3 Savior

After finishing a fight at the Xiaming Pavilion, Lin Yun returned to her room—or more precisely, was carried back by several burly middle-aged maids. The windows were sealed shut, the door locked from the outside, leaving Lin Yun alone inside, while a few maids stood guard outside.

Throughout the Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion, everyone whispered that the Second Miss had gone mad. Suddenly attacking people, smashing things—how could she not be considered insane? The Ningyuan Marquis’s household lived in luxury and indulgence; if she still went mad, it would be sheer ingratitude.

Acknowledged as mad, Lin Yun busied herself alone in the room, free to do as she pleased. No one dictated her clothing, her food, her hairstyle, or even which bed she slept on. She removed all her hairpins, stripped off the heavy outer robe and tossed it aside, then yanked down the bedding from the towering canopy bed and piled it onto the small kang beside it. She lay straight down.

A faint smile curled her lips, both for the freedom she now possessed in this closed room and for having recklessly fought Li Shi. Finally, she no longer had to sleep on that gloomy, suffocating bed, she thought.

But the smile faded quickly. Though she had left the canopy bed, this locked room—and indeed the entire Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion—was just one vast, larger canopy bed. Lin Yun had lived seven lifetimes in the Great Zhou, yet she had never truly stepped outside that bed.

With this thought, the once comforting kang grew unbearable, and she could no longer lie down. Sitting up, Lin Yun surveyed the room. It was ornately decorated, with intricate carvings and patterns everywhere. Every piece of furniture was crafted from fine wood with exquisite workmanship.

Yet the more she looked, the more lost she felt. She didn’t know what to do here, but she had to do something.

Gritting her teeth, Lin Yun dragged the low kang as far from the canopy bed as possible, far enough that lying on it she could no longer see the towering bed. Trying to sleep as far away as possible from that canopy bed was a laughable, futile self-deception, but she had to do something.

Just as in her seventh life, she hadn’t thought about solving problems or escaping the Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion. Instead, she had rashly chosen to take revenge and fight Li Shi, using a precious chance to vent.

In the sudden exertion, her knee struck the edge of the kang sharply, pain shooting through her, making her want to cry. Tears welled up instinctively. At first, she held them back, but then she froze, remembering that within this room she had a small measure of freedom.

Surrendering to the pain, she let the tears fall and began to cry. At first, timid and muffled, the sobs grew louder and louder until a floodgate seemed to burst open, and she wept uncontrollably, gasping for breath.

Lin Yun had died six times before, never shedding a tear. Each time, she died quickly and lived quickly, compressing her emotions. Like a video game you could restart repeatedly, a rational person should learn from experience and dive fully into the next round, not wallow in tears over past defeats.

She had thought herself rational, and in her previous six lives she had tried to be. But this time, she broke down.

She was hungry, but the food here was poisonous. She was exhausted, but everyone wore false masks. She was lonely, but no one here was her kind.

Each time she woke up, she hated this canopy bed more, hated this room more, hated the Ningyuan Marquis’s mansion more, even hated this world more.

She wasn’t as strong as she imagined. Even a modern person transported to the past couldn’t easily dominate. She couldn’t even survive to leave this room.

With pain piling up, breaking down was inevitable. Lin Yun didn’t resist her fragility much.

And mind you, she was a doctoral student. The fruit of doctoral study, besides knowledge, was that she was more prone to breakdowns than most. Her endurance up to now was a miracle.

She had vented in a fight with Li Shi, which was useless beyond release and a moment’s satisfaction.

Yet she was still cowardly—she only smashed a poisoned cup, a tit-for-tat act. But Lin Yun knew that even if Li Shi drank the poison, she had the antidote and would not die.

How pitiful—that she couldn’t even break down fully, wildly enough.

She had been killed six times. If she had any backbone, she would have taken a blade to stab Li Shi to death. Even if she couldn’t get a knife, she could have sharpened a hairpin and plunged it into Li Shi’s chest, fighting to the death.

She had imagined it many times. But she never acted.

For the first time in her life, Lin Yun lamented her inherent nature as a meek, law-abiding citizen.

In fact, whenever facing Li Shi, Lin Yun wanted to call the authorities, to have her arrested and punished. But there were no police in Great Zhou.

The justice and law she longed for had no place in this grand mansion.

As she cried, fatigue and drowsiness overwhelmed her. Curling up on the kang farthest from the canopy bed, she thought:

She never expected to fight, yet now she was a natural at it.

Maybe after dying a few more times, she could kill someone.

Maybe after a few more deaths, she would become a monster like Li Shi.

Who knew?

***

There was a shuffle in the room—wood scraping against blue stone tiles with a harsh creak. Then a wailing cry, growing louder and softer. Outside, Maid Xu pressed her eye against the door crack, peeking in.

A slender young girl dragged the oversized kang around, then cried herself to sleep.

“Seems the Second Miss really has gone mad,” Maid Xu whispered.

But the Second Miss’s madness was somewhat approachable—she didn’t torment the servants, only her mistress.

Maid Xu lingered at the door a while longer, then saw the most trusted lady-in-waiting of the Side Madam approach with two young servants carrying a large basket of charcoal.

Maid Xu hurried forward and was the first to speak kindly: “Is the Side Madam well? When I leftI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.