Chapter 1: Her Name Is Chi Mo, Guan Yizhou's Girlfriend
Shen Heng hadn’t even opened her eyes yet, but the first thing that hit her was the thick stench of medicine.
It was bitter as hell, like someone had dumped an entire apothecary’s stock into a pot and boiled it for several nights straight.
She scrunched her nose instinctively, and right after that, she heard broken sobs.
“The Princess probably won’t make it. Hurry, send word to the Great General…”
“Cangran already went. It’s all my fault, I didn’t watch over the Princess properly… Her constitution was always frail, and now she’s fallen into the water…”
Shen Heng’s head was heavy and hazy, like someone had poured a bucket of paste into her skull.
All she remembered was lying in her dorm reading a third-rate romance novel.
What was it called again?
*Fenghua Yaotiao*.
She’d flipped through a few pages and gotten so mad at the plot her liver hurt.
Court intrigue with zero logic. Villains who made no sense whatsoever. The most powerful characters in the whole book actually died so carelessly it was like the author was rushing to clock out.
Shen Heng had cursed them out loud, and then everything went black, her chest tightening…
*Ding.*
A crisp electronic chime exploded inside her brain.
[Congratulations, Host, on binding the “Cannon Fodder Counterattack System.” You have successfully transmigrated into *Fenghua Yaotiao*. Current character: Princess Anyang.]
Shen Heng: …
[System Notice: Binding this system is your only path to survival. Complete the conquest missions to return to your original world. Mission failure means permanent death, with no way back to reality.]
Shen Heng went silent for a moment.
Princess Anyang. She showed up less than three times in the entire book. Not even a tool character—just cannon fodder, plain and simple.
Back when Shen Heng was lying on her dorm bed reading this novel, she’d even sighed and said, “Oh, this Princess Anyang is also named Shen Heng. Exactly the same name as mine.”
Then she kept reading.
[Princess Anyang, Shen Heng, coughed up blood and died.]
Shen Heng: …
The Shen family was full of martyrs. Shen Heng’s parents had both died on the battlefield when she was five. The Emperor took pity on the orphaned girl, adopted her as his goddaughter, and gave her the title of Princess Anyang.
Her older brother, Shen Lin, was the Great General Who Guards the North, and also the most capable aide to Xiao Zhengting, the male lead of the original novel.
Except two years later, Shen Lin was framed by treacherous men, couldn’t hold against the Northern Frontier, and died miserably at the border.
When Princess Anyang heard the news, she grieved too deeply and coughed up blood on the spot, dying instantly.
[Ding—Injecting original host’s memories…]
The system prompt chimed again.
Countless images flooded her mind.
She saw ten-year-old Shen Heng standing in the corner of the Mid-Autumn Palace Banquet, watching ministers arrive with their wives and children. A Minister’s legitimate son the same age asked her with a smile, “Why are you alone?”
Twelve-year-old Shen Heng stood at the gates of the General’s Manor, watching Shen Lin ride away on horseback. The procession vanished beyond the horizon long ago, but she still stood there. Her maids urged her to go back inside. She shook her head, neither speaking nor crying.
Seventeen-year-old Shen Heng knelt in the Buddhist hall, palms pressed together, her voice so soft she seemed afraid anyone other than the Buddha would hear: “Please, Buddha, bless my brother to return safely. Heng’er is willing to trade her own lifespan for it.”
[Ding—Malfunction]
The memories cut off abruptly.
[System: Apologies. Partial memory transfer failed. The Host must complete missions to obtain them.]
Then, at the edge of those fragments, a blurry figure appeared.
Moon-white robes, thin as paper.
Shen Heng couldn’t make out her features, but she knew who it was.
“This body is entrusted to you, this life is yours to command. Don’t look back. Walk toward the light for me.”
The figure left only those words before beginning to dissipate, scattering into tiny motes of light.
“Please, protect Brother.”
In an instant, the glow faded completely.
Shen Heng reached out. Her fingertips passed through the specks of light, grasping nothing.
“System, where did the original host go?”
