook the courtyard.

Ren Xingxian released the whip, staring blankly at her own hands. She had been this close to taking a life. Like a thief fearing discovery, she snatched the whip away and hid it deep within her dressing table.

According to the laws of the dynasty, a woman murdering her husband was a capital offense that would implicate her entire family. Her father, a mere County Vice-Magistrate, would not only be unable to protect her but would be stripped of his office. Furthermore, she could not petition for divorce; the marriage could only be dissolved if the husband initiated the repudiation. Otherwise, the contract remained absolute until death.

Returning to the bed, Ren Xingxian’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting images. One moment, she saw the elegant Fang Yu patiently teaching her poetry; the next, she saw Fang Yu at the Drunken Flower Pavilion, sharing a harmonious duet with Lian Rui—a scene she had broken like an intruder.

A ragged gasp for air from beside her drew her attention. She watched as the purple bruising on Fang Yu’s face slowly faded back to a natural hue.

Fortune favors the bold, she thought. A catastrophe had been narrowly averted.

Suddenly, the person beside her rolled over in their sleep, draping a heavy, unconscious arm over her. Ren Xingxian fought a desperate urge to reach for the Thunder-Thorn Whip once more.

Inside the mental space, System 018 was frantic. It had been watching the drama unfold with detached amusement until Ren Xingxian’s expression turned truly murderous. Just as it prepared to forcibly wake the Host, Ren Xingxian had stayed her hand.

The System worked quickly to repair the red welts left by the whip. Once the engine finished its task, Fang Yu’s neck was as smooth as jade, leaving no trace of the strangulation.

018 decided to play dead for the rest of the day.

The maids serving the Fragrant Pavilion knocked punctually. “Miss, we are here to attend to your morning wash.”

The bed curtains remained drawn, and their mistress did not answer. The maids exchanged surprised glances; Ren Xingxian was a martial artist who never overslept. Even during her recovery, she was rarely more than half an hour late.

This was the first time she hadn’t risen by the time they entered the room.

The head maid stepped forward and pulled back the curtain, only to stumble back in shock.

“Sister, has something happened?” a junior maid asked. When she received no answer, she stepped forward as well and gasped as if someone were clutching her throat.

On the bed, two people were sharing a single quilt, sleeping face-to-face. Fang Yu’s hand was draped possessively over the Mistress’s shoulder.

This!!! Had they gone blind?

Ren Xingxian shifted, showing signs of waking, and in the process, nuzzled closer to Fang Yu. The head maid signaled her subordinates; they retreated in unison before announcing again: “Miss, shall we prepare the water for your wash?”

Ren Xingxian sat up, rubbing her aching temples. “Come in.”

As she threw back the quilt, she brushed against a warm body. She glanced sideways with feigned indifference; Fang Yu was still sleeping soundly beside her. In an instant, every memory of the previous night came rushing back.

Ignoring her, Ren Xingxian washed her face and raised her arms, waiting for the head maid to dress her in her robes.

A rustle came from the bed, followed by a lazy, drawling voice: “Xian’er, you woke up without calling me.”

The head maid, busy tying the silk sash, fumbled so hard she nearly tied the knot wrong.

Fang Yu climbed out of bed and surveyed the room. “You have so many maids; surely one can be spared to help me change?”

Ren Xingxian replied coldly, “There are no clothes for you here.”

Fang Yu gave a radiant smile. “Xian’er, you’re joking again. This is our bedchamber; how could there be no clothes of mine?”

“I said there are none!”

Ever since that day at the Drunken Flower Pavilion, Ren Xingxian had ordered every stitch of Fang Yu’s clothing to be burned. Fang Yu didn’t believe her and searched the room, even checking under the bed. She truly couldn’t find a single scrap of fabric.

“If that’s the case, I’ll simply have to borrow the Mistress’s robes.”

“You!”

018? 018! Fang Yu called out, but the System remained silent. Is the machine jammed?

Ren Xingxian was wearing a pale purple robe today. Fang Yu reached into the wardrobe and selected a moon-white dress embroidered with purple morning glories. Her waist was similar in size to Ren Xingxian’s, though she was slightly taller, making the dress hang with a particular scholarly elegance. Standing together, they looked like twin blossoms, a sight that left the servants dazzled.

“Miss, what style of makeup would you like today?” the head maid asked while styling Ren Xingxian’s hair.

“The Hibiscus style. My mother will be pleased to see it.”

Seeing the array of powders and rouges on the dressing table, Fang Yu felt a surge of creative energy. She waved the head maid away. “I’ll handle the makeup today. Take the day off. Dismissed, all of you!”

She practically pushed the reluctant maids out the door. Fang Yu was in high spirits; these ancient cosmetics were a treasure trove of “play value,” and she had a genuine beauty as her canvas. She could spend all day on this face.

She tilted Ren Xingxian’s chin up, offering a sincere compliment: “Xian’er, your features are truly exquisite. Let me add a bit of starlight to this beauty.”

Ren Xingxian looked away. “Then be quick about it.” She had no patience for Fang Yu’s lingering.

Fang Yu was remarkably focused, carefully shaping the brows and applying pure, additive-free rouge. When only the lip tint remained, she pulled open a drawer. “The lip rouge is kept here, right?”

“Wait, don’t!”

Ren Xingxian was too late. A coiled whip lay neatly in the drawer, its surface shimmering with an unnatural luster. Looking at the whip, Fang Yu instinctively rubbed her neck; she felt a sudden, phantom shortness of breath.

Checking the bronze mirror, she saw no marks not even a scratch yet her windpipe felt constricted, as if it remembered the pressure.

“Your choice of storage for a whip is unique,” Fang Yu joked, trying to mask her discomfort.

“It was just a casual placement; it doesn’t belong there,” Ren Xingxian said quickly, snatching the Thunder-Thorn Whip and tucking it behind her waist.

As soon as the whip was gone, Fang Yu’s symptoms vanished instantly, like a curse being lifted. She chose a maple-red tint and applied it to Ren Xingxian’s lips, instantly brightening her complexion.

Just as the makeup was finished, the kitchens delivered breakfast—this time, they had the foresight to bring enough for two. Fang Yu ate with tears in her eyes. She had finally been promoted from “Egg and Tofu Soup” to a spread of pastries and actual meat.

As they finished, a maid entered. “The Madam has heard that the Miss is awake. She sent me to inform you that Madam Song has arrived out of concern for your health. The Madam requests that after breakfast, the Miss and Miss Fang come to pay their respects.”

Ren Xingxian smiled, but her eyes remained cold as ice. “Tell Mother we will be there shortly.”