Wu Linxuan nearly lost his mind upon hearing the sounds. But when he flung open the bed curtains, there was no adulterer in sight—only his Lady Meng, drenched in sweat, lying on the bed with eyes brimming with "springtime desire."
Her gaze was unfocused, her arms wrapped around a smooth, lustrous green jade ruyi scepter.
Wu Linxuan's expression shifted several times, his hand trembling slightly as he gripped the water pitcher. He had seen plenty of "scenes" in his life—coaxing court officials into forming factions, engaging in hypocritical social niceties—but never anything like this.
Lu Meng's vision darkened, a consequence of overexertion from someone who rarely exercised. At first, she couldn't make out who was standing before her, mistaking them for one of her maids. Is that Xiuyun or Xiuli? she wondered irritably. Why are they just standing there instead of helping me?
But after lying still for a while, her head cleared enough to realize something was off—this "maid" was far too tall, looming over the bed like an Argentinian giant eagle.
Lu Meng blinked hard, forcing her eyes to focus, and finally recognized the visitor.
Her heart dropped, and an internal alarm blared alongside the ringing in her ears, jolting her back to full awareness.
The boss visiting late at night? Nothing good ever comes of this!
She struggled to gather her strength but failed to sit up. No way, I can't perform right now—my body won’t allow it.
With "limpid autumn waters" in her eyes, Lu Meng glanced at Wu Linxuan. Seeing no other maids around, she gritted her teeth and reached out to grab him.
Fighting dizziness, she pleaded, "My prince… help me…"
Help me get some water, you idiot! Are you just standing there waiting to attend my funeral? You must have sent the maids away—if I die like this, I’ll haunt you forever!
But in her current state—clothes disheveled, hair in disarray, the suspicious jade ruyi lying beside her—she exuded an overwhelming aura of ripe decadence, like a flower in full bloom or a fruit ready to drop. Just lying there and gazing at Wu Linxuan seemed to summon twisting vines that coiled around him from his ankles all the way to the top of his head.
Wu Linxuan prided himself on self-restraint, refusing to let anyone manipulate or exploit him through base desires.
He lived like an ascetic—even his closest attendants didn’t know his food preferences, as he left no traces of personal indulgence.
But he didn’t consider this suffering. Compared to the throne he coveted, he believed carnal desires were mere distractions to be excised from his being.
Countless people had tried bribing him with money and women, yet he remained unmoved. No beauty, no matter how peerless or noble, could capture even a sidelong glance.
For a classic early-era male lead, women were nothing but obstacles to seizing power.
Yet beneath all these pretenses, Wu Linxuan was still just an eighteen-year-old youth.
In Lu Meng’s time, boys his age were high schoolers who could sprout "handrails" from accidental brushes against bus poles.
The seduction attempts he’d encountered before had always been subtle, refined—befitting his status as the Third Prince, Prince Jian'an. None had ever been as brazenly carnal as Lu Meng’s current display.
Pulling open those bed curtains felt like tearing off his armor, leaving him defenseless against the sudden, brutal axe strike that left him "bloodied and mangled."
It wasn’t hard to understand. No matter how much he pretended at maturity, no matter how he suppressed himself, adolescent boys would always be drawn to older, experienced women.
Lu Meng wasn’t older in years, but right now, she radiated an ineffable "maturity."
She was like an unappetizing fruit hanging from a tree, only to suddenly drop onto Wu Linxuan’s forehead—splattering juice across his face, forcing him to inhale its intoxicating sweetness.
And now, the fruit was reaching out, "inviting him to taste."
Wu Linxuan stood frozen, his entire body stiff as a long-dead duck’s beak.
Lu Meng’s plea—"help me"—sent a scalding wave from his ears downward, as if he’d been doused in boiling water and flayed alive.
The "pain" came belatedly. When he finally snapped back to reality, the water pitcher slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor with a deafening CRACK!
Just like that imaginary fruit smashing against his skull.
Wu Linxuan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as if rusted shut, veins bulging grotesquely along his temples and neck. He stared at his Lady Meng in disbelief, dodging her attempt to grab his sleeve.
Then, through gritted teeth, he spat, "In your dreams!"
As if I’d… Shameless! Utterly depraved!
He stormed out, kicking the door open on his way. The night wind slammed into him, instantly cooling the feverish heat in his body. It felt like a slap to the face, fury igniting along every nerve.
Unbearable rage!
He didn’t understand why he was so angry—why he felt on the verge of madness. If Lu Meng had known his thoughts, she could’ve summarized them in one sentence:
The mighty prince’s pride in his self-control just took a nosedive.
But Lu Meng was in no state to analyze anything. Her head was still buzzing, leaving no room to ponder why Wu the Dog had barged in or why he’d fled like a madman.
