I'll Abandon the Fake Savior (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 8
Although she had arrived without any prior notice, the old woman with sleep-filled eyes showed little suspicion and ushered Yuricien into the cabin.
“Black hair… red eyes… Such an uncommon appearance—I’ve been treating you with special care.”
The old woman, leaning on a cane due to her stooped back, spoke as she walked down the long wooden corridor.
“But I never imagined you were His Grace, Duke of Windsor…”
Amid her cackling laughter, the rhythmic tapping of her cane against the floor echoed. That steady sound had been stirring a strange sense of unease since earlier.
‘Her gait is far too perfect.’
Moreover, despite her advanced age—evident from her deeply bent spine—her speech was clear and fluent, without a single slip or stutter. One would expect someone so hunched to have turned feet or disheveled clothing, yet neither was the case.
‘Now that I look closely, not a single stitch is mended on that outfit.’
At first glance it seemed shabby, but upon closer inspection, it radiated a strong sense of neatness—as if a noble person had deliberately worn worn-out clothes.
From the outside, the old woman’s cabin appeared so small it seemed to hold no more than two rooms, yet the interior was surprisingly spacious. She guided Yuricien to the room at the far end of the cabin.
As she walked toward that room, Yuricien kept feeling an odd sense of disquiet, yet could never quite pinpoint its source.
Inside the room the old woman opened, a man was seated.
Bathed in moonlight filtered once through a square lattice window, he stared blankly into the darkness beyond. Though he seemed somehow weary, his posture remained perfectly upright—bearing the dignity of one who had spent a lifetime standing tall.
It was well past midnight. In the darkness, now tinged blue as it yielded to the slowly rising sun, the man with raven-black hair seemed to exude some emotion—longing? sorrow? regret? It was hard to tell. But one thing was certain.
“Ah, Father!”
That man was Jorgen.
Startled by Yuricien’s cry, the man—who had been staring blankly out the window—whipped his head toward the door in alarm. His wide red eyes blinked rapidly. Handsome as he was, his face looked barely in its late thirties despite nearing fifty, as if time itself had bypassed him alone.
“Father! Ah! Father, it’s me—Yuri!”
Overwhelmed by tears, Yuricien nearly collapsed as she rushed toward him.
Her black hair, identical to his, fluttered in the air. By the time she reached the bed, her knees had already hit the floor. She had no thought for the dignity expected of a noble lady—she could only weep with joy at reuniting with the great Windsor and her loving father.
“Father, oh Father! So you were here all along. I’ve searched for you for so long. Not for a single moment did I doubt you were still alive… I never once stopped believing.”
Yuricien buried her face in Jorgen’s bed and sobbed.
To her surprise, the blanket—expected to smell of damp dust—carried instead the comforting scent of sunlight. It seemed he hadn’t been mistreated in this cabin. Yet that made her heart ache even more. Jorgen had once stood at the very pinnacle of power.
‘That I should feel relief just because the blanket covering my father smells of sunlight!’
It felt as though she’d glimpsed a fraction of the hardships and suffering Jorgen must have endured. Her heart broke.
‘No, this isn’t the time to keep crying.’
She had miraculously found Jorgen. If he had suffered, so had she. Thus, only one thing remained.
“Father, let’s go home… Go home and set everything right again.”
To restore the great Windsor once more. Considering all the deeds Kendalli had committed during Jorgen’s disappearance, even the thickest shell of affection cast upon him would surely crack away. Then Jorgen would once again become the wise and brilliant great Windsor, setting all things aright.
Yuricien believed this without a shadow of doubt—yet Jorgen, who had been silently watching the back of the sobbing woman for some time, shattered her faith completely.
“Young lady… who might you be?”
Yuricien jerked her head up, trembling involuntarily. Her red eyes shook uncontrollably.
“…Daddy?”
Unaware even herself, she had uttered the childish term she hadn’t used since early childhood.
