There were moments in life that required grace, poise, and class.
This was not one of them.
Shen Qingxue hit the marble floor in slow motion, arms splayed like a tragic swan, the hem of her designer dress fluttering in the air like a drama goddess descending into chaos.
Gasps erupted across the ballroom as shocked guests paused mid-toast and tilted their champagne flutes in her direction.
"She fainted!"
"Is it heatstroke? Stress? Too much contouring?"
"Isn't that Mo Chen's wife?"
"She's here?! I thought they were divorcing."
In the chaos, only one person didn't react.
Mo Chen.
He stood still, his expression unreadable, sharp jaw clenched as his cold eyes scanned Qingxue's crumpled figure on the ground like she'd committed the cardinal sin of… existing.
***
(Earlier That Evening, Two Minutes Before The Collapse)
Shen Qingxue stood under a golden chandelier that looked like it cost more than her past three lifetimes. The ballroom was filled with the city's elite men in tuxedos, women in glittering gowns, and at least seven people pretending to be rich for Instagram.
She should have been dazzling. She was dazzling, technically. Hair curled to perfection, makeup fierce enough to end empires, and a crimson dress with a slit high enough to offend conservative uncles everywhere.
But her hands were clammy, her stomach was twisting, and there was a weird pressure behind her eyes that made the chandelier look like it was vibrating.
"No big deal," she muttered to herself. "Just some minor post-transmigration side effects. I've fainted before. I can do it again."
Baozi beeped nervously in her ear. "Host, your body is not fully adapted yet! You're overexerting your.."
"I'm fine." She smiled, waving at someone she didn't recognize. "I just need to stay upright long enough to make Mo Chen look at me like a person and not a court summons."
Speaking of the emotionally unavailable male lead…
Across the room, Mo Chen stood in sleek black, a glass of wine in his hand and a social mask on his face. He was nodding politely at some executive auntie, and from the way her hand lingered on his arm, Qingxue could already see the headlines: Ice CEO Melts for Socialite Aunt.
She was about to make her move- smile, walk up, drop a clever joke about shareholder reports—when she froze.
Mo Chen was no longer alone.
Beside him stood a woman in white.
Slim. Pale. Soft-eyed. Her presence so delicate it made Qingxue feel like a sledgehammer in stilettos.
Ye Wan.
The original female lead.
She was smiling up at Mo Chen with the kind of look you give someone when you still remember their favorite ice cream flavor.
And he was smiling back.
Not the cold, distant expression he wore around Qingxue. Not even the polite one he saved for public. No. This was something warm. Familiar.
And that's when the world tilted.
Qingxue took one step forward… and promptly passed out in front of everyone.
***
(Mo Chen's pov)
She fell.
Of course she did.
For a second, Mo Chen didn't move. His brain registered the sharp sound of her body hitting marble, the gasps, the whispers, and Ye Wan's small intake of breath beside him.
Then instinct took over.
He was at her side in two strides, kneeling beside her before he could stop himself. Her skin was pale. Too pale. And when he touched her wrist, it was clammy. Her breathing was shallow, her lashes trembling like she was trying very hard not to wake up yet.
"RouRou!," he said, voice low. "What now?"
Was this another stunt?
Was she pretending?
But his hand lingered a second longer. Her pulse was fluttery. Not fake. Not exaggerated. Just… weak.
And something inside him tightened.
Damn it.
***
Shen Qingxue drifted in and out of consciousness like a tragic heroine halfway through her tragic arc. When she opened her eyes, she was in a guest room. Dim lighting. Heavy silk curtains. A warm blanket over her. And Mo Chen sitting on the edge of a chair, sleeves rolled up, brows furrowed.
Wow, she thought. If I knew fainting got this much attention, I'd have collapsed two arcs ago.
He didn't say anything. Just looked at her like she was a puzzle that refused to be solved.
She blinked dramatically. "Are you… worried about me?"
