Wen Ci has been writing a novel for three years, with more than one million words, but he can only order two hundred. On the night of her sudden death, she was stuck in Chapter 317.
When she opened her eyes again, she knelt on the execution ground she had written - in the winter of the eleventh year of Jingyuan, in front of the Shuozhou Army, the cannon fodder who was executed in the first chapter, Pei Suining.
She raised her hand and crossed out the word "Fu Zhu" in the sentence.
The knife is broken.
The price is a red pen and four rules. The first three items are about price: changing things consumes ink, running out of ink will shorten your life, and changing the fate of the protagonist takes 365 days at a time.
She stared at the fourth article all night——
"Every time Xie Jue falls in love with you, you lose one day of your life. The deeper the love, the more severe the loss."
A thin quilt, one day. A jar of honey, five days. The words he said for her in front of the civil and military officials of the court lasted for a hundred days.
She calculated: As long as she stayed eight feet away from him, she could live for ten years.
What she failed to calculate was another account.
Everyone in this world was written by her. Three thousand soldiers died in the wild, which she made up to make the beginning of the story look good; the ending where he finally came to Xuande's sect was also arranged by her.
She wasn't transported into a cruel world.
The cruelty of this world was written by her own hand.
And she only had 3,620 days left to change it back.
