Su Xianjin had transmigrated into a novel. She found herself inside a classic male-protagonist power fantasy—where the hero, ruined by the villain who destroyed his family, clawed his way back from despair, plotted step by step, and in the end slew the villain to ascend the throne.
The villain, Cheng Yun, was the youngest Prime Minister of the Northern Dynasty. He silenced dissent, manipulated a foolish emperor, monopolized power, and executed loyal ministers—reviled by all, destined to be overthrown.
At the finale, the male lead thrust his sword into Cheng Yun’s heart before the eyes of officials and commoners alike, and the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers.
Su Xianjin had been satisfied with that ending—until she read the side story.
The so-called villainous minister was, in truth, a martyr walking alone through the night with only a torch for company.
Cheng Yun was utterly disillusioned with the corrupt dynasty. Without a mask, he had no chance to borrow the prestige of domineering elders; without high office, he had no blade to cut down the rotten royals. Only once he stood second to none but the emperor could he burn his own body as fuel, paving the way for a new sovereign to bring about an era of clarity and peace.
She wondered: would someone who lived in darkness be afraid of the dark?
Until that night—when she opened her eyes to find herself standing before a secret chamber, lantern in hand, stepping into the world of the book.
By the dim candlelight, the Prime Minister who held sway over the empire drove a blade into his own flesh. His face was pale as paper, cold sweat streaming down. He was atoning for his sins, bearing scars in solitude.
Su Xianjin raised her lantern and walked closer, illuminating the darkness.
In the glow, the girl seemed gentle and pure, like a deity.
“Cheng Yun.”
She called his name—and in the end, drew him out of hell.
Optimistic, healing heroine × cold, ruthless minister male lead