[The original host, Shen Heng, passed away from illness last night.]
“She was only seventeen. Even according to the original novel, she shouldn’t have…”
After a long silence, the system finally replied.
[Relevant information requires the Host to explore and unlock it independently.]
Shen Heng: I really want to curse you out.
Shen Heng steadied her emotions and accepted her fate.
“So what do you want me to do? Is it like those usual transmigration novels, where I seduce some prince or crown prince and reach the peak of life?”
[Unlocking conquest target… Unlock complete.]
A pale blue screen unfolded in her mind, and a line of text surfaced.
[System: Conquest target locked.]
[Northern Frontier Imperial Preceptor, Xun Zhuo.]
Shen Heng went silent again.
This silence lasted longer than the last one.
“Xun Zhuo?”
She finally spoke.
“You mean that guy… in the original novel…”
[Northern Frontier Imperial Preceptor, Xun Zhuo. An important supporting character in the original book. He quelled internal chaos with ruthless methods, unified the seventeen tribes of the Northern Frontier, led its people through blizzard disasters, and protected the Northern Frontier’s peace for ten years.]
“And then died for absolutely no reason?”
The book didn’t write much about Xun Zhuo, but every stroke was painted with maximum drama.
The Northern Frontier worshipped the Snow God and revered Xun Zhuo as the Snow God’s Holy Envoy. The Great Khan obeyed his every word.
The book said Xun Zhuo had severed all emotion and desire, decisive in slaughter, like the snow atop Mount Cang that never melted in a thousand years.
Later, when the Northern Frontier went to war with Dazhao, under Xun Zhuo’s deployment, they conquered twelve of Dazhao’s cities in a row. The Northern Frontier army arrived at the capital’s walls, beheaded the Crown Prince, and forced the Emperor of Dazhao to hang himself.
Shen Heng had thought at the time that this guy must be incredibly hard to deal with—definitely the biggest villain boss in the novel.
And then?
Then he died.
Died for no damn reason.
The book glossed over his death in a single line, just saying the Imperial Preceptor died suddenly.
Only after Xun Zhuo died did the male lead, Xiao Zhengting, get a chance to breathe and lead Dazhao’s soldiers to reclaim the lost territories.
Less than three months after Xun Zhuo’s death, the seventeen tribes of the Northern Frontier fell apart.
Half a year later, the Northern Frontier was conquered by Dazhao, and the once-powerful Snow Kingdom was utterly destroyed.
Shen Heng strongly suspected the author had written Xun Zhuo too strong, realized they had no idea how to let the male lead beat such a powerhouse, and just casually killed him off.
Shen Heng sighed.
So her conquest target was also a tragic tool character.
Two miserable, short-lived people thrown together—what good ending could that possibly produce?
Besides, she checked out this body.
This frail little frame panted just walking two steps.
What kind of place was the Northern Frontier?
The extreme northern ice plains. Half the country was snowy mountains. She could barely get out of bed right now, and they wanted her to run off to the Northern Frontier to seduce the Imperial Preceptor? She’d probably die in the carriage halfway there.
“System.”
Shen Heng tried her best to keep her voice calm.
“What if I don’t do the conquest mission?”
[If the Host fails to complete the conquest mission, you will follow the plot and die in two years. At that time, the Host’s consciousness will be completely erased. You cannot return to the real world, nor can you remain in this book’s world. In layman’s terms—your soul will scatter and vanish.]
Shen Heng finally couldn’t hold it in and started cursing wildly in her mind.
She cursed the system’s ancestors eighteen generations back, then the author’s ancestors eighteen generations back. She cursed the plot holes of this trash novel, then the idiotic IQ of the villains in the book. She cursed for a full quarter of an hour.
[System: Please calm down, Host.]
Shen Heng: Calm down my ass!
[System: Would you like to receive the Beginner’s Guide?]
“…Yes.”
[Beginner’s Guide issued: Time-Limited Mission System. The system will release time-limited missions based on plot progression. The Host must complete them within the specified time, or face corresponding penalties.]
“…That’s it?”
[That’s it.]
