"Be a good little EXP on my path to leveling up—oho ho ho—"

In that instant, Situ Qingxue even felt like mimicking an anime noble lady’s laughter, half-covering her face with the back of her hand for a few unrestrained giggles.

Golden flames seared Su Zhaoyu’s skin, burning her instantly.

Yet her wounds healed immediately—as if cured in a single breath.

"???!"

Situ Qingxue froze, utterly and completely baffled.

What? Aren’t *I* the protagonist? Why did this supposed face-slapping moment backfire so hard?

This was her first failed comeback—and a counter-slap—since reincarnating into this world.

"Little girl," Su Zhaoyu chuckled mockingly, "go train another ten years before returning."

The lingering effects of the Sevenfold Snow Lotus coursed through her veins. Against endless karmic flames—or any fire—Su Zhaoyu now stood fearless.

Only the sword techniques behind Situ Qingxue’s strike had left real damage: a trickle of crimson blood welled from her flawless palm.

But such a wound meant nothing.

*Retreat when the tide turns. Revenge can wait… Pfft. Who am I kidding? I’ll power up in the next few chapters and come back!*

"Thirty years east of the river, thirty west… Never underestimate a fiery girl!"

Situ Qingxue yanked her sword back and bolted.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Su Zhaoyu’s slender eyes narrowed slightly. A flick of her finger sent a freezing gust surging toward the golden-haired girl.

Situ Qingxue urgently summoned a ring of blazing flames to block the spell—but the fire shattered the moment it met the chill.

She shivered violently, a cold spear piercing deep into her bones. Only the fading heat spared her from freezing solid. Tumbling and scrambling, she fled toward the hall’s exit.

Guards and four dragons stirred into action. Blades flashed; halberds swung; the dragons roared, jaws gaping. Forced off course, Situ Qingxue ducked into a side passage…

Somehow, she escaped.

Relying on her protagonist’s aura, weaving through battles and chaos, she slipped into the sewers. Later, beneath White Peach Mountain, she burst through the ground—only to meet pouring rain.

Inside a cave, she stripped off her soaked armor and boots, propping them on a stick to dry. Now clad only in drenched undergarments, she hugged her knees.

*Anime rule: less clothing = stronger power.* Today’s assassination called for minimal gear beneath ultra-light armor. Sneaking up White Peach Mountain felt like pure fanservice.

(Though normally? Full armor only. This was a special case.)

At first, the rule seemed to hold. Then Su Zhaoyu appeared.

Too little fabric. Nearly frozen on sight. Then icy sewer water slapped her awake.

*Yeah… anime logic doesn’t translate.*

Golden strands clung to her flushed cheeks. Water droplets traced paths down jade-like skin before plopping to the floor.

A sniffle escaped. Her nose stung. *Why today? Wasn’t this supposed to be a wish-fulfillment novel? Stuck in a cave, can’t even spark a flint…*

Ugh.

Back then, she *could* have chosen a female-led romance: handsome, rich "oppas" circling her, maybe a Michelin-starred chef male lead cooking daily. Just play the airheaded sweetheart—men handle everything.

But no. She’s independent. Self-reliant.

How does a domineering CEO with *that* IQ run a company? A lifelong mystery.

Living sheltered by such a fool? Never.

She’d rather carve her own path than wait for "helpless ying-ying-ying" rescues.

"To hell with oppas! *This* lady needs no saving!"

Fists clenched, she snatched two stones—and hurled them.

*Plop. Plop.* They vanished into the pond outside, rippling the water.

Eh??? (ŎдŎ;)

…Those were the *almost-dry flints* beside her.

Kneeling, she stared blankly at the gray sky.

"Achoo—"

Curled tight, shivering, sniffing. *When will this rain stop…? So cold…*

…

…

Su Zhaoyu surveyed the ravaged hall, expression icy.

Shattered jade, broken tiles. Kneeling densely across the floor: demon-clan guards, servants, even the four dragons—knees bleeding from sharp fragments, silent as stone.

Situ Qingxue’s escape had been chaos. Hidden trump cards deployed one after another. Not even Su Zhaoyu’s personal interception could hold her.

From bedroom to exit, she’d carved a bloody path. Ninth Tier power was like that—only equals could fell equals. Blaming subordinates was pointless.

"Rise. Not your fault." Her voice remained cold, yet carried no blame.

Guards hesitated until she vanished into the inner chamber. Then, slowly, they stood.

*Lately… the Empress feels different.*

Whispers passed. No one understood.

*Time to visit the God of Medicine again,* Su Zhaoyu thought, tracing the faint scar on her palm.

Situ Qingxue is growing fast.

Next time… it won’t be this easy.