Only after Wu Linxuan and his entourage had stormed off did the maids hesitantly return. Finding Lu Meng "weak" and barely functional, they jumped to conclusions—assuming the prince had come in the dead of night to bully her, only for their "activities" to end in another bitter fallout.
Xin Ya directed the maids to fetch water and summoned the mansion’s physician.
She had nearly given up on Lu Meng due to the prince’s wariness, but after tonight…
Those illustrated books I procured from the mortal world… I must find a way to show them to these two.
Lu Meng drank some water, ate a little, and after the physician’s visit, collapsed into deep sleep.
The diagnosis? Lady Meng suffered from dual deficiency of qi and blood, her body unable to withstand vigorous activity. She needed rest and a tonic to replenish her vitality.
When this report reached Wu Linxuan’s courtyard, he flew into such a rage that he smashed his favorite white jade ruyi—a piece he often admired in his study.
My Lady Meng is truly something! Working herself into a state of exhaustion—does she think I’m dead?!
Lu Meng, of course, knew nothing. Half-asleep, she was roused to take the physician’s medicine (which contained sedatives) and slept straight through till noon the next day.
It was the first full night’s rest since her transmigration. Young bodies recovered quickly—stomach ailments or qi deficiency could be mended with sleep.
Refreshed, Lu Meng rose gracefully and polished off two large bowls of congee before analyzing last night’s events.
As the female lead in an angst-ridden novel, did the male lead come to humiliate me after failing earlier?
But from the maids’ accounts and her own hazy memories, Wu the Dog had been the one left fuming.
Did I somehow anger him?
He was so angry this morning that he didn’t even ask her about the lantern lighting.
What a blessing!
There was no way she’d start her day early for business—she hoped Wu Linxuan would just forget about it. Otherwise, Lu Meng would have to feign illness to dodge the task.
But during her idle moments, she did ponder why Wu Linxuan had stormed off last night… After considering many possibilities, she still couldn’t figure it out.
He had taken one look at her and left. When she asked him to pour her some water, he’d snapped, “In your dreams.”
Clearly, he couldn’t stand her.
Lu Meng weighed her current situation and concluded that the male lead’s annoyance was actually a good thing.
Adhering to the principle of “never bother the boss unless the boss bothers you,” she aimed to make sure her employer forgot about her existence—except when it came to paying her wages. Thus, she began a quiet, low-profile life of “recuperating” in the mansion.
She wanted to exercise, but her body simply wouldn’t allow it.
Lu Meng drank the blood-nourishing tonic prescribed by the physician, enjoyed three full meals a day, took two naps, and clutched her stash of gold, silver, and jewels. Life couldn’t be more blissful.
Meanwhile, after smashing the white jade ruyi scepter he had cherished for years, Wu Linxuan seemed to have completely forgotten about Lu Meng, his so-called “Dream Consort.” He busied himself with court affairs, skillfully maneuvering against rival princes—power struggles were his forte.
The main courtyard of Prince Jian'an’s Mansion saw no meddlesome “small fry” coming to light lanterns, only advisors and allies. Occasionally, late at night, Wu Linxuan would lift his head from his heavy workload, massaging his temples as an indecent image flashed before his eyes.
Wu Linxuan refused to let himself be swayed by such shallow desires. Instead of avoiding the thought, he deliberately revisited it daily. Over time, recalling how he had once been troubled by such trivial matters only amused him.
With a derisive snort, he picked up his brush and returned to his duties.
Only a true wolf could ruthlessly dissect his own desires and instincts.
As for Lu Meng, she didn’t care whether Wu Linxuan was a wolf or a dog—she only cared about living her best life.
These days, she didn’t have to visit the palace to see the empress dowager, nor return to her maiden home. Wu Linxuan no longer showed up unannounced, so she finally settled into peace.
Though she spent most of her time lounging, she also began discreetly learning about the mansion and the world she lived in.
After all, even if she planned to laze around, she needed to know where she was lying and which side got the best sunlight for drying into a salted fish, right?
She had read the original novel years ago, and her memories of the plot were hazy at best. The finer details of the setting eluded her.
So she painstakingly took up reading—the best way to understand this world. Her earlier claim of illiteracy gave her the perfect excuse to have Xin Ya teach her, maintaining her facade.
Thanks to the servant roster provided by Xin Ya, who had replaced Nanny Wu as the mansion’s head steward, Lu Meng finally learned the names of most attendants around her.
For instance, “New Nanny” wasn’t new at all—her name was Xin Ya.
And the two wooden-pole-like guards stationed at her door? One of them, a towering, masked figure, was named Yuehui.
When Lu Meng saw that name on the roster, it felt like a needle had stabbed her nerves.
This was her favorite supporting character from the novel!
Yuehui was a cannon-fodder male lead—the kind who treated the female lead well in a tragic romance. Unsurprisingly, he had fallen for Zhangsun Lumeng.