“Heh, isn’t this just forced labor?”
[Time-limited missions will help the Host quickly accumulate affection points and advance conquest progress. It is a beginner assistance feature carefully designed by the system for the Host.]
Shen Heng didn’t want to reason with it anymore.
She saw through it. This system was basically a pyramid scheme leader—better at painting pies in the sky than anyone else, but never actually handing out a single benefit.
[Ding—Key plot node detected. Issuing the first time-limited mission.]
Shen Heng’s heart tightened.
[Mission Content: Within one shichen, travel to the Dazhao Beast Arena and save the Northern Frontier Little Prince, Agu (Ashina Guli). Mission Reward: Stamina +5. Failure Penalty: Stamina -10.]
Shen Heng’s eyes went wide.
Stamina minus ten?
She looked like she was half-dead already. Take away another ten stamina points and she probably wouldn’t even be able to leave the bed. Might as well lie flat and wait to die.
“One shichen? With this body, I can barely crawl out of bed, and you want me to get to the Beast Arena in one shichen?”
[Time remaining until mission deadline: one incense stick plus three quarters of an hour.]
“Son of a bitch…”
Shen Heng snapped her eyes open.
What met her gaze was a moon-white canopy embroidered with hidden patterns, layers upon layers of curtains yellowed by the fumes of medicine.
On the low table beside the bed sat a bowl of thick black medicinal brew. It wasn’t steaming anymore; a thin film had formed on top.
A maid in a cyan vest was slumped at the foot of the bed crying, her shoulders shaking.
Two older women stood nearby, their faces ashen, already whispering about funeral arrangements.
The one crying the hardest was Shen Heng’s personal maid, Chunyuan.
About fifteen or sixteen, round face, apricot eyes, tear tracks streaking her cheeks.
“Princess? Princess, you’re awake!”
Chunyuan threw herself at the bedside.
“Don’t scare this servant! If anything happens to you, I won’t live either…”
Shen Heng coughed a few times.
That cough was no joke. Her entire chest cavity ached, like someone was scraping her lungs with a dull blade, stroke by stroke.
She raised her hand to prop herself up on the edge of the bed, but her arm was limp as a noodle. She got halfway up before collapsing back down.
The maids around her burst into fresh wails, looking at her like she was having a final flash of vitality before death.
Shen Heng looked down at her hands. Slender, weak, pale enough to be nearly transparent, blue veins clearly visible.
Shen Heng sighed inwardly.
Before she transmigrated, she was at least the national university archery champion. Horseback riding, archery, she mastered it all. Her physical fitness was absolutely top-tier among her peers.
Now, suddenly stuck in this state, everything felt wrong.
“Chunyuan.”
She spoke, her voice terribly hoarse.
“Prepare the carriage now. We’re going to the Beast Arena.”
Chunyuan’s crying stopped dead.
—————————————
[Brain Storage Area]
Honored readers, welcome to *Heng on the Branch*.
Before you officially enter this book, I beg you to temporarily store your brilliant, sharp minds here. Because the author is honestly feeling a bit guilty. As you flip further into this book, you’ll encounter affection meters, Northern Frontier customs, Cold Abyss backlash, swearing oaths with deer hearts, soul-summoning near death… all sorts of things that don’t quite align with common sense. If your wise brain stays present the whole time, it might get tired, it might get confused, it might not be able to resist slamming the table and shouting: “Does this make any sense?!”
Here, the author sincerely apologizes to you: perhaps it doesn’t entirely make sense, but every single word was written with genuine heart.
If you’re willing, I also beg you to lower your expectations just a tiny bit, and turn up your tolerance just a tiny bit. The author isn’t some uniquely gifted genius, just someone earnestly telling a story. Some parts might not be written well enough, some plots might not meet your expectations, but please believe me—every stroke I put down, I pondered over with care. If you occasionally find something unsatisfying while reading, please bear with me.
I wish that in the world of *Heng on the Branch*, you come in high spirits and leave fully satisfied.
May you feel, when you close this book, that the journey was worth it.
See you in the next chapter.