She’s a Passerby, But Can See the Protagonist’s Halo

Yan added He Xing, her senior, into the dorm group chat. Though before starting university, she had heard stories about how six roommates could create over a dozen separate group chats—drama worthy of a palace intrigue—their dorm had always kept private matters in private chats and shared matters in the group.

Even though He Xing was a new addition, Yan didn’t think of creating a separate group just for her.

"Senior, if you need any help, just let us know. We’re both back on campus early and don’t have much to do anyway," Yan said.

She noticed He Xing had only brought one suitcase and a backpack, likely just clothes and personal items, meaning she’d need to buy quite a few things.

"Got it," He Xing replied, pulling out disinfecting wipes from her bag and starting to clean.

Her gaze landed on the pink swivel gaming chair at her desk and the daily necessities arranged on the bookshelf.

"What about these things… and this chair…?"

"Ah, senior, those tissues and stuff are shared among all of us in the dorm—this is your portion. The chair was bought by Bing Bing—oh, that’s your bunkmate across from you—but it didn’t suit her, so she left it at Bed 6. If it works for you, feel free to use it. It’s way past the return window, but if you don’t like it, we can sell it on Xianyu later," Yan explained carefully.

Listening to her junior’s explanation, He Xing’s brows lifted slightly. She glanced at the bed across from hers, and with just a quick sweep, she spotted an array of expensive, delicate, and utterly impractical decorative trinkets, MIU-brand clothes hanging outside the closet, and a jumble of beaded bracelets casually strewn across the desk.

Her eyes drifted to the other spaces in the room—she had already taken note when she first walked in.

The spot by the door, opposite Ding Ling’s bed, also held a few rare items that most people wouldn’t even recognize.

In comparison, Ding Ling, Yan, and Yan’s bunkmate seemed far more like typical college students.

Ding Ling leaned toward minimalism, Yan’s setup was standard college chaos—nothing particularly stood out—and to her left, Yan’s bunkmate had succulents on her desk, suggesting a girl who liked greenery.

Two roommates from well-off families, and the other three more ordinary?

He Xing’s thoughts flickered as she eyed the expensive bracelets carelessly tossed on the opposite desk. If that was the case, the four-figure gaming chair behind her wasn’t such a big deal after all.

The fact that her bunkmate, "Bing Bing," could casually leave pricey jewelry lying around in the dorm suggested these juniors were trustworthy.

"None of you use this chair?" He Xing asked.

She noticed Ding Ling sat on a wooden chair, while the other three had standard computer chairs.

Yan and Ding Ling shook their heads in unison.

"I don’t like the color. Too pink," Yan said.

"I don’t like soft chairs," Ding Ling added.

Ding Ling was used to the cold, hard surface of a wooden coffin—even now, her dorm bed only had a thin mattress and bedding. Back in Ning City, the plush hotel beds had often left her feeling uncomfortable.

"Alright, I’ll borrow this chair for now," He Xing said.

She wasn’t picky about colors, and having something ready to use was convenient. Today was her first day back on campus, and she just wanted to settle in quickly and reacquaint herself with the world.

As He Xing organized her things, Yan noticed she hadn’t brought any bedding and couldn’t resist asking, "Senior, did you ship your bedding or are you buying it here?"

It was already the second semester, and while the campus store had mattresses in stock, they were leftovers from the start of the previous semester.

"I ordered from JD. It’ll be delivered soon," He Xing replied.

Yan nodded, returning to her seat and casually turning on a drama before messaging Jue Jue and Chu Bingbing.

He Xing unpacked her clothes and personal items one by one, wiping down her bed with alcohol wipes. But everything was already spotless—not a speck of dust in sight. She couldn’t help but silently praise the juniors for keeping the place so tidy.

It had been so long since she left her original world that she’d almost forgotten what college life was like.

She glanced at her phone, where she’d just been added to the dorm group chat. The group notice listed living habits and a cleaning schedule, and Yan had even shared a "Personal Habits Survey." He Xing opened it and found a shared document detailing everyone’s routines, dietary restrictions, and more.

"So meticulous," He Xing murmured, slightly dazed.

Back in dance school, she’d also lived in a dorm, but the world of young dancers was insular, and petty conflicts often blew up into major drama.

She filled in her own habits, then greeted the juniors in the group chat.

