Chapter One: The Awakening of the Supporting Character
The young man's handsome face was rigid with cold fury, his hand clamped hard around Fu Jinhua's slender neck. Her breathing grew thinner and thinner. With despair in her eyes, she looked at the man who wanted to kill her.
A single crystalline tear welled from the corner of her eye and fell, by chance, onto the back of his hand.
As though he had touched something filthy, the man flung Fu Jinhua to the ground in disgust.
He drew his sword and struck her face twice without mercy, carving to the bone.
Scarlet blood splashed everywhere. In agony, Fu Jinhua rolled on the ground and cried out, each word like blood from her mouth: “Song Junyao, I grew up with you from childhood, and our engagement was set long ago. You once swore to me at Stargazing Tower that your heart belonged to me and that you would never fail me in this life.”
“And now you treat me with such cruelty and heartlessness? How could you be so ruthless!”
The man looked down at the disheveled Fu Jinhua as if gazing at an ant.
His eyes were cold as he sneered, “You brought this upon yourself. You were never worthy of my affection.”
“Fu Jinhua, if you dare lay a hand on A Xue again, next time it will not end with only your face ruined. I will take your life.”
Fu Jinhua’s long lashes trembled, and she awoke from the dream.
A faint, icy mockery curved her lips. Yet again she had dreamed of the painful scenes from her past life.
Only after dying once did she understand: she had been the vicious supporting woman standing between the hero and heroine in a storybook.
She was the only daughter of the Grand Tutor’s estate, cherished by her parents and elder brother. Since childhood she had been betrothed to Song Junyao, the male lead, who came from a family of military men.
At first they had been innocent sweethearts, deeply devoted to each other, the envy of everyone in the capital. Then the heroine destined for him appeared, and everything changed.
Jiang Manxue, the legitimate eldest daughter of the Hanlin household, had been frail and sickly. At thirteen, she had tragically passed away. It was at that very moment that the heroine from another world entered her body.
From then on, Jiang Manxue dazzled the capital. Once she had rarely stepped beyond her own gate; now she moved gracefully among the young men, charming and adept at every turn. One day she was brewing tea and composing poems with scholars and gentlemen; the next, she was drinking and laughing with idle dandies.
She could compose a poem in seven steps and extemporize verses on the spot. One line, “The great river comes from the sky and flows to the sea, never to return,” drew thunderous acclaim.
Her arguments were no less formidable than a man's, and on matters of court and state she could voice sharp, incisive opinions.
Many noble sons who had not yet married fell under her spell, day and night enthralled by her: “A wife should be like Jiang Manxue. If I could marry Miss Jiang, I would have no regrets even in death.”
Even men already married made no secret of their admiration for her: “Miss Jiang is truly extraordinary. Not only is she strikingly beautiful, she is also frank and open in manner, richly learned, and possessed of great depth. The wives and concubines in my household are simply too vulgar and tedious; they make me feel sick at heart.”
Song Junyao and Jiang Manxue, the fated hero and heroine of that story, met and instantly understood one another. Their tastes aligned, affection flourished madly, and love spread like a blaze across dry grass, impossible to restrain.
As the utterly vile supporting woman, she had merely been the catalyst that deepened the hero and heroine's feelings. In the story, she possessed no soul or thoughts of her own. She was deeply infatuated with Song Junyao and, out of jealousy toward Jiang Manxue, used every possible means to frame the other woman, only to suffer the consequences time and again.
Her reputation ruined, condemned by all, disfigured, her family confiscated and stripped bare, until at last she dragged the entire Grand Tutor's household down with her to execution. That was the inescapable fate of the wicked supporting woman she had been.
After her miserable death, her wandering spirit drifted on, only to learn this absurd truth. She was unwilling. She was indignant. Her resentment rose to the heavens. She had been born human; why should her thoughts and fate be controlled, why should she be sacrificed for the hero and heroine's so-called perfect love?
Perhaps her resentment had been too deep, for it actually tore her free from the story's predetermined shackles and allowed her to live again.
Fu Jinhua gathered her thoughts and looked out the window.
It was the season of Awakening of Insects. Gentle spring light spilled over the branches, making the first blossoms of the pear trees especially lovely.
The past was dark and unreturnable; the road ahead was bright and boundless.
In this life, she was Fu Jinhua, and nothing more.
“Someone come and help me wash and dress,” Fu Jinhua said pleasantly as she walked to the bronze mirror and sat down, speaking toward the door.
Biju, waiting outside, led several maids in front of Fu Jinhua.
She said, “Miss, please.”
