Chapter 1
“I’ll take this one.”
A nobleman pointed his finger at a young girl.
Immediately, High Priest William, who had been attending to him, rubbed his hands together like a fly and flattered him eagerly.
“An excellent choice, my lord. She has a high level of holy power and her appearance isn’t bad either.”
The girl stood between the nobleman and William, grinning brightly as if delighted to be treated like an object.
The rest of the children who weren’t chosen looked at her with envy.
Now, that girl would go to the noble’s household.
She’d probably wear nice clothes and eat good food.
But in exchange, she’d have to spend her entire life being treated like an air purifier…
Everyone here was insane. Completely insane.
As I silently clicked my tongue at the sight I still couldn’t get used to, even after days of seeing it, the noble’s gaze happened to drift toward my direction.
I quickly darted back from the small gap in the door I had been peeking through.
Damn, almost made eye contact!
Clutching my pounding heart, I checked that the noble hadn’t seen me and then quietly crept back toward the crack in the door.
The nobleman, taking his eyes off my door, asked William,
“Why hasn’t the child in that room come out?”
“Ah, forgive me, my lord. In truth, that one is below average in both holy power and looks… I feared she might offend your discerning eye, so I didn’t summon her.”
Below average in holy power and looks, my bald fly of a priest?
I was annoyed, but I didn’t take it to heart too much.
Because I knew his answer was just a convenient lie.
Not to brag, but I was without a doubt William’s most treasured “product.”
“Uh, that’s not true. Asha is the best in our—”
“Tom.”
That clueless boy.
The moment Tom muttered that under his breath, William’s chilling voice cut him off, turning him into a mute.
Thank goodness the client was here; otherwise, he might have gotten slapped.
“Then, my lord, allow me to escort you this way.”
William’s expression changed in an instant as he led the noble and the girl down the hall.
They’d probably sign the contract and finalize the payment now.
The remaining children in the empty hall obediently returned to their rooms like well-trained dogs.
Bedtime was near, and they knew they’d be punished if they didn’t sleep soon.
Of all things, even after transmigrating, I ended up as an orphan living in a temple, like some second-rate orphanage…
Sighing, I closed my door tightly and flopped onto my worn-out bed.
Then I muttered in a voice as sweet as a nightingale’s,
“I’m screwed.”
Totally, utterly screwed.
From the moment I realized Where am I? Who am I?, that was the only thing I could say.
I transmigrated into a book I was so frustrated with, I threw it away.
Is this punishment? Divine retribution from the author?
Fine, throwing the book was my fault.
But listen—
Making the male and female leads mess up every five pages? That was excessive, author.
Whenever they tried to hold hands, the male lead froze up thinking of his dead ex-wife.
And the female lead blushed, only to falter for the same reason.
Seriously, if you’re both going to be that awkward, why even meet?
Always hesitating, tiptoeing around each other—torturing the reader!
For someone as impatient as me, the fact that I read half that book was a miracle.
Which means I never read the other half… and have no idea how it ends.
But that’s not the worst part.
The real reason I’m screwed is this:
I transmigrated as the damn “dead ex-wife” of the male lead!
For real, author? What the hell?
And on top of that—
“I’m terminally ill?!”
I clutched my small head with my tiny hands, groaning.
Meanwhile, my ridiculously long hair caught my eye again.
Silvery-white, so pale it could be mistaken for bleached strands.
Even if I fried my hair with bleach, I’d never get this color.
It was so curly I looked like some fancy white poodle.
Shaking off the distraction, I sighed and let go of my hair.
The book is already thrown, my soul is stuck here, and my reality is garbage!
No point sitting around doing nothing.
Think. I need to think.
I recalled the title of that damned book:
A Lotus Blooming in Mud.
In that story—my presence after death was far greater than during life.
Why? Because, like I said:
I’m destined to die at seventeen.
The male and female leads—who are my age—start getting involved around the age of twenty.
Which means I show up briefly in the prologue, narrating their childhood, and by the time the main story starts, I’m already dead.
And then I keep popping up in flashbacks every time they mess things up.
Again, and again, and again.
Like an endless boomerang of frustration.
Phew… Well, at least thanks to those flashbacks, I know my name, appearance, and backstory: an orphan raised in a remote temple.
That’s how I realized immediately upon waking up who I was.
If I’d figured it out too late, when things were irreversible? Just the thought makes me shudder.
I’m still young. I have time to choose.
I had two options:
Follow the original plot and die young.
Or, take the other well-worn cliché route—wreck the original story.
As if the choice wasn’t obvious.
“Follow the trend and survive!”
Live or die? Of course I’ll live!
I clenched my fists with determination.
I survived a miserable past life by sheer stubbornness.
So this time too—I will survive. Whatever it takes.
“First step…”
I looked around the plain white room and nodded.
“Run.”
Run away from this insane temple.
“Haa… haa…”
Panting, my body burning hot, I gasped for breath.
Beyond the priests who hesitated to approach me, that flashy bald-headed fly finally appeared.
“High Priest William!”
“What nonsense is this?! Asha is sick?!”
“But look at her, sir.”
The priests calmed the enraged William, pointing to me, eyes barely open.
