I'm Really Just Trying to Follow the Plot

I Really Am Just Here to Follow the Plot

The day Du Shumian died, bitter winds and rain lashed the land beneath a dark, gloomy sky.

She thought that Wei Yang would finally get what he wanted.

Once she was dead, their soul pact would dissolve on its own, and he would no longer be bound to her for the sake of repaying some supposed debt of gratitude.

He had long since grown sick of her.

Her hopes and joys, her unease and suspicions, her resentment and heartache... All of those tangled emotions of love and hate would be buried in the dust when her body died and her soul vanished.

And he wouldn't care.

Even if Du Shumian loved him for a hundred or a thousand years, it couldn't compare to a single backward glance from Qiu Lingye.

After all, among the Three Islands and Ten Continents and their thousands of sects, Du Shumian was merely a disciple of an obscure little sect on the border of Yingzhou. Wei Yang, on the other hand, was the Kunlun Void Sect Leader's first disciple, a sword cultivator genius admired and praised by all.

Only Qiu Lingye was worthy of him.

It was all Du Shumian's fault. She had meddled where she didn't belong, overestimated herself, and dared to try to claim what was never hers.

So it seemed perfectly reasonable that Wei Yang would abandon a nominal Daoist companion for the woman he loved.

.

But Du Shumian couldn't forget the look in Wei Yang's eyes at that final moment. He looked incredulous, as if something had collapsed inside him, crumbling and swallowing the sight of her falling from the cliff.

.

At the same time, a voice rang out in her mind:

"Congratulations, Host. Mission complete."

Only then did Du Shumian remember that she had transmigrated into a book, becoming a background female character in a cultivation novel. Though the book described her in only a few brief lines, she still couldn't escape the fate assigned to her by the plot.

.

Now that her character's story was over, she was free again.

.

Later, Du Shumian stared at the shackles on her wrists and at Wei Yang as he walked toward her, step by step. She still couldn't understand where things had gone wrong.

No one knew that the head of Kunlun, cold as snow and indifferent to worldly desires, had once imprisoned his former Daoist companion in a dark room, repeatedly asking her like a madman:

"Do you love me or not?"

"Please move aside. Don't keep me from going to the next book to follow the plot."

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