She died at her desk and woke up as someone else’s bride.
On her wedding night, the groom never showed up. They said he’d been unconscious for three months and was close to death.
The next day, the groom woke up. They said he’d heard her mutter, “What do I do if I transmigrate?”
On the third day, the groom said, “I know you’re not the person you used to be. Help me get rid of this poison, and I’ll make sure you survive.”
She thought it was a fair deal.
Not until assassins stormed the prince’s residence did she understand:
From the very beginning, this man had never intended to let her leave alive.
And she, an ordinary office drone who could only use Excel and PowerPoint, had to steal the snow lotus that could save him from the Northern Di palace within thirty days.
Thirty days, six thousand li, a brush with death at every turn.
She asked herself: Was it worth it?
