Ch. 10 - Boarding the Ship

When they arrived at the fox demon’s den, the scene inside through the wide-open window was two people locked in a passionate kiss.

Yang Ruo was unimpressed—been there, seen that. Tan Jin, meanwhile, was ready to skip the romance subplot and get straight to harvesting the demon core. He was just about to make a move when the “Ye Xiwu” at his side suddenly leapt forward exactly as she had in the previous timeline—vaulting straight through the window.

Except this time, it wasn’t the smooth, heroic landing of the last life. Yang Ruo forgot that she only knew talisman arts, not martial skills. One leg cleared the sill; the other caught. She face-planted into the room with a resounding smack.

Tan Jin, witnessing everything: “…”

Pang Yizhi: “HAHAHAHA—little junior sister, if you can’t pull it off, don’t act tough! I swear I’ll laugh about this for the rest of the year—HAHAHAHA!”

Mortified Yang Ruo: (mentally sharpening a knife).

She hadn’t been trying to show off, honestly. She was just rushing the plot beats, eager to move things along… and ended up eating dirt for her troubles.

Pushing herself up, she met the stunned stares of the young couple on the bed. Embarrassment didn’t even begin to cover it.

Why did every incident lately make her look more ridiculous than the last?

No time for chatter—she whipped out a talisman, chanted, and flung it at the fox demon.

Ye Qingyu panicked and rushed forward to shield the demon. Yang Ruo was ready for him—she slapped another talisman on him, dropping him into instant slumber.

The fox demon knew the game was up and bolted. Just before fleeing, though, Yang Ruo caught the faint trace of a voice transmission in the air. Her mind snagged on it, but the demon had already vanished.

Plot progression: achieved. Time to give chase.

The trail led them to a brothel.

As before, Pang Yizhi stayed outside to set up a formation, unable to enter.

So it was Tan Jin and Yang Ruo who went inside.

Yang Ruo had already decided not to meddle with Tan Jin and Pianran’s storyline. She’d dropped her hint to Pianran earlier—it was up to the girl how to choose. So Yang Ruo strolled around leisurely, deliberately giving Tan Jin room.

Tan Jin confronted Pianran, ready to devour her.

She lashed out, drew blood, then froze—shocked by the raw power within it. Remembering the whispered warning the talisman-wielding woman had given her earlier, she changed tactics in a heartbeat:

Tan Jin’s hand stilled. His goal was achieved.

To seal her loyalty, he made her swallow the Yiyue tribe’s secret drug. Pianran had no choice but to comply. After giving her orders, he dismissed her.

Head lowered, Pianran exited the room.

At that exact moment, Yang Ruo walked in—only to be instantly struck by Pianran’s panicked reflexive spell. She dropped like a stone.

The fox demon froze, horrified. She’d just accidentally knocked out Tan Jin’s ally! Afraid of being misunderstood, she hurried back inside to explain. “It’s just a charm—she’ll wake up in a while, a little… ah, distracted.”

Tan Jin understood immediately. The same thing had happened last life. Thinking of how this woman had clung to him afterward, he didn’t hesitate. One swift chop to the neck—and “Ye Xiwu” went from fainted to deeply unconscious. When she woke up, the spell’s side effects would already be over.

If Yang Ruo ever learned how merciless he’d been, she’d probably want to deck him.

But Tan Jin wasn’t concerned. He still needed her alive for his next steps. Scooping her up, he carried her onto a horse and rode straight for the eastern docks.

There, the Yiyue clan waited with Jing Lan’an at their head.

Seeing him arrive with a woman, Jing Lan’an frowned. Recognizing her as Tan Jin’s infamous wife, she suggested killing her on the spot. Tan Jin refused—“She still has her uses.” Reluctantly, Jing Lan’an let it go.

As he walked ahead, the corners of Tan Jin’s lips curled.

The stage might be the same. But this time, he was directing the play.

Once aboard the great ship, the river opened wide, carrying them downstream toward Jing.

Jing Lan’an produced a Yiyue-made “weak water rope,” immune to any magic, to bind the Ye girl. A gesture of loyalty.

But Tan Jin waved it off. “She’s untrained, not worth such a treasure. Use ordinary rope.”

Jing Lan’an relented, though she couldn’t shake the sense that this prince smiled kindly while remaining utterly impenetrable.

Then Tan Jin called her closer, sliding a daylily hairpin into her hair—the same token from his last life, laced with a hidden parasite.

Her heart wavered. Moved, guilty, torn.

Tan Jin studied her reaction with cold satisfaction.

Moved—because he treated her like a mother figure. Guilty—because she would always choose her daughter over him.

Last life, she had scolded him for being heartless. But when he had shown affection, had they ever treasured it?

No. They hadn’t. So this life, he would give them nothing more.

When Yang Ruo finally woke, she found herself in the dark, swaying belly of the ship. Straw scattered around, only a sliver of light seeping through the tiny window above.

Her heart sank.

