I transmigrated into the original story as a disposable supporting character.
The male and female leads are using “safekeeping” as an excuse to trick me out of my family’s spatial jade pendant.
They think I’m unconscious and discuss how to divide up my good fortune at my bedside.
They don’t know three things:
I’m awake.
I still have the space.
I’ve read the script.
So I took the spirit spring, roots and all, leaving behind only a smiley face.
I dragged an independent cultivator, who was fated to die in the original story, back from the gates of death.
Then I went to knock on the door of the reclusive villain rumored to kill without blinking.
He asked me what I wanted.
I said, “I want to go into business with you. You provide the muscle, and I’ll provide the intel.”
He marked up my business plan with three risk points,
then said, “Deal.”
Later, we sat on the roof sharing a jug of wine,
and my name was embroidered inside his sleeve.
And the “helpful passerby” the entire cultivation world was searching for
was sitting beside him, counting spirit stones.