She was that distraught. She couldn’t comprehend the words she’d just heard. The speaker was unmistakably her longed-for father, yet his words sounded as if they came from a stranger.
And yet… somehow, it felt as though she’d half-expected this. After all, it had already seemed odd.
The way he hadn’t rushed to embrace her upon seeing her, the way he hadn’t pulled his weeping daughter close, the way his hands hadn’t gently smoothed her tangled black hair.
If this were truly Jorgen, he would have held Yuricien in his arms at this very moment.
‘But… but…’
Through her brimming, trembling tears, the Jorgen she looked up at was indeed the father she knew.
His disheveled black hair, his red eyes slightly cloudier than usual, his rough skin and unkempt beard—none of these matched the image of the great Windsor, yet they undeniably belonged to Jorgen Windsor.
As a single tear rolled down the corner of Yuricien’s dazed eyes, the sound of military boots came from behind.
“…!”
There had been no sign of anyone until now!
The bootsteps, approaching imperceptibly, were suddenly right behind her. Startled, Yuricien hastily reached into her robes to draw her dagger—but the boots’ owner subdued her by lightly grasping her wrist first.
“You possess the skill to make a dangerous object even more dangerous.”
“…Who are you? Reveal yourself.”
Having never been subdued before—except once by Jorgen—Yuricien was inwardly quite shaken. But showing her agitation would be amateurish. Lowering her voice, she fixed the stranger with a sharp, piercing glare.
He was a sheep.
More precisely, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
His face was half-covered by a mask modeled after a sheep, revealing only his lower jaw. His build was exceptionally robust. Moreover, the hand that had seized Yuricien’s wrist—large as a pot lid—was intensely hot.
Unconsciously, Yuricien thought she might suffer burns from the sun-like warmth radiating from his body.
Though his eyes, visible through the sheep mask, were deep green, his lips were strikingly red. The navy-blue cloak draped over his shoulders was such an eerie shade it nearly appeared black. Those plump lips, perfectly shaped at first glance, suddenly curved into a faint smile.
The man, whose eyes resembled the bottom of a swamp, whispered,
“Not yet.”
“…What?”
Yuricien asked, but the man gave no reply. Instead, he snatched the dagger from her grip and tossed it carelessly onto the floor. For a moment, Yuricien was mesmerized by the grace of his movement.
She’d been entranced before by Heathcliff’s beautiful dancing—but never while having her sword stolen by an enemy.
“You’re not trying to break free.”
The man released Yuricien’s wrist as he spoke. Only then did she realize he hadn’t truly been restraining her.
“I was merely watching for an opening.”
Yuricien clutched her captured wrist and snapped back. Even to herself, the retort sounded petty, and shame and anxiety flushed her face hot. The man, who had been gazing at her with strangely gentle eyes, then spoke unexpectedly.
“His Grace, Duke Windsor, is suffering from amnesia.”
“What? Amnesia…?”
“It’s not widely known yet, but such an illness exists—a loss of memory caused by some shock, whether external or internal. I believe His Grace lost his memories due to the trauma of the carriage accident.”
“Are you seriously asking me to believe such nonsense?”
How dare he dismiss her so utterly!
Yuricien glared at the man, incredulous.
Yet the man was only watching Jorgen, who looked utterly bewildered and frightened by the situation. Though his face was obscured by the mask, the way he looked at Jorgen made it impossible to believe he was lying.
Yuricien followed the man’s gaze toward Jorgen. After staring dazedly between the two of them for a while, Jorgen spoke desperately, as if clinging to hope.
“W-who are you people? Do you… know me? Who am I? I… I… Urgh, my head…”
“Father!”
As Jorgen clutched his head, Yuricien quickly supported him. His face was instantly drenched in cold sweat. She let him lean against her and swallowed her trembling breath.
Jorgen didn’t recognize Yuricien. Worse, he didn’t even know who he himself was.
‘Could it really… truly be amnesia?’
