After Di Jiang left, Le Gui cracked her knuckles and looked up at Wuliangdu resting on the beam. She rummaged through the pile of artifacts and pulled out an incredibly spacious storage pouch before starting to sort and store the various weapons and treasures from the doorway onward.

It turned out that Di Jiang hadn’t been exaggerating. This entire room was filled with his spoils of war, each artifact bearing different sect markings. Some of them still radiated warmth upon touch, clearly top-tier treasures. Unfortunately, trapped here in his collection, they were nothing more than dust-gathering relics.

Poor things.

[Just hang in there. In another hundred years, when the protagonist inherits Wuyou Palace, you’ll finally be put to use… Wait, no. Di Jiang isn’t even dead in this timeline, so how could the protagonist inherit anything?]

Le Gui paused at that thought, and once again, a lingering question surfaced in her mind—why hadn’t Di Jiang died according to the original storyline?

Meanwhile, in the main hall of Cangqiong Palace, Di Jiang sat on the steps before the throne, leaning lazily against it. The Seer Mirror, which had been previously placed in a corner, was now positioned at the center of the hall, displaying a live reflection of Le Gui staring into space.

“What do you think she’s thinking about now?” Di Jiang rested his chin in his hand, watching with amusement.

The Seer Mirror glowed with a faint, resentful light. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Di Jiang’s lips curled slightly.

The mirror seemed to be holding back its frustration, remaining silent for a long moment before sneering, “I’m not omnipotent.”

“Oh.” Di Jiang accepted this answer without further inquiry.

The Seer Mirror fumed. “A normal person would ask me why or at least offer some words of comfort!”

Di Jiang remained calm. “Since when am I a normal person?”

The mirror faltered for a moment before erupting again. “She mocked me for not having any family or friends! She actually had the audacity to say that no one would ever chat with me!”

“Isn’t that true?”

Di Jiang’s three simple words sent the mirror into a full-blown rage. “I don’t need family or friends! Are they important? Can they grant me immortality? They’re nothing but burdens! Even if she has them, what’s there to brag about?”

Before the mirror could rant any further, the image flickered, showing Le Gui moving again. Di Jiang lost interest in the conversation and simply said, “Be quiet.”

The mirror fell into frustrated silence.

Di Jiang continued watching the reflection. Le Gui, after daydreaming for so long, had finally stood up and was now struggling to stuff a broadsword—taller than herself—into her storage pouch.

“I thought she would go straight for Wuliangdu,” Di Jiang mused.

The mirror remained sharp-tongued. “That’s because she’s an idiot.”

“She certainly is.” Di Jiang nodded. “She still thinks everything she sees is part of the book’s storyline and believes she can use Wuliangdu to return to her world.”

“Why not just give it to her and let her taste the despair of shattered hope?” The mirror suggested maliciously.

Di Jiang’s gaze flickered. He actually began to consider it.

Meanwhile, Le Gui had finished storing the broadsword and moved on to another artifact. After watching for a while, Di Jiang gradually lost interest and rose to leave.

As he walked away, the Seer Mirror rotated slightly to follow him and spoke in an eerie tone. “You made that little beast clean up the artifacts so you could enter your sleeping chambers for a closed-door healing session, didn’t you?”

Di Jiang stopped in his tracks, his expression unreadable.

“It seems you really suffered severe injuries in the Soul-Extinguishing Formation.” The mirror let out a sinister chuckle. “Well, it’s no surprise. That formation was woven with the combined might of both the mortal and celestial realms. Even as the greatest power in the Three Realms, you couldn’t possibly escape unscathed. But I didn’t expect you to be wounded this badly—to the point where you need a mere mortal to clean your artifacts for you. It seems that under that peach blossom tree, you truly sacrificed too much of your cultivation.”

The image in the mirror flickered again, and Le Gui’s figure was replaced by a single blooming purple moonflower. Its petals glowed with a faint, eerie light as it spoke in a softer, more tempting voice. “I don’t know why you changed your mind back then, but your weariness of endless existence hasn’t changed. Why not seize this opportunity to forgo healing? Give yourself a clean end for once.”

Di Jiang’s gaze darkened as he stood motionless for a long time before slowly turning back toward the mirror.

The moonflower in the reflection quivered with excitement. “Have you made up your mind? Do you want me to—”

Before it could finish speaking, a surge of spiritual energy struck it with crushing force. The mirror was sent flying, crashing into the throne before shattering onto the ground. The cracks that had just been repaired splintered apart once more, and the mirror let out a wail filled with both pain and hatred.

Amidst the sharp screeches, Di Jiang’s voice remained lofty and indifferent. “I may be injured, but I’m not so weak that I can’t clean up a few artifacts. I merely wanted to keep her from idling around.”

At that exact moment, Le Gui, still hard at work, suddenly sneezed. She instinctively looked around warily. “Who? Who’s talking bad about me?”

Of course, no one answered.

She rubbed her nose and continued organizing the artifacts.

Di Jiang’s sleeping chambers were massive, and the number of objects inside was overwhelming. Even after working tirelessly until deep into the night, Le Gui had only managed to clear the area near the entrance. Wuliangdu still hung high on the beam, silently tempting her to take it.

[No… Even though Di Jiang said I could move freely in Cangqiong Palace, he never said I could touch Wuliangdu. If I try to take it and end up getting killed, what then?]

She swallowed nervously and reluctantly left the room, glancing back every few steps.

Retracing her steps should have been easy, but without Di Jiang by her side, walking alone through the long, dark corridor weighed heavily on her mind. She sprinted the entire way, only stopping when she finally burst into the grand hall where the throne sat.

[Finally made it…]

Le Gui slumped onto the throne, exhausted. Just as she settled in, a sharp scream erupted from beneath her.

