Shen Ranxing transmigrated into a novel.

The world was riddled with danger, and on the very day she crossed over, she managed to offend the original story’s second male lead, Bai Chenjin.

The bad news — Bai Chenjin was wrapped head to toe in strips of plain white cloth, a madman everyone feared. The only person he showed even a sliver of humanity to was the original female lead. Anyone else who crossed him already had grass three feet high growing over their grave.

The good news — she knew exactly why Bai Chenjin treated the original female lead differently.

So she imitated her, coaxing and deceiving him, barely clinging to life under his hand while trembling in terror.

She kept up the act, earned Bai Chenjin’s protection, and not only survived but carved out a career for herself. Life was looking up.

Then, she saw Bai Chenjin and the original female lead meet on a street corner.

That day, he told her he wouldn’t be coming back that night. Might not be back for days.

After he left, she stood before a statue of the merciful Buddha, thinking for a long, long time.

In front of her was a cup of tea offered to the Buddha. If she drank it, her soul would be forcibly pulled away, and she could leave this world.

She drank. Then she rushed straight home, picked up a brush, and wrote a long farewell letter to her husband. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, dripping onto the paper. She kept writing and writing, until everything went dark.

She thought, We were husband and wife, in a fleeting sort of way. I wonder how Bai Chenjin will feel about me leaving.

Then she thought again, Whatever he feels, it doesn’t matter — but he better not touch my money.

When she transmigrated back once more, it wasn’t to the sickbed she expected, but to total darkness.

She shoved the heavy coffin lid aside and poked her head out. The moment she saw Bai Chenjin, her heart nearly stopped.

He was dressed all in black, his face and hands wrapped in that plain white cloth, whittling a Buddha statue. One knife stroke lopped its head off, and the head tumbled into the coffin.

Bai Chenjin’s fingers were ice-cold as they brushed her neck, settling against her pulse point. He leaned in close and whispered, “Tired? Why don’t you rest?”

Shen Ranxing stared at the funeral-chic, gloomy room crammed full of Buddha statues. “She fainted, she’s not dead — why the hell did you put her in the coffin already?!”

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