Mo Chen's expression didn't change. "You fainted in public."
"So did that one influencer last month. Got her a million followers and a yogurt sponsorship."
"Don't joke," he said sharply.
Qingxue sat up slowly, her head swimming. "What, you think I did it for attention?"
"Did you?"
There it was. That tone. That bitter, cautious suspicion. She wanted to roll her eyes, but her head was spinning again, so she settled for a sigh.
"I didn't fake it," she muttered. "Not everything I do is a calculated move, okay?"
Mo Chen stared at her, expression
unreadable. But something in his eyes flickered.
Just a little.
***
(The Next Day)
Qingxue woke up in her giant villainess bed with Baozi hovering nervously.
"Host! You need to take it easy. Your vitals are unstable. The system doctor said you've got residual energy backlash from the transmigration."
"I'm not surprised," she mumbled. "It's probably all the emotional trauma I'm inheriting from Rourou. That girl's nervous system must've been marinated in jealousy."
Baozi beamed. "Your dramatic collapse bought you some sympathy points! Mo Chen even stayed in the same house overnight!"
"What? He didn't go back to his seperate villa?"
"Nope! And he checked on you this morning!"
Qingxue sat up with new energy. "Did he… touch my forehead?"
"Yes! Briefly! With two fingers. Very doctorly."
She groaned. "Damn. I was hoping for a lingering brush and emotional flashback."
Baozi flipped out her mission log. "Anyway! You've got three routes to gain affection right now. Option one: subtle domestic kindness. Option two: graceful withdrawal to make him curious. Option three: pretend to move on with someone else and incite jealousy."
Qingxue squinted. "Wait. Why is every plan in these novels just a different form of psychological warfare?"
"It works," Baozi said cheerfully.
Qingxue sighed and flopped back onto her pillows. "Fine. We go with option one. Domestic kindness. I'll cook. Bake. Maybe help him with some boring work project and look quietly noble while doing it."
Baozi blinked. "But Host, you don't know how to cook."
"I'll learn! I have Google and a strong sense of vengeance!"
***
(Later That Week)
Qingxue stood in Mo Chen's sleek, stainless steel kitchen, wearing a ruffled pink apron and glaring at a mixing bowl like it owed her money.
Baozi hovered nearby, nervously waving a spatula. "Host, that's not how you fold egg whites.."
"Silence, civilian. I'm creating a soufflé of love."
Half an hour later, the kitchen looked like a flour grenade had gone off. Shen Qingxue held up a tray of slightly deflated but miraculously edible pastries.
"They look like lumps of hope."
Mo Chen walked in just as she was plating them.
His gaze swept over the scene- flour in her hair, apron slightly askew, the scent of overbaked sugar in the air.
He raised an eyebrow. "What… are you doing?"
She smiled sweetly. "Being the kind of wife who doesn't poison her husband on purpose."
He took one of the pastries, bit into it slowly.
Paused.
Then… swallowed.
"Not bad."
Qingxue gasped. "Was that… a compliment?"
"It was edible," he said coolly.
"Close enough!"
***
(Mo Chen later that night)
Something wasn't adding up.
Shen Qingxue was… different.
Still dramatic. Still nosy. Still too bold. But also softer. Quieter. More fragile, sometimes. Like she was trying hard, even when she didn't have to.
She'd fainted. And for a moment, he'd panicked.
Now, she was baking.
And not blackmailing anyone.
He stared at the closed door of her room, then down at the untouched pastry on his desk.
Was it manipulation?
A ploy?
Or something else entirely?
***
Meanwhile, Qingxue flopped back on her bed, Baozi cheering in her ear.
"Mission progress: 6%! We're getting there!"
"Barely," she muttered.
She closed her eyes, one hand on her stomach.
The pain was starting again. Dull. Pressing.
But she didn't tell Baozi.
She didn't want anyone to know.
Especially not Mo Chen.