“Her breathing is shallow.”
“Her fever is dangerously high.”
“And those rash marks—surely…”
They stared at the red blotches blooming all over my body as if looking at filth.
It was the telltale sign of a common plague.
Even after seeing it, William bellowed, refusing to believe it.
“Impossible! Bring the Holy Spirit’s Mirror at once!”
Ugh, this bald fly. So damn suspicious.
Suppressing my annoyance, I timed it perfectly and coughed violently.
“Cough! Cough, cough!”
As the coughing grew harsher, a mouthful of dark crimson liquid gushed out.
It streamed down my cheeks, chin, and neck, staining the sheets and blanket a ghastly shade of death.
Not a pleasant sight, I bet.
Sure enough, William and the priests shrieked and staggered back.
“What—what is that?!”
“Stay back, High Priest!”
“The plague will spread to you!”
Wow. Great way to advertise your incompetence.
Holding back a smirk, I endured the act.
In this world, the stronger your holy power, the less likely you are to fall ill. Holy power equals purification.
And yet these priests and their so-called High Priest were trembling in fear of infection.
What a bunch of frauds.
Clearly, none of them had real power.
Bad news for the temple, but great for me.
No one would dare try to purify me—or, worse, inspect my holy power with the Holy Spirit’s Mirror.
Time to seal the deal.
“Cough! Cough! Hrrgh!”
I whipped my head left and right, coughing like a maniac.
Look! Look closely! I’m a walking, contagious sprinkler system!
“Uwaah!”
“High Priest, get back!”
“Don’t push me!”
Terrified of my crimson spit, William and the priests scattered like slippery eels.
It was pathetic. And glorious.
Finally, William, having tripped and rolled in his panic, shouted the words I’d been waiting for:
“Get rid of her! Before the others get infected!”
Bingo!
Suppressing a cheer, I watched as two holy knights in beaked masks approached.
They lifted my limp body, blanket and all, onto a flimsy stretcher.
As I was carried out like trash, William’s furious roar echoed behind me:
“Damn it! Should’ve sold her sooner! Thought she’d be worth raising—what a waste!”
That’s what you get for hoarding treasure, baldy.
Grinning in satisfaction, I noticed Tom.
He was darting around, looking for something.
Ah, right. I should return this.
I’d unintentionally committed theft.
Fiddling with the small ink bottle in my hand, I silently apologized.
Sorry, Tom. I was in a hurry. Only had black ink in my room, and since you were next door…
As we passed, I slipped the red ink to him, avoiding the knights’ eyes.
“Thanks for letting me borrow this.”
“Huh…?”
Tom stared at me, dazed, clutching the bottle.
Stay safe, kid. And try to be less obvious. You’ve got a habit of speaking up and earning extra slaps.
Sometimes silence is golden.
I wanted to say that, but there was no time.
Leaving the bewildered Tom behind, I was tossed outside the temple—
Or more precisely, into the dense forest behind it.
The same forest rumored to be home to vicious blue wolves.
Thud.
The knights dumped me unceremoniously and began chatting.
“Tsk, thought she was a jackpot, but she was a dud.”
“Yeah. High Priest was dreaming of selling her to some grand house.”
“Can holy power really vanish like that?”
“It fluctuates. No big deal.”
“But she was born with an insane amount of it. Enough to make the High Priest lose his mind.”
“Who knows. The will of Lord Lumière is beyond us.”
“True. He gave her power for no reason; maybe he took it for no reason too.”
The male knight clicked his tongue at me, an unpleasant look in his eyes.
“Still a waste. Even without holy power, that face…”
“Don’t even think about it. She’s plague-ridden.”
“Are you crazy? Who’d touch a kid?”
Yet his regret was obvious as he smacked his lips before making a half-hearted sign of the cross.
“Anyway, die well. Don’t hold a grudge.”
“Think of it as going to Lord Lumière early.”
After that pathetic farewell, they left the forest before sunset.
As their figures disappeared and the distant howls of wolves grew closer, I sprang up.
“Ugh!”
Ink tastes disgusting. Not that I expected it to taste good.
I spat repeatedly, wiping my mouth.
Mixing red and black ink in the perfect ratio had created a flawless blood color for my performance.
Now my overheated body cooled in the chilly air, and I sighed.
Nearly passed out pretending to gasp like that.
Anyway, I know where I need to go. But how?
No buses. No subway. Just despair.
Scratching my face, still dotted with red ink stains, I tried to think.
Thankfully, Asha’s memories gave me a rough idea of the land.
But knowing the way didn’t mean I could walk the distance.
Guess I’ll have to find a wagon heading to the capital and hitch a ride.
At nine years old—and small for my age—I could hide easily enough.
I wiped the ink from my face as best I could with the blanket, then wrapped it around my shoulders.
The weather between winter and spring was cold enough for my breath to fog.
Thanks to holy power, I wouldn’t catch a cold, but the chill still hurt.
Should’ve kept my shoes on…
I wiggled my bare toes regretfully—
Howl!
A wolf’s cry, much closer than before, pierced the silence.
Then came the sound of snapping branches.
“Oh…”
Wolves. Dozens of them.
