Wen Yu was awakened by a clear, crisp birdsong. She slowly opened her eyes to a brocade canopy embroidered with intricate golden peonies. Sunlight filtered through the gauze-covered lattice window, casting dappled shadows across the bed. The crisp scent of aloeswood lingered beneath her nose, mingling with the fragrance of osmanthus wafting in from outside.
"Where is this...?"
She had just begun to sit up when a flood of unfamiliar memories surged into her mind.
She had transmigrated into a book. It was a xianxia tragedy called The Heartless Path, and she, Wen Yu, was a widow in the background who barely appeared by name. Her husband had died young, leaving her a vast fortune, and she lived a carefree life in Qingzhou City. Her only fate was to be struck by the shockwave of a sword attack when the Demon King Xie Wugou razed the city five years later, dying young and beautiful.
"..."
Wen Yu sat frozen for three seconds, then abruptly threw off the brocade quilt. Barefoot, she stepped onto the cold white jade tiles and hurried to the huanghuali dressing table. A strange face looked back at her in the bronze mirror: skin like jade, brows like distant hills, clear, almond-shaped eyes, and naturally red lips. With trembling hands, she pulled open a drawer. It was packed with gold ingots and silver notes, dazzling her eyes.