She couldn’t believe it. But now, she felt she had no choice but to. After steadying her breath for a moment, Yuricien bit her lower lip tightly and asked the man in the sheep mask, who still watched her from above,
“Is there any way to cure him?”
She didn’t know who this man was. Yet somehow, his golden hair felt strangely familiar—
just like the sun she’d seen in Chalice Lake.
Male lead Asks for a Divorce Every Day
It’s not often you come across a plot like this in the female-dominant genre — make sure to check it out!
This is a novel I’m planning to reread as well.
The male lead is strong, skilled in martial arts, and not the usual fragile type you often see in matriarchal novels.
Meanwhile, the female lead is a scientist—rational and logical. Even when she falls for the male lead, she doesn’t let her emotions cloud her decisions.
If you push through the first few chapters, you’ll gradually find the story really intriguing.
It has a mix of mystery, detective elements, and romance.
The author’s writing style is like crafting a puzzle—except they deliberately leave out a few pieces, making it hard to predict what happens next, yet keeping you hooked.
In the end, everything will come together and be explained.
One-sentence summary: Wife, stop playing with beakers and look at me!
In a laboratory accident, research scientist Zhu Wansheng accidentally travels to a matriarchal world. The original owner of the body is an eighteen-year-old only daughter of a wealthy rouge merchant, already married with a handsome young man.
Zhu Wansheng grins: Nice! She always said she was heaven’s favorite granddaughter. After a life of toil in her previous life, she can enjoy blessings in this one.
However, her joy lasts no more than three seconds as bad news arrives: the original owner’s family is about to go bankrupt, and her husband wants a divorce.
Even worse, she’s stuck with a research system full of restrictions.
Zhu Wansheng: ? Is this the destiny of a research dog?
——
Faced with this mess, Zhu Wansheng pours herself a bowl of wine to drown her sorrows. In her drunken haze, her husband arrives.
His figure is imposing, holding a long sword, with a dignified air that captivates Zhu Wansheng.
Gu Yingqing, however, looks at the alcohol-reeking Zhu Wansheng with undisguised disgust and coldly asks, “Divorce or not?” The intoxicated Zhu Wansheng mumbles vaguely, “I think… it’s not… it’s not… impossible!”
——
The next day, after sobering up, Zhu Wansheng is full of energy, rolling up her sleeves ready to make a big move. As for yesterday? She has no memory of it.
Zhu Wansheng is ambitious; a research dog fears nothing!
Upgrading rouge, extracting fragrances, producing perfumes, researching lipsticks… all shall bow to the power of modern technology!
The original owner’s dying rouge shop is revitalized. Her mother is pleased and with a wave of her hand, passes on the family business to her. As she takes control and her experimental results gain popularity, it’s the pinnacle of her life…
——
But there are always those who can’t stand to see her doing well. Jealousy, scheming, assassination attempts – they want nothing less than her life.
The person who has always kept his distance from her suddenly holds her tightly in his arms, eyes full of concern.
She is unharmed, but he falls into a pool of blood…
Zhu Wansheng feels guilty, “I can grant you one wish.”
Gu Yingqing tentatively circles his arms around her, carefully resting his head in the crook of her neck, pleading softly, “I regret it. Can we not divorce?”
Zhu Wansheng: ? When did I agree to a divorce?
[Small Theater]
The newly developed rouge is beautifully packaged, and Zhu Wansheng is eager to try it.
Gu Yingqing suddenly appears: “My lady, may I apply it for you?”
Cool fingertips lightly brush her lips. His Adam’s apple bobs as he leans in for a light bite.
Zhu Wansheng: ?
Gu Yingqing: It smells so good, I wanted to taste it…
On a warm spring day, Zhu Wansheng tries a new perfume: “Spring Night.” Gu Yingqing corners her against a wall.
Warm breath lingers on her neck.
“My lady, from now on, may I test the fragrances for you?”
[Humorous female scientist vs scheming live-in son-in-law male lead]
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How dare you, Kendali? How could you think of poisoning him the moment he returned? A witch? I didn’t expect that.