Drama

Times were hard.

I was sold to a wealthy household to be a playmate for its young master, who had a lame leg.

He had a delicate, handsome face, but his health was very poor.

His right leg was disabled, he was always coughing, and sometimes he was too weak even to sit up.

Everyone in the household said he would not live long.

Afraid I would be sent away, I slipped into his room and leaned over the edge of his bed.

“Could you please not die?

If you die, I won’t have a home again.”

He paused, then smiled gently and stroked my head.

“All right.

I’ll see if I can stay alive.”

Our youngest sister had the part of the girl everyone adored.

My master and all six of my fellow male disciples were destined to cherish her as dearly as their own lives.

I was the vicious supporting character.

I would fight her for magical treasures and men, frame her, humiliate her, and bully her.

In the end, my master would rip out my immortal bones, my senior brother would cut out my immortal core, and my junior brothers would throw me into a demon pit to be tortured to death.

But after I fell into the Waters of Sin, I woke up to the truth.

Instead of storming back to our sect to confront her, as the story demanded, I took on six female disciples on my master’s behalf, all in one go.

Every one of them was beautiful, lively, and quick-witted.

I brought them back to the sect.

Our youngest sister became Eighth Sister.

The real princess consort was back.

It was time for me, the impostor, to go home and farm.

Before leaving, I gave everyone careful instructions.

When the vegetables in the back garden sprouted, they were to whittle stakes and put up supports for the vines.

When the fruit in the grove ripened, they mustn’t pick it all.

Leave some on the branches for the birds to get through winter.

Leave the swallows’ nest over the residence gates alone, too.

They would be back next year.

I said a great deal.

Everyone stood with their heads bowed, and no one answered.

Then I understood.

Ah.

Of course.

The princess consort came from a rich family.

Surely the money she had brought back would feed the entire household.

I no longer had to worry about keeping a dozen-odd people alive.

The steward asked, his voice thick, “Won’t you leave a word for His Highness?”

I thought about it.

“Well… tell him I hope he eats a couple more bowls of rice.”

Zhou Qiongyue once believed marrying General Xu Ziyi would bring her happiness.

Instead, she finds herself trapped in a household that treats her devotion as a weakness.

Then she wakes in her husband’s body—and he in hers.

Sent to the northern frontier in his place, she discovers a life beyond the walls of their marriage, and a young officer who sees her more clearly than her husband ever did.

But borrowed freedom cannot last forever.

When the time comes to reclaim her own body, Qiongyue must decide what she is willing to return to—and what she will finally leave behind.

In the third year of keeping Yu Jingchen mine by force, I went bankrupt.

“Keeping a pet canary and feeding it chicken feed.

Impressive.”

As he sneered at me, a system suddenly appeared in my head.

[That walking jinx of a male lead has some nerve complaining.

He’s the reason your company went under.]

I froze.

The system launched into an angry tirade.

[Haven’t you noticed?

Apart from the hate sex every night, all he makes you feel is miserable.]

[The only good thing about this man is his dick.

Set him loose, and I’ll get you a male lead who actually brings you good fortune.]

While I was still thinking, Yu Jingchen eyed the food I’d brought home with distaste.

“Stick with you and I’ll starve to death.

A couple of leaves for dinner, and you expect me to work all night.”

After a few seconds of silence, I opened the door.

“You can go.”

Yu Jingchen rolled his eyes.

“This again?

Don’t think I don’t know you’ve hidden a tracker on me.

You’ll wait until I get far enough away, then drag me back…”

I reached out and pulled the stud with its blinking red light from his ear.

His mocking smile froze.

Qi He had spent three years trying to win me over, mistaking me for the heroine.

He sent me money, made transfers, and bought me a home.

I accepted it all without batting an eye.

I could hear his thoughts: Why hasn’t the romance progress gone up at all?

Am I not giving her enough?

I pretended I had no idea.

So he gave me more and more money.

Until one day, he finally realized he’d been pursuing the wrong woman.

After I was exiled to the frontier, my fiancé took up with my younger half sister.

Everyone in the capital said she was my replacement.

Then she shattered a keepsake my late mother had left behind, and he stepped forward to protect her.

I drew my sword and pointed it at his throat.

If he loved her so much, he could die with her.

I was a terrible stickler for the truth.

When my husband returned from war, he brought a woman home.

The moment she saw me, she dropped to her knees and declared that she wanted to marry the marquis, even if she could only be his concubine.

I said nothing at the time.

But after tossing and turning until midnight, I could bear it no longer and knocked on her door.

My husband wasn’t the marquis.

The marquis in this household was my widowed father-in-law; my husband was only his third son, born to a concubine.

Her dimming eyes suddenly lit up at the word widowed.

My mother was exquisitely beautiful.

But during the years my father studied abroad, another man kept her in his power and abused her.

On the day Father returned, he stumbled upon what was happening.

I thought he would be horrified.

Furious.

Instead, he merely closed the bedroom door.

And heartlessly shut my mother inside with her humiliation and her tears.

My best friend and I ended up inside the same novel.

She was the scheming second male lead’s hopeless admirer.

I was the obsessive villain’s substitute lover.

In public, we pined for men who didn’t love us.

In private, we spent their money like there was no tomorrow.

After three years of living it up, the heroine—the woman they supposedly truly loved—came back.

Once we learned that both men would lose their minds over her, my best friend packed a little bag and knocked on my door late at night.

“I’ve saved enough.

Have you?”

“Not quite,” I said.

“But I can spend yours.”

So we faked our deaths and ran away together.

Three years later, she had the misfortune to run into her ex-husband.

“I’ll cover for you!”

I told her.

“Run!”

Then I turned around and walked straight into a solid chest.

The obsessive villain calmly undid his tie and bound my hands.

“Try getting away yourself first.”