[He Xing]: Hello, everyone. I’m He Xing. Looking forward to getting along. [Smiley face]

The dorm’s air conditioning kept the room warm. He Xing settled into her freshly claimed spot, pulling out the handheld mirror that had accompanied her for years. She studied her reflection—expressionless, save for the inscrutable darkness in her eyes.

She lightly ran her tongue over her lips, as if tasting a faint trace of blood.

The mirror showed her a healthy body, full of vitality—legs that could still move, run, perform countless motions. The feeling of being strong and capable was intoxicating.

No longer the broken woman confined to a bed, watching her muscles waste away, her career over in an instant.

To outsiders, she had spent three years bedridden, three years absent from the industry. After her "stage accident," He Xing’s dance career had been pronounced dead.

She flexed her fingers soundlessly.

He Xing—"Fortunate." Her parents had given her this name, hoping she’d live a happy life.

At the peak of her fame, some had interpreted it as "How Lucky."

After her "accident," others twisted it into "How Unfortunate."

As if they had a monopoly on meaning.

That performance—the one that should have decided her future—why had the lighting rig chosen that exact moment to collapse? The impact crushed her spine, leaving her nearly paralyzed, her leg muscles withering away.

Back then, everyone said, "What a fluke. At least she’s alive."

Alive? Her life wasn’t gone, but her career was. Was that really "alive"?

That performance had been the final round of Xia Country’s National Dance Theater’s internal selection—a competition for dancers under twenty, with only three spots. Those chosen would secure a place in the Central Dance Theater, receive an official ranking upon graduation, and even contend for the position of youngest principal.

The most crucial point was that the internal training session back then was rumored to be for Xu Mingyue, a world-renowned dancer from Xia Country, to select her disciples. To put it in terms of cultivation novels, it was like becoming an inner disciple of a top-tier sect, with the possibility of being promoted to a "personal disciple" after four years as a probationary member.

Xu Mingyue was the woman who single-handedly brought Xia Country's classical dance to the global stage. Every student learning classical or Chinese dance grew up hearing her legendary stories.

At the time, two rounds of performances had already taken place, and according to the rules, the order of appearance was based on reverse scoring. He Xing, who had ranked first in the first two rounds, was set to perform last as the grand finale. As long as she delivered her usual standard, she would indisputably secure her spot.

But then, at the very last moment, the lighting rig collapsed—right on top of her.

Forced to withdraw, He Xing couldn’t wait for treatment and a chance to re-perform. The competition wouldn’t delay for her. All she knew was that the original second and third-place winners took the spots, and Fu Yao—her friend of six years from Bin City Dance School, who had initially been out of the running—also secured a place.

Though devastated by her own misfortune, He Xing was genuinely happy for Fu Yao.

That was until Fu Yao’s final visit to the hospital to bid her farewell before leaving for Ning City.

With a complicated look in her eyes, Fu Yao said, "He Xing, I’m leaving. I’ll work hard—for both of us."

At the time, He Xing thought it was just a heartfelt goodbye. Suppressing her own anguish, she smiled and saw her off.

Three months later, still struggling through painful treatments, He Xing received an anonymous email containing an audio file. In it, a man and a woman were speaking.

Woman: "What do we do? What if we get caught? You said we just needed to create a small accident to mess up her final performance!"

Man: "Calm down. I only tampered with the lighting rig’s corner—just enough to make it wobble. Who knew the whole thing would collapse? It was an accident. No one could’ve predicted this."

Both voices were painfully familiar—Fu Yao and Shangguan Mo, a fellow dancer who had pursued He Xing in the past.

He Xing’s phone clattered to the floor, only to be picked up later by her mother.

She had always believed it was just an accident.

Before this, He Xing’s life had been like a blank sheet of paper—she never assumed malice in others, always seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses.

Afraid of upsetting her mother, she kept the recording to herself, repeatedly reading the accident report that cited "poor maintenance and inadequate inspection" as the cause.

She watched the list of selected dancers, followed Fu Yao’s updates.

After a sleepless night, He Xing called her mentor from dance school.

"Teacher, if what happened to me wasn’t an accident—"

Before she could finish, her teacher cut her off.

"He Xing, the investigation concluded it was an accident. Focus on your recovery. You can still switch majors, graduate, and become a teacher."

"Fu Yao and Shangguan have bright futures ahead, and they haven’t forgotten you. The theater’s compensation should cover your treatment, and they’ve contributed extra. Your father’s small factory isn’t lacking orders now. Just live well, okay?"