As one of Wu Linxuan’s elite death guards, he betrayed his master for her sake.
What’s a dog-blooded tragic romance without the female lead attempting to escape the male lead’s torment in pursuit of freedom?
Of course, it had to be: She runs, he chases, she’s doomed to fail!
Lu Meng couldn’t recall the exact timeline, but she remembered that shortly after the marriage, Zhangsun Lumeng did flee, triggering a cascade of misunderstandings between the leads and the supporting male character.
Truly a case of “no zuo no die.”
In the original plot, Zhangsun Lumeng married Wu Linxuan—er, “Big Dog Wu”—and on their wedding night, drugged and feverish, she failed to seduce him. Instead, she pressed his dropped jade seal against her face and tucked it into her robes.
This successfully convinced the male lead she was a promiscuous spy.
Life as a spy was harsh. She neither complained nor showed weakness, enduring Nanny Wu’s abuse until her existence in the mansion became worse than a maid’s.
After a humiliating visit to her maiden home, her meekness gave way to defiance. She sought Wu Linxuan’s comfort, only to be scorned again, crushing her spirit.
Then, on some forgotten day after the wedding, she ran.
Logically, escape should’ve been impossible—Prince Jian'an’s Mansion was a fortress. By then, one of her two maids, Xiuyun or Xiuli (Lu Meng couldn’t remember which), had been killed by Nanny Wu. The other had been demoted to hard labor over some trivial fault.
With a swarm of servants and the vicious nanny watching her, she was trapped.
But the plot handed her wings.
Zhangsun Lumeng was genuinely kind-hearted, wishing only the best for those around her.
One night, she caught the scent of blood on a guard outside her door and dragged him inside to tend his wounds.
At the time, she had no attendants—the maids sent by Nanny Wu bullied her and slept earlier than she did. No one saw her pulling a guard into her chambers.
Yuehui, fresh from a mission for Prince Jian'an, was gravely injured but silent, prepared to endure until dawn. Death guards were raised without affection, numb to pain—even their own.
That small act of kindness—bandaging his wounds and offering a bowl of water she had heated herself—cost Yuehui his life.
When Zhangsun Lumeng wept to him about wanting to escape, begging him to take her away, Yuehui agreed.
Naively, she assumed they could disappear together, hiding where no one would find them.
But she didn’t know that death guards obeyed not just out of ingrained servitude—their lives were literally in their master’s grip.
Some had family held hostage; orphans like Yuehui were poisoned, dependent on regular antidotes to avoid agonizing deaths.
Asking Yuehui to flee with her was a death sentence. He had to return, or neither of them would escape.
Yuehui went back. His name meant “Moon’s Return,” earned for his flawless record: no matter the mission, he always returned before moonset.
Among guards known only by numbers, he alone had been granted a name by Wu Linxuan himself.
And now this named guard had betrayed him, absconding with his woman.
Wu Linxuan’s retaliation was brutal.
Lu Meng shuddered at the memory.
Big Dog Wu had Yuehui’s tendons severed and hung him from the very gate through which he’d helped Zhangsun Lumeng escape.
Word was spread: unless she returned willingly, Yuehui would hang there until he bled dry.
By the time Zhangsun Lumeng received the news, it was already too late. Even if she had rushed back in a frantic hurry through the night, Yuehui was already dead.
Until his last breath, Yuehui’s inner monologue held no resentment toward her—only nostalgia for the warmth she had once given him.
Lu Meng recalled this infuriating plotline. When she had first read it, she had merely hated the female lead for her reckless actions and despised the author for being so cruel, killing off such a perfect male supporting character far too soon.
But now, experiencing it firsthand, the impact was far more intense than any 4D movie.
The thought alone made Lu Meng’s hair stand on end. Outside, the night was as dark as ink, and she had never felt the cruelty and horror of this world so viscerally before.
Lying on the chaise lounge, she cursed herself for staying up so late, dredging up old plotlines in the middle of the night.
She cursed her own sharp hearing, which allowed her to detect the scent of blood wafting in through the window from one of the guards stationed outside—along with the muffled, pained groans of an unusually tall figure, barely restraining his agony.
So now, the cannon-fodder male supporting character had been delivered straight to her by the plot. Should she follow this storyline or not? Should she save him or let him be?
And if she did save him… how?
“You have to save him.” Just as Lu Meng was lost in thought, a voice suddenly answered her internal question.
The shock was so great that Lu Meng couldn’t even scream. She scrambled barefoot off the chaise, her face a picture of sheer terror.
The voice spoke again, and Lu Meng’s eyes widened as she realized it wasn’t coming from beside her—but inside her mind.
It was an emotionless, mechanical tone: “You must save him. There’s a classic line you need to deliver in this scene.”
The mechanical voice continued, “Host, the line you must recite this time is: ‘Wu Linxuan, you’re so cruel.’”