Oh no. It looks like Tan Jin had brought “Ye Xiwu” aboard the ship, the same as before.

Although she had no idea why Tan Jin still chose to bring her along, because really, there was zero emotional foundation between them.

She hadn’t gone shopping with him.

Nope. She’d always played it safe. Thanks to her cheat-code foresight, she usually managed to avoid danger altogether.

So why was she still on this ship?

She chalked it up to the one thing stronger than logic itself: plot armor. The mighty hand of the narrative demanded she be here. And fine—this was exactly what she wanted.

As long as she stuck close to Tan Jin, she could intervene when the real crisis came—specifically, when that poisoned dart flew at his eye. Of course, she had no intention of “heroically sacrificing herself.” Please.

She had spoilers. She had foresight. Throwing her life away would be idiotic.

So when she noticed the rope binding her was basically useless, she didn’t bother struggling. Instead, she calculated the timeline, decided it wasn’t dart-o’clock yet, and went right back to sleep to conserve her energy.

—To an outside observer, Yang Ruo’s mental state was… unnervingly healthy.

Or more accurately: wildly inconsistent, unpredictable strength level, motives unclear.

As for Tan Jin swallowing the demon core poison? She honestly didn’t care. In her mind, the only real threat here was the poisoned dart. Everything else could be patched with a healing talisman—small fry.

…

Meanwhile, in a lavish cabin…

“Has she woken yet?” Tan Jin asked.

Bai Yu hesitated. “Reporting to Your Highness… she did wake up. But then she, ah… fell asleep again.”

And he left out the part about the soft snoring.

Tan Jin’s expression tightened. He remembered back in the Nightmare Demon’s lair, she’d done the same thing—sleeping soundly in places no sane person would. Did she have a missing screw in her brain?

Exasperation tugged at him. He’d tied her with ordinary rope on purpose, to give her a chance to escape. And here she was, napping like she was in her own bed!

What did she think this was? A cruise?

Bai Yu carefully ventured, “Does Your Highness… wish to go check on her?”

Tan Jin paused. “…Go watch her sleep?”

One look at his prince’s sharp, displeased gaze, and Bai Yu swallowed the suggestion that maybe His Highness could just wake her up. He bowed and retreated.

But Tan Jin called after him.

“When she wakes, tell her I’ve decided to execute her.”

Bai Yu blinked. Wait, what? Just a moment ago, His Highness seemed concerned—now he wanted her dead? He didn’t understand Tan Jin’s twists and turns, but he bowed anyway.

…

So when Yang Ruo next opened her eyes, the guards outside her door promptly informed her she was to be executed.

No set date—just “soon.”

She collapsed to the floor, wounded all over again. Tan Jin, you heartless bastard!

She knew it. Him bringing her here could never be for anything good!

Execution? Please. She’d be an idiot to stick around. Especially when they’d bound her with rope so weak it was insulting. What—was she not worthy of the deluxe “Li Susu Weak-Water Rope Edition™”?

Muttering under her breath, she snapped the bindings with her Kingvine.

Daytime wasn’t ideal for escape, but she wasn’t waiting around to be skewered.

The ship swarmed with Yiyue soldiers—black-clad, stone-faced, radiating menace. Real-life murder machines.

And Yang Ruo, a transmigrated modern weakling who’d never killed a fly, crept through the corridors with her heart pounding.

Too bad she was so nervous she forgot to watch her own tail.

She bumped right into a patrol.

Her breath hitched. She nearly screamed.

But she forced herself to calm down, darting into the maze of cabins and shoving open a random door to hide.

From the inner room came the sound of young women giggling and chattering.

Then her eyes fell on the rack of costumes—stage dresses, bright and extravagant. And instantly she felt it: that uncanny, irresistible pull of Plot Power.

If her guess was right, the pursuing soldiers would barge in soon. To avoid exposure, she’d be forced to don one of these costumes and blend in with the girls… only to end up performing in front of Tan Jin.

Yang Ruo: …

This power was terrifying!

But she couldn’t dance! At least Li Susu had some martial grace, enough to fake her way through. Yang Ruo? What was she supposed to do—perform a set of morning calisthenics?

If the plot really was this cruel, then Tan Jin choosing her for a solo was practically guaranteed.

She was doomed.

If not executed, then socially executed.

Her mind spun in panic. What do I do? What do I do?!

Knocks thundered at the door, accompanied by soldiers’ rough voices, demanding to know if anyone unfamiliar had entered.

The girls denied it, but when they heard the intruder was an escaped prisoner, they immediately allowed the soldiers in to search.

Yang Ruo rolled her eyes. Of course. Can’t this script mix things up just once? Does everything have to go exactly like the drama?

But she didn’t have the luxury to complain. With no other choice, she yanked on a costume in record time. Just as the soldiers were about to check her corner, a messenger called in from outside: His Highness wanted to see the performance.

The soldiers withdrew.

The girls filed out in a graceful line.

Yang Ruo resigned herself, clutching the only instrument left—the konghou harp—and trudged along after them.

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