Dazed, He Xing hung up. She had no idea about any of this. Her teacher’s words said nothing—and yet, everything.

He ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‍Xing came from a small town. Her mother was a teacher, her father ran a modest factory—their income barely enough to be considered middle-class. Over the years, her relentless pursuit of dance (an expensive passion) had drained the family’s savings, with her mother quitting her job to accompany her in search of elite training.

Only after questioning her mother did He Xing learn that after her injury, they had indeed received compensation and donations.

Her father’s struggling factory had become a subcontractor for Shangguan’s family, securing steady orders. Fu Yao’s family had even arranged for a caretaker to assist them.

What was this?

Hush money? Payment for the destruction of her career?

Did they think throwing these scraps at her would absolve them of ruining her life?

That day, rage consumed He Xing. She ignored her teacher’s warnings and prepared to expose the truth.

Once a rising star, she had tens of thousands of followers on social media. She drafted a scathing post, ready to release it alongside the recording—only to find her account inexplicably locked, her password no longer working.

Her phone glitched, flooded with garbled text, rendering it useless.

The next day, she asked her mother to take her to an internet café. But that morning, a violent incident erupted at the hospital—a mentally ill patient attacked doctors with a knife. Her mother, out buying breakfast, was stabbed multiple times. A severed artery. She didn’t survive.

Her father rushed from the factory to Bin City. Exhausted and grief-stricken, they buried her mother—only for the factory to suffer an accident, orders canceled. When her father returned to handle the fallout, angry workers assaulted him, leaving him permanently disabled.

In less than a week, He Xing’s world had crumbled.

Sitting in her wheelchair, watching the rain outside, she understood everything.

Her mother had no job. Her treatment and rehabilitation required money. Her father’s factory relied on Shangguan’s family’s orders.

They thought she didn’t know—that she had no proof.

The caretaker was both help and surveillance. Any attempt to speak out would mean the factory’s shutdown, her family’s financial ruin, and no more funds for her treatment.

To survive, she had to stay silent.

In that moment, He Xing realized why, whenever Fu Yao and Shangguan visited, her mother would excuse herself—"You young people talk." Why, after they left, her mother would stare at the door for a long time.

Her parents were adults. They had seen the truth long before she did.

But their family had never had a choice.

With everything settled, causing trouble now would be "not knowing what’s good for them."

That night, He Xing sat by the window, utterly broken.

And then, something called the "Tragic Story Quick-Transmigration Assistant" appeared in her mind, offering a deal: complete missions across different worlds, and her body would be restored—better than before.

So, she transmigrated.

Only after entering one "torture novel world" after another did He Xing realize that her own experiences were actually those of a so-called tragic romance heroine. Everything she endured was merely the typical ordeal of such a protagonist—male leads drawn to her yet looking down on her, repeatedly driving her into despair, only to realize after ending up with the supporting female character that "she" was the true love all along. The classic "chasing the wife to the crematorium" trope would then culminate in a forced happy ending.

He Xing had only one thought: Are you out of your mind?

Who would ever stay with the person responsible for destroying their family and causing all this suffering? She’d rather skin them alive, subject them to a thousand cuts.

Her quick-transmigration journey took her through countless worlds. She played out the so-called tragic heroine’s script—but never for the sake of those so-called male leads or supporting male characters.

Like the noblewoman who guarded the marquis’s household for seven years, raising his siblings, only to watch her supposedly deceased general husband return with an enemy princess in tow, demanding she step aside.

Or leaping from the Ascension Platform, carving out her own heart to prove her innocence, merging her body with the Dao. Or standing before a horde of thousands of mutated beasts at the brink of the apocalypse, condemned by the masses, only to unleash her full supernatural ability to save humanity...

Too many worlds had blurred together. After retiring from her missions, to prevent her accumulated memories from fracturing her soul, her quick-transmigration experiences were sealed away—leaving only fragmented recollections.

Yet the skills she’d acquired remained etched into her body. Of the rewards she could’ve exchanged, she chose only a cultivation method to refine her physique and brought it back with her.

The cruel irony? Even upon returning, time couldn’t be reversed. Her family was gone. All He Xing had left was this healthy, reforged body.

Still, she came back.

For vengeance. For the ideals she once held.

He Xing—"what fortune" indeed.

She would become the world’s greatest dancer, unparalleled.

Fu Yao, Shangguan Mo—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.