Transmigrated into a Villainess? I’m Going to conquer the Heroine!

The two of them sat on the sofa, staring at each other in silence.

The information they’d just received was vastly different from their own memories.

Tang Yuan’s heart was a mess, tangled with guilt. Jiang Zi had been the one to bring up Jin MengXuan, asking with such certainty—wasn’t there a memory of dating Tang Yuan before?

But Tang Yuan genuinely had no recollection of that conversation.

A question she’d been deliberately ignoring suddenly surfaced—she wasn’t the real Tang Yuan. She was merely a transmigrator inhabiting this body. Could it be that because she wasn’t the original owner, she couldn’t recall the university romance with Jiang Zi?

Tang Yuan stared at her toes, unable to meet Jiang Zi’s eyes, a vague sense of guilt pressing down on her chest.

Jiang Zi furrowed her brows slightly, breaking the silence on her own.

“I think… there’s something I need to confess.”

“I’ll go first.” Tang Yuan’s expression drooped as she spoke, pinching her earlobe—a little gesture of surrender.

“You probably already guessed… I’m not the original Tang Yuan. What Jin MengXuan said tonight—the Tang Yuan who dated you in university—that wasn’t me. That’s why I don’t have those memories.”

“I know it’s not fair to you.” Tang Yuan tucked her legs up, curling into the sofa, her eyes lowered, voice barely audible.

Jiang Zi reached out and pinched her cheek, teasing lightly, “Little Tang Yuan, what are you mumbling about? What’s this talk of fair or unfair?”

“What I wanted to confess…” Jiang Zi’s voice paused, carrying a hint of regret, “…is that I’ve always known your origins. I know why you’re here.”

Tang Yuan froze, lifting her gaze in panic.

“You always knew? That I’m not from this world? That I was with you because of a mission?”

The moment the words left her mouth, Tang Yuan’s eyes reddened, tears falling without warning.

Jiang Zi was startled, scrambling to wipe her tears, the night’s revelations momentarily forgotten. Her voice softened into gentle coaxing.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry, don’t cry… Did I say something wrong? Did I make Little Tang Yuan upset?”

Tang Yuan shook her head furiously, but her emotions had already collapsed. She broke into sobs, tears falling like broken pearls, unstoppable.

Tang Yuan liked Jiang Zi—but in the beginning, there had been a layer of self-hypnosis at play. Her initial motive was to complete her mission: capture the heroine, be with her, and ultimately, live a long life.

Her feelings hadn’t been entirely pure at the start. She’d always scrutinized herself from the perspective of a mission executor, constantly reminding herself that she’d managed to land a long-lived character and had to perform well.

Later, she’d convinced herself her love for Jiang Zi was one hundred percent sincere—but the system’s unsatisfactory affection value had always left her faintly uneasy.

It never occurred to her that Jiang Zi had known her intentions from the very beginning.

Even knowing Tang Yuan approached her with ulterior motives, Jiang Zi had still chosen to open her heart—falling for her without reservation.

That confession shattered Tang Yuan’s defenses. She cried uncontrollably, repeating apologies between sobs.

Jiang Zi kept handing her tissues from the table, gently patting her trembling shoulders, her eyes full of tenderness.

“I know Little Tang Yuan was acting against Chu Yu for my sake. There’s nothing to apologize for—you’ve never done anything to hurt me.”

“…Alright, I admit I made a mistake. Tonight really wasn’t the best time for a confession, making Little Tang Yuan cry so hard—louder than on the bed even.”

Tang Yuan’s teary eyes blinked open, staring at Jiang Zi in a daze. Her nose was red, long lashes glistening with tears, those soft, misty eyes gradually filling with delayed shame and anger.

She tried to speak, her voice hiccuping, full of grievance.

“We… we’re supposed to be talking about serious matters…”

Jiang Zi raised a brow, deliberately teasing.

“Isn’t bedroom business serious business?”

Tang Yuan puffed out her cheeks, turning her head away in a sulk. She’d even forgotten she was crying—only the occasional twitch of her shoulders gave her away.

Seeing her gradually calm down, Jiang Zi continued.

“I know… my life was scripted from the start. Honestly, before you approached me, the only way I could resist the rules was by hurting myself. Do you remember the scar on my palm?”

“Jiang Zi Falling for Tang Yuan is inevitable.”

She took Tang Yuan’s hand, pressing it to her chest. The other arm wrapped around her back, pulling her closer until their faces brushed together.

“And this… leads to the next little secret.”

Jiang Zi’s voice lowered into a murmur.

“Do you remember… the missing senior sister? The aloof desk-mate?”

Tang Yuan’s body trembled, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her fingers unconsciously curled, prompting Jiang Zi to hold her even tighter, letting out a low, helpless sigh.

With those words, long-buried memories flickered back to life. The monochrome worlds she’d experienced—those blurred faces she could never quite make out—suddenly regained their color.

She saw the senior sister’s face.

She saw the desk-mate’s face.

They were all… Jiang Zi.

All along, the heroine of those worlds had been Jiang Zi. This world too.

Then what about the others?

All the worlds she’d passed through—was Jiang Zi always there, always waiting for her?

Tang Yuan’s heart pounded violently, her mind spinning.

Half-lidded eyes, Jiang Zi cradled her tightly in her arms, her voice low and affectionate.

“You never knew… the senior sister liked the junior sister. The desk-mate liked her desk-mate too.”

Finally, after countless missed chances across endless timelines—she confessed.

It had taken so long. So many worlds.

But they’d finally made it here.

Tang Yuan’s heart ached with guilt, realizing how blind she’d been to Jiang Zi’s feelings.

She’d always been so focused on survival—on enjoying life before her inevitable death—that she’d numbed herself to the emotions around her.

Beneath her palm, Jiang Zi’s chest was soft and warm. Tang Yuan tried to pull her hand back, only for Jiang Zi to press it firmly in place.

Her ears flushed red, her gaze flickering.

“I was just… diligently doing my job… playing the protagonist’s short-lived white moonlight… I never noticed.”

The protagonist’s white moonlight.

Tang Yuan’s pupils shrank.

All this time, she’d thought she was the male lead’s white moonlight.

But the truth was—she’d always been the female lead’s white moonlight.

No wonder, out of ten worlds, she’d only ever met the male lead in half—barely even familiar with him. She’d always complained the plot made no sense—where did all those deep feelings come from when they’d barely crossed paths?

Now she knew.

Her entire role had been miscast from the start.

The one who had never been absent…

The one who had always been by her side…

Was the heroine!