Part One—Continued | Novel Ninety-Nine
Those transmigrated female leads weren't simply missing a few items from their preparations.
They had never considered what they might actually have to face.
In other words—
They hadn't prepared at all.
Once this thought became clear, Lin Wanwan could no longer dismiss it as an ordinary plot hole in a novel.
She stared at the screen for a moment, then suddenly reached out and pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk.
Inside were several blank notebooks she'd bought for taking notes in the past, only to abandon after writing no more than two or three pages in each.
She casually pulled out the one with the cleanest cover and flipped to the first page.
Originally, she had only wanted to write down the questions she'd just thought of so she wouldn't forget them after waking up.
But when the tip of her pen actually touched the paper, she paused for several seconds.
Where should she begin?
Lin Wanwan looked back at the screen.
When the female lead in the novel had just opened her eyes, she didn't even know which dynasty she was in.
So she wrote down the first item.
“Don't know the dynasty.”
After thinking for a moment, she added another sentence.
“Unable to determine the political system, social environment, or level of danger at the time.”
Second item.
“Don't know the original owner's identity.”
She wouldn't know the original owner's name, her relationships with everyone in the household, or whom the original owner had offended.
She might not even know whether the original owner had accidentally fallen into the water or been pushed in. She could only rely on someone else's brief explanation.
Third item.
“Don't understand ancient etiquette.”
Forms of address, formal bows, seating order, the separation of men and women—getting any one of them wrong could arouse suspicion.
If she transmigrated into an ordinary family, at worst people would laugh at her lack of manners.
But if she transmigrated into a powerful household or the imperial palace, saying one wrong thing or bowing to the wrong person might earn her a charge of disrespecting the emperor.
Fourth item.
“No basic medical knowledge.”
Lin Wanwan's pen paused slightly as she wrote this.
The original owner in the novel had only just fallen into the water. She was so weak she couldn't even get out of bed, and someone outside the door had brought her a bowl of medicinal decoction of unknown origin.
If someone had tampered with the medicine, how would she tell?
Or what if there was actually nothing wrong with the medicine, and she refused to take it out of sheer paranoia, only making her illness worse in the end?
Lin Wanwan continued writing.
“No stamina.”
After writing this one, even she fell silent.
The female lead in novels could escape being hunted by assassins, sprint along mountain paths, and even climb over a wall to escape at night after being locked in a woodshed for several days.
But most modern people spent their days sitting in offices and were used to taking elevators between floors.
If they encountered real danger, forget climbing a wall—they might run less than two blocks before they couldn't catch their breath.
Lin Wanwan lowered her head and looked at herself.
Last week, she'd merely moved two boxes of books. By the next day, her arms were so sore she could barely lift them.
If she really transmigrated into ancient times, simply walking, drawing water, doing laundry, and starting fires to cook every day would probably exhaust all her strength.
She drew a heavy line after “No stamina.”
Then she wrote:
“No practical survival skills.”
Knowing how to use a phone didn't count.
Knowing how to make a presentation didn't count.
Knowing how to search for information online counted even less in a place without the internet.
In a place with no internet, no electricity, and perhaps not even paper and pens readily available, most of the skills she currently possessed would be completely useless.
Lin Wanwan had originally intended to jot down only a few points.
But after finishing the sixth item, even more questions began popping into her head.
She didn't know how to start a fire.
She couldn't identify wild vegetables or medicinal herbs.
She didn't know how ancient currencies were converted.
She didn't know what price grain had to reach before it was considered normal.
She didn't understand farming.
She couldn't ride a horse.
She couldn't swim.
If disaster struck, she wouldn't know how to preserve food.
If war broke out, she wouldn't know where to flee.
She wrote them down one after another.
Some were obvious problems in Novel Ninety-Nine. Others were loopholes she only thought of after placing herself in that world.
By the time Lin Wanwan came back to herself, the first page was already covered in writing.
The final line had even been squeezed down to the very bottom of the page, crookedly crammed into the remaining blank space.
She set down her pen and looked at the grand finale on the screen again.
The female lead stood atop the imperial palace in her Empress's court robes. Beside her was the emperor, who loved only her in this life, while beneath her feet lay a realm she had transformed.
A few minutes ago, Lin Wanwan had still thought this was a beautiful rise from the ashes.
But looking at it now, she was left with only one thought.
An ordinary person who didn't know the dynasty, understand ancient etiquette, have any stamina, or possess any survival skills had actually gone from that kind of starting situation all the way to the empress's throne.
How was that a rise from the ashes?
It was a miracle.
Lin Wanwan lowered her head and looked at the sheet she'd filled densely with writing.
Those sentences had originally been nothing more than evidence she used to pick apart the novel's flaws. But after being arranged together, they slowly became something else.
If all these were problems she might encounter after transmigration, then wouldn't learning the relevant knowledge and skills in advance reduce the number of problems?
Her pen tip returned to the paper.
At the top of the first page, in the empty space, she slowly wrote four characters.
“Transmigration Preparation.”
Lin Wanwan stared at the words for a moment, then suddenly remembered something else.
The problems she'd listed were only the most basic ones.
