Night in the Southern Vale did not fall gently. It slammed into the land like a decree: sudden, silver, and absolute. The moon rose swollen and pale, bathing the forested mountains in light that hovered instead of landing. Even the wind seemed to wait for permission.
In the center of that quiet tyranny stood the Night Emperor's palace — the famous Abyssal Moon Hall. A fortress of obsidian stone crosshatched with glowing runes, it pulsed faintly like a living thing, storing enough lunar qi to vaporize half a sect if the Emperor ever got irritated enough.
Lin Yue, meanwhile, was still worrying about the practicalities of "not dying tomorrow."
A modest goal. Humble. Achievable. Unlike, say, fighting fate head-on or accidentally flirting with a man whose finger-wave could unmake a small continent.
She sat cross-legged in the garden, trying her best to meditate, which mostly meant she spent twenty minutes thinking about hunger, the tragic state of her sleeves, and how much she hated the original book's plot structure.
She was about to give up when the air around her trembled.
A thin, cold filament cut through the moonlight — almost invisible, like a strand of silver hair. It drifted toward her, spun in a spiral, and stopped right above her palm.
A Lunar Thread.
Her breath caught. Only one cultivator in the entire world was said to command them:
Night Emperor Xuan Mo.
And unlike the book — which had described him with all the depth of a brooding cardboard cutout — the thread pulsed with a presence that felt… aware.
A message. A warning. A test.
She wasn't sure which.
Careful, she extended a hand and touched it with one fingertip.
Her vision exploded.
A palace hallway.A silhouette seated beneath a moon-forged throne.A voice like ice dragged across silk:
"Who altered the dowry ledger?"
The vision snapped.
Lin Yue jerked backward, losing her balance like a startled pigeon.
Shen Qiao bolted from behind a bamboo stalk, sword half-drawn. "Lin Yue! Are you—"
"It's nothing," she lied, dusting off her robes. "Just moonlight behaving badly."
He stared, horrified. "Moonlight does not behave!"
Okay, he had a point.
But Lin Yue's mind was racing. The Night Emperor had noticed the ledger incident? The envoy humilation? Her existence?
That wasn't in the novel.
In the book, the Night Emperor didn't acknowledge Lin Yu'er at all. She was background scenery. A disposable plot device.
Which meant Lin Yue wasn't in the story anymore. She was rewriting it.
Shen Qiao glanced nervously at the sky. "That Thread… only His Majesty can send one. If it touched you, he must have—"
"What? Found me interesting? Unlikely. Maybe he thought I was stealing moonlight. People steal weird things."
But her pulse refused to calm.
If the Night Emperor had probed her mind even a fraction deeper, he might have seen her memories — the truth that she didn't belong to this world.
And then… well… she doubted he'd simply send her home with a fruit basket.
The thread's energy lingered, faint and icy, like stardust clinging to her skin.
Somewhere far above, in the palace that ruled the night, someone impossibly powerful had turned his attention toward her.
Against the moonlight, Lin Yue whispered to herself:
"Fantastic. Exactly what I needed. Attention from the most dangerous man alive. Author, I hope you're happy."