After that, Adeline’s daily routine settled into a cycle of eating, reading, taking medicine, reading, and sleeping, which continued for several days.
Adeline leaned against the headboard, clutching a thick volume of Poems of Fiperiana in her hands, but her gaze was fixed on the sliver of light coming through the gap in the curtains.
She hadn’t turned a page for a long time.
Her body was indeed gradually recovering; she could already get out of bed and walk on her own, though Lina would nervously stop her every time she saw it.
The doctor said this weather was suitable for bed rest.
Lina would relay the doctor’s instructions every day, her tone as solemn as if she were reading a verdict, as though stepping one foot out of her room would cause her to collapse on the spot.
So Adeline remained confined to this spacious, luxurious room, day after day facing four walls, a bed, a bookshelf, and a window that was always open just a crack.
The novelty of transmigration had worn off.
In the first few days, she had indeed been curious about this world.
Unfamiliar script, unfamiliar history, unfamiliar social structure—every new discovery could excite her for quite a while.
But now, over ten days later, Adeline’s mindset had shifted from ‘Oh my god, I’ve transmigrated’ to ‘Is that it?’
She had flipped through almost every readable book on the bookshelf.
By “readable,” she meant the various popular books she could actually get into.
The original body had indeed read a fair amount, but that didn’t mean every book on the shelf suited Adeline.
On the contrary, most books she opened, she wanted to close immediately.
For example, that Poems of Fiperiana.
Adeline spent two days gritting her teeth and reading one-third of it before finally giving up.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t understand it, but the poems celebrating the moon, roses, and maidens simply couldn’t hold her interest.
Then there was a copy of Natural History.
The first page opened to “On the Mineral Distribution and Geological Structure of the Northern Region of the Kingdom of New Claire.”
She scanned two lines, closed the book, and never opened it again.
A few others were even worse.
Their spines bore titles like On the Methodology of Improving Steam Engine Efficiency and Principles of Gear Transmission and Detailed Explanation of Mechanical Structure.
She didn’t even flip through them, because she was certain she didn’t need to know that stuff.
What remained on the bookshelf were either highly specialized things—collections of legal statutes, studies of noble genealogies—or mind-numbingly dull anthologies that she had zero motivation to read.
In other words, in this world with no computers, no cell phones, no internet, and no electronic devices of any kind, her forms of entertainment were limited to staring at the ceiling in a daze and listening to Lina ramble on about trivial daily matters.
She already missed many things from her previous life.
She missed the endless stream of videos on her phone screen, the endless games on her computer, the ice-cold cola she could grab anytime from the fridge, and the days when she could open a food delivery app and have dozens of shops to choose from.
And now?
She could only lie in this bed, eating and taking medicine, flipping through books that repeated the same content over and over, waiting for night to fall, waiting for day to break, waiting for Lina to walk in with the next meal.
Boring.
Really boring.
Before transmigrating, she had written plenty of transmigration stories.
The protagonist either awakened a system, acquired a cheat ability, or was gifted with extraordinary talent and rose to prominence.
Not one of them was trapped in a room recuperating like her.
She even began to wonder if she had transmigrated into the wrong script.
She should have been in a story that started with ruins and built a farming nation from scratch, not a sickly canary in a gilded cage.
What made it even worse was that she knew nothing about the outside world.
From Lina’s chatter and that general history book, she had pieced together some basic information: the country was called New Claire, the capital was Vist, the place she lived was the Castiya family’s estate, and her father, Herman Castia, was a big shot.
But she didn’t know what Vist looked like, what people on the streets were doing, what the factories in this world were like, how far the railways extended, or even how big this estate was.
She wanted to know these things, but this body wouldn’t let her go out.
The doctor said her constitution was too weak; she couldn’t withstand wind and cold or endure exertion.
Lina said Mr. Swan had instructed that miss’s health was the priority, and there was no need to worry about outside matters.
In short, everyone thought she should stay obediently in her room, quietly recuperate, and not have any unnecessary thoughts.
But she was a transmigrator.
Had she come to this world with the memories, knowledge, and way of thinking from her past life, only to lie in this room until she died?
Today, after Lina cleared away the breakfast dishes, she said Mr. Swan would come to the room in the afternoon to check on her condition.
Hearing this news, Adeline had an idea.
Butler Swan…
In these past days, aside from Lina, the only person she had interacted with was this butler.
The first meeting was on the fourth day after she woke up.
That day, Lina brought an old man with graying hair dressed in a black suit into the room and introduced him,
“Miss, Mr. Swan is here to see you.”
Swan looked quite old, his hair almost entirely white but combed immaculately.
The wrinkles on his face were deep, especially on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes, as if meticulously carved by the chisel of time.
His back was ramrod straight, his steps steady, and his every movement carried the precision of an old-school gentleman.
He walked to the bedside, gave a slight bow, and said in a low voice,
“Miss Adeline, I am pleased to see your complexion improving.”
At the time, Adeline simply nodded lightly and said,
“Thank you, Mr. Swan.”
She kept the principle that loose lips sink ships firmly in mind.
In their subsequent meetings, Swan would always ask about her physical condition, diet, and sleep quality.
His attitude was respectful but not exactly close.
He didn’t say much, but every word was carefully considered, with no unnecessary chatter.
Through these brief exchanges, Adeline had roughly figured out this butler’s personality.
Swan was an exceptionally serious and formal person.
His tone, posture, gaze, and even the rhythm of his breathing exuded a sense of ingrained propriety.
His loyalty to the Castiya family was beyond doubt, evident from the subtle details that slipped out unconsciously—for instance, whenever he mentioned “Lord Herman,” his tone would involuntarily rise a notch, and a hint of respect would appear in his eyes.
His attitude toward Adeline was more a sense of duty than deference to a young lady.
He was responsible for the operation of this estate and for ensuring the safety and health of every family member.
As the sole heir of the Castiya family, Adeline was naturally the one he needed to take care of the most.
This old man, who had served the Castiya family for many years, might know things that Lina didn’t.