Because in novels, even when the female lead couldn't do anything, there was always someone to fill in the gaps for her.
When she first transmigrated and couldn't figure out what was going on, a fiercely loyal maidservant would be there, crying as she explained the original owner's background, family relationships, and list of enemies in one breath.
If she didn't know whom to trust, that maidservant would always be trustworthy.
When danger appeared, someone would always show up in time.
She was pushed into a lake, and the Prince just happened to be passing by.
She was hunted by assassins, and a general happened to come to her rescue.
Even when the female lead suddenly made soap, produced refined salt, or displayed abilities the original owner had never possessed, the people around her rarely truly suspected her.
At most, they were surprised.
At most, they thought she'd suddenly seen the light after a serious illness.
Then they accepted her changes as a matter of course.
As if, so long as she was the female lead, every absurdity could be brushed aside with the words, “She changed completely after a serious illness.”
But what if this wasn't a novel?
Lin Wanwan looked down at the words in her notebook.
What if no one arranged a loyal maidservant for her?
What if no one voluntarily told her everything about the original owner's past?
What if no Prince descended from the heavens when she was at her most wretched?
What if there were no powerful noble willing to understand every word she said and believe her knowledge of unknown origin?
If her personality suddenly changed, the people around her might not think she'd turned misfortune into fortune or suddenly seen the light.
They were more likely to think she'd gone crazy.
Or suspect that a ghost had possessed her.
If she spoke words that didn't belong to that era, she might not be regarded as a brilliant poetess.
She might even be seized as a monster before she had the chance to explain.
And the dangers that always turned disaster into good fortune in novels wouldn't automatically leave a way out when they befell a truly ordinary person.
If she were pushed into the water, no one would happen to come rescue her.
If she were locked in a woodshed, she might not find a stone in the corner with which to smash the lock.
When she ran away, a carriage wouldn't happen to pass by.
If she fell off a cliff, she certainly wouldn't come away with minor injuries every time, wake up, and meet some enlightened master from beyond the mortal world.
Real danger would happen exactly as it happened.
No one could guarantee that she would live to see the next chapter.
The more Lin Wanwan thought about it, the more serious her expression became.
An ordinary modern person suddenly thrown into a completely unfamiliar ancient world, with no identity documents, no survival skills, and no one to rely on.
Forget changing the world.
It would be hard to say whether she could survive the first month.
She looked at that entire page of questions again.
Originally, these had merely been evidence she used to pick apart the novel's flaws.
But now, in her eyes, they were slowly becoming a risk checklist.
If she didn't know the dynasty, she could research the systems and lifestyles of different dynasties.
If she didn't understand ancient etiquette, she could learn the forms of address, formal bows, and rules of social hierarchy in advance.
If she had no medical knowledge, she could learn the basics of stopping bleeding, disinfecting wounds, and treating injuries.
If she had no stamina, she could start exercising now.
If she had no practical survival skills, she could learn them one by one.
Lin Wanwan's gaze stopped on the final line.
Since the greatest risk of transmigration was entering an unfamiliar world completely unprepared—
then preparing in advance would at least improve her chances of surviving.
Even if the improvement was small, it was still better than doing nothing.
Once this thought appeared, she could no longer suppress it.
She looked back at the screen.
The finale of Novel Ninety-Nine was still frozen there.
The imperial palace towered high as all the court officials knelt in worship.
The female lead stood in her Empress's court robes beside the emperor who deeply loved her. Relying on a seemingly inexhaustible supply of modern knowledge, she had gone from a transmigrator who knew nothing to the most honored position beneath heaven.
Lin Wanwan looked at her, but felt little envy.
She didn't care whether she could become an Empress after transmigrating.
Nor did she care whether she would meet a man willing to dismiss the emperor's vast harem for her.
She cared about only one thing.
If one day she suddenly opened her eyes and discovered that she had truly arrived in ancient times—
would she be able to survive?
Lin Wanwan lowered her head and flipped through the notebook.
One page of questions was clearly nowhere near enough.
She didn't even know whether transmigration was completely random or whether some kind of pattern existed.
In those novels, some people were hit by cars, some fell into the water, some died suddenly from overwork after staying up late, and some simply went to sleep and woke up in another world.
Blood moons, meteors, ancient objects, accidents, death.
Could some common thread be hidden among these seemingly unrelated ways of transmigrating?
If she really wanted to prepare for transmigration, she couldn't blindly learn a pile of skills without any direction.
At the very least, she first had to know under what circumstances transmigration was most likely to occur, and what kind of era and identity she was most likely to end up in.
Lin Wanwan picked up her pen and added another line beneath “Transmigration Preparation.”
“Step One: Organize the ninety-nine novels and find the pattern behind transmigration.”
After writing it, she looked up at the screen once more.
On the final page of Novel Ninety-Nine, the imperial couple stood shoulder to shoulder within the imperial palace, accepting the worship of the common people.
Lin Wanwan watched for a moment, then lowered her head again.
On the final line of the notebook, she wrote, one stroke at a time: “If it were me, I'd definitely live to see the perfect ending.”
Part One—Continued | End