“You little beast, what are you doing?!”

Startled, Le Gui rolled off the seat and tumbled to the ground. Only then did she realize that the Seer Mirror was lying there.

“Weren’t you on the shelf? How did you end up here… and why are you cracked?” She stared at the fractures on its surface in surprise. “Did I break you by sitting on you?”

“A mere lowly mortal like you could never break me,” the Seer Mirror sneered.

Le Gui clicked her tongue. “Got it, you ran your mouth again and pissed off His Lordship, didn’t you?”

The Seer Mirror: “…”

“Serves you right,” Le Gui gloated.

The Seer Mirror: “…”

Having finally laid eyes on the treasured artifact she had been longing for, and seeing her insufferable workplace rival get beaten up by the boss, Le Gui felt that today was a pretty decent day. She finished off the last of her food, then cheerfully made her way to a spot beneath the window to sleep.

Half an hour later, she woke up coughing again, this time vomiting a mouthful of black blood.

There was more blood than last time.

“Whoa, little beast, you’re gonna scare yourself to death,” the Seer Mirror taunted, as unhelpful as ever.

Le Gui fell silent for a long moment, then rushed up to it and said seriously, “Let’s make a deal. You tell me how to cure the poison without taking the antidote, and I’ll explain what a smartphone operating system is.”

The Seer Mirror let out a cold chuckle. “I’m not making a deal with you.”

Last time, it had been provoked into agreeing, but now that it had realized it could simply refuse, there was no way it would fall for her trick twice.

Le Gui quickly adjusted her approach. “Then what would it take for you to make a deal with me?”

“Simple. I’ll give you the answer, and you give me your life,” the Seer Mirror replied without hesitation.

Le Gui instantly caught the loophole in its words. “When do I have to give it?”

“Within ten days.”

Le Gui: “And if I don’t take the antidote, how much longer do I have to live?”

“Two months.”

Le Gui: “… You damn bastard, so if I try to save myself, I die even faster than if I just sit around waiting?!”

“Not willing?” the Seer Mirror asked mockingly.

“Of course not!”

“Then forget it,” the Seer Mirror sneered. “Just wait for death to come.”

Le Gui took a deep breath, smoothed out her robes, and gracefully stood up—then kicked the mirror flying.

The Seer Mirror: “…”

The night was cool, and with a puddle of black blood near her sleeping spot, there was no way Le Gui could sleep now. She sat in a daze for a while before turning toward the throne and heading for the corridor behind it.

Once again, she was walking down a familiar passageway, alone. Still lost in the haze of her impending death, she arrived at the sleeping chamber without even realizing it.

She stared at the tightly shut doors, took a few deep breaths, then stepped forward and pushed them open. Inside, the mountain of magical artifacts loomed higher than her head. Tossing her hair back, she rolled up her sleeves and started climbing, trying to reach Wuliangdu.

The high-grade artifacts beneath her feet let out reluctant hums as they were stepped on, but she ignored them, determined to keep climbing. Even when she slipped, she got up and tried again. During the day, she had hesitated, thinking she should be cautious. But now, she couldn’t afford that luxury anymore. Even if Wuliangdu was drenched in deadly poison, she had to try to take it.

[Maybe if I return to the real world, the poison from this novel’s world will just disappear. Even if it doesn’t, with modern medical technology, at least I’d have a fighting chance.]

Le Gui kept climbing. She was almost close enough to grab the Wuliangdu when—her foot slipped.

Crashing sounds echoed as she tumbled down. Countless artifacts rained down on her, burying her completely.

Lying on the ground, she gasped for air. The only sound in the silent room was her own ragged breathing.

After a long while, she struggled to sit up—only to meet someone’s gaze.

Di Jiang was leaning against the doorway, his tall figure blocking out most of the moonlight. He was watching her with idle amusement.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“…Cleaning up the room for His Lordship,” Le Gui replied with an admirable level of calm.

Di Jiang smirked. “How diligent. Well then, carry on.”

Le Gui: “…”

“What are you waiting for?” Di Jiang prodded.

[Damn it, what kind of situation is this…]

Resigned, Le Gui picked up the storage pouch and continued sorting the artifacts. Di Jiang watched her indifferently, once again contemplating the Seer Mirror’s suggestion.

She knew she was dying, yet she was still trying to steal Wuliangdu—clearly seeing it as her last hope. If he handed it over to her and let her realize that her so-called ‘real world’ was nothing but an illusion, wouldn’t that be amusing?

Imagining the look on her face when her hope was shattered, Di Jiang’s lips curled into a deeper smile. Just as he reached out to retrieve Wuliangdu, Le Gui suddenly lunged at him with a wail.

“Your Lordship, please save me! I don’t want to die!!”

After sorting seven or eight artifacts, her mental state had completely collapsed. She clung to him, sobbing hysterically.

Di Jiang pinched her by the collar with two fingers and held her at arm’s length. “And why should I help you?”

“Because—” Le Gui’s words faltered as she noticed the bloodstains on her clothes. Blinking in confusion, she slowly looked down at his waist and saw a large, damp patch of dark red on his deep crimson robes. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched it. Her fingers came away stained with fresh blood.

After a long pause, she looked up at him. “Your Lordship… you’re injured?”

In the moonlight, Di Jiang’s face was as pale as paper. He remained expressionless. “I am not—”

Before he could finish, his consciousness abruptly faded, and he collapsed on top of her, pinning her beneath him.

Le Gui was flattened back into the pile of artifacts, her vision spinning. After a long moment, she carefully asked, “Your Lordship?”

Silence. He was truly unconscious.

[Forget him. Get Wuliangdu first.]

She shoved him aside—then, for good measure, gave his chest a squeeze.