I died choking on bubble tea.
Not in some poetic, tragic way. I literally inhaled a tapioca pearl while hate-reading a terrible webnovel on my phone, and that was it. Twenty-eight years of life, ended by overpriced tea and bad literature.
The last thing I remembered thinking was: "God, this villainess is SO STUPID. Who poisons someone at their own banquet?"
Then darkness.
Then pain.
Then—
"MISS LIAN! MISS LIAN, PLEASE WAKE UP!"
I bolted upright, immediately regretted it as my head spun, and discovered several problems simultaneously:
One: I was wearing the most uncomfortable dress I'd ever experienced. Layers of silk that weighed approximately one thousand pounds, with a waistband that was clearly designed by someone who hated breathing.
Two: I was surrounded by ancient Chinese furniture. Like, actual ancient furniture. Carved rosewood, jade ornaments, the works.
Three: A young woman in servant's robes was crying over me like I'd just returned from the dead.
Which, technically, I had?
"Miss, you've been unconscious for three days!" the servant sobbed. "The physician said if you didn't wake soon—"
"Wait." My voice came out wrong. Too high, too melodious. I cleared my throat and tried again. "What happened?"
The servant—her name floated into my mind unbidden: Xiao Mei—looked at me with confusion. "You... you don't remember? The accident during sword practice?"
Sword practice.
SWORD PRACTICE.
A memory that wasn't mine surfaced: a beautiful woman in flowing robes, attempting an elegant sword technique. Then the sword flying out of her hands, spinning through the air, and somehow—impossibly—boomeranging back to smack her in the head.
That beautiful woman was me.
Or rather, the person whose body I now inhabited.
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no—
"Miss? You've gone very pale. Should I fetch the physician again?"
I stumbled out of bed, ignoring Xiao Mei's protests, and lurched toward the bronze mirror in the corner.
The face that stared back at me was stunning. Porcelain skin, delicate features, eyes like dark jade, hair like black silk. The kind of face that launched a thousand ships or, you know, a thousand death flags.
Because I recognized this face.
I RECOGNIZED THIS FACE.
"No," I whispered. "No, this can't be—"
"Miss Lian Yuying," Xiao Mei said, concerned. "Please, lie back down."
Lian Yuying.
LIAN YUYING.
The villainess from "Immortal Sword of Destiny," the garbage webnovel I'd been hate-reading. The beautiful, cruel, idiotic antagonist who spent the entire story simping for the male lead, bullying the heroine, and making increasingly stupid decisions until her own family threw her off a cliff in Chapter 87.
I was in the novel.
I was the villainess.
And according to my new memories, this was Chapter 3.
I had eighty-four chapters to avoid being murdered by my own father.
"Miss?" Xiao Mei asked nervously. "You're making a strange sound."
I was laughing. Hysterically. Because what else could I do?
"I'm fine," I lied, my voice pitching higher. "I'm totally fine. Everything is FINE. What day is it?"
"The fifteenth day of the eighth month, Miss."
My mind raced through the plot. Eighth month, Chapter 3... that meant in two days, there was a sect-wide meeting where original Yuying was supposed to make a grand entrance on her flying sword to show off in front of Shen Qingyun, the male lead.
In the original novel, she succeeded and looked elegant and villainous.
There was just one small problem.
I looked at Xiao Mei. "Do I... do I know how to fly on a sword?"
"Of course, Miss! You've been training since you were eight. You're one of the best in the sect—" She paused.
"Well, when you don't accidentally hit yourself."
Right. The original Yuying was actually talented. She just had the worst luck and decision-making skills in existence.
I had neither talent NOR the muscle memory.
I was so dead.
"Miss, the Sect Leader requested you join the family dinner tonight," Xiao Mei continued. "He wants to ensure you've recovered."
The Sect Leader. My father. Lian Fenghua. The man who would eventually order my execution.
"Great," I said weakly. "Family dinner. My favorite."
I spent the next three hours trying to figure out how to walk in these robes without tripping (failed twice), how to sit gracefully (fell off the chair once), and how to remember which fork—wait, no, chopsticks—to use.
Xiao Mei watched all of this with increasing concern.
"Miss, are you certain you're alright? You seem... different."
"I hit my head very hard," I said, which was technically true for the original owner of this body. "I might be a little confused for a while."
"Should I cancel the dinner?"
"NO." If I showed weakness now, I'd just raise suspicion. I needed to act normal. How hard could it be to pretend to be a villainous ice beauty for one dinner?
Extremely hard, as it turned out.