Not yet.
After all, this time… she wanted to earn love honestly.
Even if it killed her.
***
(Next Day)
The moment Yi Cheng left, Shen Qingxue collapsed onto the velvet couch like a dying empress in a palace drama.
Not that anyone cared.
The maids gave her a single glance and then resumed dusting furniture that probably cost more than her original soul. Baozi was floating above her, chewing imaginary popcorn.
"You sure you're not actually dying right now?" Baozi asked, squinting at her dramatically pale face.
"I'm always dying," Qingxue muttered. "It's just more fashionable today."
The truth was: she was exhausted. Her whole body ached, and her temples were pounding like they were trying to break out of her skull. She'd barely eaten breakfast—mostly because she'd spilled her porridge all over herself trying to eavesdrop on Mo Chen's call earlier.
Worth it? Yes.
Dignified? Absolutely not.
Qingxue closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The room smelled like vanilla-scented betrayal. The image of Mo Chen's face when he said Ye Wan's name was now etched into her brain like a bad tattoo.
Ye Wan.
That slippery, soft-voiced little marshmallow.
Why did the male leads always fall for girls who looked like they could be blown away by a strong breeze?
She sat up slowly, wincing at the stabbing pain in her lower back. "Alright. New plan. Since crying, sulking, and throwing jewelry at walls hasn't worked…"
"You haven't thrown any jewelry yet," Baozi corrected, flipping through a glowing screen. "Original Qin Rourou threw a diamond-encrusted watch at Mo Chen's head. It missed and hit his grandma."
"…Right. So we're doing better than her."
Baozi made a so-so motion.
Qingxue narrowed her eyes. "Plan B: If I want to get Mo Chen's affection score out of the deep negatives, I need a strategy."
"Affection Score: –10," Baozi announced with a chipper tone. "Updated after your dramatic fainting spell and failure to not make things weirder!"
"It's not my fault I have real health problems," Qingxue said. "Unlike some people in this world, I didn't choose terminal illness as a plot device."
Baozi patted her head. "Well, you're making it fashionable. Very retro. Very tragic beauty."
Qingxue sighed. "I need to start over. Be more subtle. Softer. Like steamed buns instead of chili oil. Maybe I can act nice to someone in Mo Chen's family. His grandma?"
"You mean the one you accidentally gave food poisoning to last arc?"
"…Right."
She stood up and paced the room. "Then I'll try showing sincerity. I'll do good deeds. Donate to charity. Save a kitten. Maybe get a fake diary full of deep, poetic thoughts—wait, no, that's too obvious."
"Or," Baozi said slyly, "you could just not act like a Yandere this time."
Qingxue ignored that and continued pacing, dramatically holding her silk robe like she was about to break into a tragic monologue.
"Plan C. Create accidental proximity situations. Like falling into his arms. Or spilling tea on his shirt. That always works."
Baozi looked concerned. "You sure you're healthy enough to be clumsy on purpose?"
"I can collapse like no one else," she sniffed proudly. "Watch me faint with dignity."
But just as she was mapping out Operation: Romantic Collisions, the butler stepped into the room with a face so serious it could cut glass.
"Miss Shen. There's a visitor. Miss Ye Wan has arrived."
Time stopped.
Even Baozi froze mid-hover. "Plot twist again!"
Qingxue blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
Ye Wan was supposed to be crying at work attracting guys like bees Or recovering from the trauma of having her love stolen by an emotionally constipated villainess. Not… showing up here unannounced like a wild card in a mahjong game.
"Is she glowing?" Qingxue whispered as the footsteps neared.
"Maybe just metaphorically," Baozi whispered back.
And then she walked in.
Ye Wan.
Hair like moonlight, eyes wide and watery, wearing the kind of modest white dress that screamed purity and repressed trauma. She looked like she'd been drawn by someone who loved sad violin music.
"Oh no," Qingxue whispered, "she leveled up."