Fu Jinhua nodded. She took the strong tea handed to her by a maid, pinched in salt, and rinsed her mouth.
Two other maids stepped forward, holding a ceramic basin for the tea she spat out, then handed her a wet silk cloth to cleanse her face.
The series of movements flowed like water, elegant and pleasing to the eye.
Biju watched the graceful Fu Jinhua from the side, her heart aching and her temper flaring. The young lady was a noble daughter carefully raised by the Grand Tutor's household; how could she be the venomous woman people spoke of, so cruel and lacking even the smallest tolerance for others?
Several days earlier, the capital's young noblemen and ladies had arranged to meet by the city moat to float river lanterns. After the young lady and Miss Jiang had finished releasing their lanterns from opposite sides of the railing and were ascending the stone steps, Miss Jiang suddenly swayed and nearly fell into the water.
As the young lady's betrothed, Young General Song leapt forward, caught Miss Jiang in frantic haste, and immediately turned bloodshot eyes toward the young lady, barking in fury, “Fu Jinhua, why are you always so malicious? Why do you keep hurting A Xue again and again?”
“A Xue and I are merely confidants, feelings arising naturally and halted by propriety. Are you so jealous that you cannot tolerate her?”
The young lady had been utterly wronged and heartbroken. Tears shimmering in her eyes, she insisted she had not pushed Miss Jiang. Miss Jiang, all false gentleness, said she was unharmed and begged Young General Song not to blame the young lady too harshly.
Young General Song turned around and gazed at Miss Jiang with infinite tenderness, saying helplessly that A Xue was simply too kind.
The young lady, seeing the two of them so affectionately in one another's company, felt as though her heart were being sliced apart. As if out of her mind, she spoke harshly: “So what if my thoughts are wicked? So what if I am jealous?”
“She is always so close to my betrothed, seducing my betrothed. I wish I could see her dead! But today, I absolutely did not push her!”
Having said that, the young lady stormed away in anger.
The crowd erupted, denouncing the young lady as jealous and overbearing, accusing her of using the Grand Tutor's power to force Miss Jiang to her death; her intentions were nothing short of murderous. Miss Jiang and Young General Song were merely friends of shared interests, yet she judged noble gentlemen by a petty villain's heart.
Poor young lady, after returning home she cried bitterly and fell ill for days. Young General Song was so heartless that he did not come to see her for many days. The master and mistress of the house watched and ached in silence. They wanted to avenge the young lady, but there was nothing they could do, because the young lady did not want Young General Song to dislike her even more.
If only the eldest young master, still away in Suzhou at his maternal grandfather's home, had already returned to the estate, he certainly would not have let them off so easily.
Fu Jinhua noticed Biju staring at her without blinking and smiled lightly. “Is there something on my face?”
Her cheeks were flushed and lovely, her smile sweet and soft, more delicate and graceful than the pear blossoms on the branches.
Biju was momentarily dazed. It had been a long time since she had seen the young lady smile like this. Over the past year, because of Young General Song and Miss Jiang, the young lady had often been gloomy and heartbroken, shedding too many tears.
She asked, “Miss, will you be attending today’s Spring Blossom Banquet?”
Fu Jinhua looked at her reflection in the bronze mirror. Her brows were like distant mountains veiled in mist; her lips were red and her hair black; her slender waist was supple and poised, like a willow with blossoms tied to it, all of her bearing refined and elegant.
She brushed her hair and said, “Of course I will go.”
Biju hesitated a little. “Miss, only a few days ago you and Young General Song...”
A flicker of disdain and detachment passed through Fu Jinhua’s clear eyes. She said calmly, “I no longer love him.”
Biju froze and stared at Fu Jinhua in a daze.
Then, cautiously, she asked, “Miss, are you speaking in anger?”
Fu Jinhua shook her head. “No. These past few days I have been confined to bed with illness, and I have thought things through.”
“Song Junyao and I were originally betrothed, yet he secretly developed feelings for Jiang Manxue. The so-called feelings arising naturally and halted by propriety was nothing more than a pretense, a cover for their shameless conduct, meant to deceive the world while smearing me with filth.”
“A man so sanctimonious is not worthy of my lifelong trust. In the past, I suffered endlessly because of him, tormented beyond measure. I am tired, worn out, and truly sick of it all.”
After hearing Fu Jinhua’s words, Biju’s throat tightened and she burst into tears.
She was crying her heart out for the immense grievances her young lady had suffered.
Her young lady was right. Song the Young General was a pretentious scoundrel of the lowest sort, by no means a good husband. If he was to be discarded, then so be it.
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