The Lian family dining hall was enormous, with a table that could seat thirty people. Currently, only five seats were occupied: my father at the head, my stepmother Madam Qiu, my half-brother Lian Zhen, and two empty seats—one for me, one for my half-sister who was apparently away at another sect.
I tried to make an elegant entrance.
I really did.
But the robes were SO LONG, and the doorway had a slightly raised threshold, and—
I tripped.
Not a small stumble. A full, arms-windmilling, dignity-destroying trip that sent me sprawling across the floor in a tangle of silk and shame.
The dining hall went silent.
I looked up to see my father's eye twitching. Madam Qiu had her hand over her mouth. Lian Zhen was openly gaping.
"I meant to do that," I said from the floor. "I was... testing the floor's stability. It passed."
No one believed me.
I dragged myself up, tried to smooth my robes with some dignity, and walked to my seat with as much poise as possible (stumbled twice more, caught myself on the table once).
"Yuying," my father said slowly, each word measured. "Are you well?"
"Very well, Father! The fall was just a minor setback in my training journey."
"You fell entering a dining room."
"A tactical fall. To... to keep enemies guessing."
Lian Zhen snorted into his tea. Madam Qiu's expression suggested she was re-evaluating all her life choices.
My father closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"The physician said you may have some lingering effects from your injury. We will postpone your participation in the upcoming sect meeting—"
"NO!" I said too loudly. Everyone stared. I modulated my voice. "I mean, no thank you, Father. I will absolutely attend the sect meeting. I wouldn't miss it. I'll be there. On my sword. Flying. Gracefully."
Why was I saying these things? SHUT UP, MOUTH.
"On your sword," Father repeated flatly.
"Yes. On my sword. The sword I can definitely fly on. Because I'm very good at flying. On swords."
Lian Zhen was now actively laughing. Madam Qiu looked like she wanted to crawl under the table.
Father's eye twitched again. "Very well. If you insist on embarrassing yourself—"
"I won't! I'll be very elegant. The most elegant. People will write poems about my elegance."
I needed to stop talking, but my mouth had apparently disconnected from my brain.
Father just waved his hand tiredly. "Eat your dinner."
I looked down at my plate and discovered another problem: I had no idea what any of this food was or how to eat it elegantly with chopsticks.
I picked up what looked like a dumpling.
It was not a dumpling.
It exploded in my face, covering me in some kind of soup.
Lian Zhen fell off his chair laughing.
Madam Qiu excused herself, claiming a headache.
Father stared at the ceiling like he was praying for patience.
I sat there, covered in soup, and thought: I'm going to die. Not in Chapter 87. Much sooner. From sheer embarrassment.
"Yuying," Father said with the weariness of a man who had suffered much. "Go clean yourself up. We will discuss your... condition... tomorrow."
I fled.
Well, I tried to flee. Got tangled in my robes again, knocked over a decorative vase (Xiao Mei caught it), and finally made it out of the dining hall with the last shreds of my dignity trailing behind me like toilet paper on a shoe.
Back in my room, I collapsed on the bed.
"Miss, perhaps you should rest more before the sect meeting," Xiao Mei suggested gently.
"Xiao Mei," I asked seriously. "On a scale of one to ten, how dead am I?"
"I... don't understand the question, Miss."
"If I try to fly on a sword in two days, will I die?"
"Well, you are quite skilled when you focus—"
"But I HIT MYSELF with my SWORD three days ago!"
"That was... yes, that was unfortunate."
I stared at the ceiling. Somewhere in this world, the protagonist Wei Suyin was probably having a lovely evening, being sweet and talented and not covered in soup.
The male lead Shen Qingyun was probably brooding handsomely somewhere. And I was here, a transmigrated mess in a villainess's body, about to make a spectacle of myself in front of the entire sect.
A little glowing screen popped up in my vision.
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[Welcome, Player! You have transmigrated into "Immortal Sword of Destiny"!]
[Current Role: Lian Yuying, Supporting Villainess]
[Mission: Elegantly fly a Sword into the Sect Gathering 2 days from now. Failure to complete would attract punishment]
[Survival Rate: 2%]
[Good luck! ♡]
"TWO PERCENT?!" I shrieked.
Xiao Mei jumped. "Miss?!"
The system screen flickered.
[Tip: Try not to die in the next 48 hours!]
Then it vanished.
"This is fine," I told the ceiling. "Everything is fine. I'll just... learn to fly a sword in two days. How hard can it be?"
Outside my window, thunder rumbled ominously.
Xiao Mei quietly began preparing funeral incense, just in case.