Drama

I have died seven times.

Every single time, I died on the day my husband asked for a divorce.

He doesn’t love me. Seven years of marriage proved to be fragile and worthless the moment his White Moonlight returned to the country.

The System told me that if I wanted to live, I had to defeat the White Moonlight.

Miscarriages, acting as a body double, framing her… my methods became increasingly ruthless.

However, just as I finally approached the finish line-when my Marriage Reconciliation Success Rate reached 99.99%-

I was the one who handed over the Divorce Agreement.

I transmigrated into the story as the male lead’s sex-crazed wife. Every day, I pestered him to do it with me, endlessly demanding and never knowing restraint.

The couch, the bedroom, the kitchen, the floor-to-ceiling windows…

Only when the hatred value soared to 99 did I realize in horror that I hadn’t transmigrated into a smut novel at all, but a clean romance!

Su Yu was actually the kind of male lead who was cold and abstinent when it came to sex!

From then on, I lived in constant fear, treading on eggshells and never daring to cling to him again. As soon as night fell, I’d head to a hotel and not come home.

I even took the initiative to ask for a divorce.

I hoped it would make him hate me a little less.

But the man finally snapped. Eyes red, he erupted and locked me down in a pathologically unrestrained grip, every word crazed:

“Why don’t you cling to me anymore?”

“Is it because I’m getting old, or because that XL one outside has already satisfied your appetite?”

Before we married, I already knew my husband had a concubine he doted on.

It did not matter.

I was marrying into a great house to become its mistress.

Naturally, I could afford to be generous.

After the wedding, I put the marquis’s household in perfect order, and my reputation as a virtuous wife spread throughout the capital.

Whether that concubine had a brain in her head, I could not say.

She actually let people know that the marquis and I had never consummated our marriage.

She meant to humiliate me, to make me a laughingstock.

What she never imagined was that her little stunt would force my mother-in-law to send the marquis knocking on my door late one night.

When my elder sister was preparing to marry Marquis Ding’an,

she caught the eye of the Crown Prince.

Our entire family was overjoyed.

To give the marquis’s household an explanation, they pushed me out in her place on the day of the wedding.

After we were married, Marquis Ding’an despised me.

Again and again, he mocked me to my face:

“Crude and vulgar. You don’t compare to your sister in the slightest.”

“You can’t even read an account book. Astonishingly stupid.”

I felt wronged too. I smashed my rouge and powder at him and cursed,

“My sister is the Crown Princess now. If you’re so capable, go steal her back, you coward!”

And so we spent our entire lives at each other’s throats.

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to when I was sixteen and not yet married.

My elder sister looked at me with smiling eyes and coaxed,

“Little sister, would you like to marry into the marquis’s household and become the Marchioness?”

While everyone else was fighting for the Emperor’s favor, I built an intelligence station in the cold palace.

Until the day he died, the Emperor never knew that the woman stirring up the hidden currents of his harem was someone whose name he could not even remember.

I died in Yongxiang Alley during my third winter there.

Not truly died-only the kind of death where your name is crossed out in vermilion ink on the registry.

They said Noble Lady Li, who had once worked in the imperial garden and was later favored by His Majesty for her beauty, had gone mad.

Because on the late Empress’s memorial day, I let my hair hang loose, went barefoot, and sang a rousing rendition of “Liangzhou Ci.”

In truth, I was not mad. I had simply calculated that the Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial would pass through the imperial garden that day.

Madness was the best pass in the cold palace, and the best armor.

On the day I moved into the West Third Institute, only one lame old eunuch came to lead the way.

The weeds in the courtyard rose past my knees, and the moss on the well curb was as thick as a velvet blanket.

My roommate, Attendant Li, had been thrown in here three years ago after offending the Imperial Consort.

When she saw me arrive, she did not even lift her eyelids. She only kept rubbing a length of hemp rope in her hands, its edges worn fuzzy.

I set my only bundle down on the crumbling earthen kang.

Inside were two sets of worn palace clothes, a bald writing brush, and half a ream of yellow paper.

The paper pasted over the window lattice had a hole in it the size of a fist. The north wind poured in with a howl, carrying the faint sound of pipes and flutes from far away.

I stared at that hole, but in my heart, a sliver of light slipped through.

In a madwoman’s world, there were the fewest rules.

Here, perhaps, I could live.

Every night, Qin Shen comes home at seven and treats his wife, Jiang Li, as though she matters more than life itself.

When one tiny change in his flawless routine leads Jiang Li to a secret villa, a mistress, and a hidden child, the perfect marriage she trusted collapses in an instant.

Even divorce cannot free her from a husband whose devotion is as obsessive as his betrayal is cruel.

To reclaim her life, Jiang Li must survive confinement, treachery, and one final act of violence without becoming as ruthless as the people who destroyed her faith in love.

Yang Bufan never took anything seriously.

Not even marrying me.

An auspicious date for the betrothal?

Too much trouble to choose.

How much to offer in betrothal gifts?

Too much trouble to think about.

He left every last detail to his cousin.

He would sooner spend an entire afternoon beneath the flowering trees, stringing jasmine for our dear Miss Meng, than spare a second glance at the marriage contract I had sent him.

He was getting annoyed.

“She’s changed it twice already.

Last time, I left two strokes out of her name.

What is it now?

Did I leave something out of mine too?”

The servant who had brought it faltered.

“The names have been corrected, sir.

It’s just that Miss Lu would still like to know what you think…”

Yang Bufan propped his chin on his hand, already losing interest.

“As long as it’s fixed.

Tell her to stop hurrying me.”

“The sixth day of the sixth month, isn’t it?

I’ll be back.”

My father’s favored concubine trained my younger sister in all the arts of the pleasure quarters, convinced it would help her secure a man’s heart.

When I came of age, she proposed that Yuniang marry alongside me as an accompanying concubine.

There was only one flaw in her plan.

As the Qiao family’s legitimate eldest daughter and future head, I was never marrying out—I would take a husband into my own household.

After her family goes bankrupt, spoiled heiress Su Mo marries Tan Xu, the brilliant former scholarship student her father once sponsored.

Their marriage is all sparks, demands, and hate sex—until Su Mo begins seeing live comments that insist she is a doomed villainess and Tan Xu will leave her for his childhood sweetheart.

Determined to save herself and her father, Su Mo hires a divorce lawyer and stops depending on her husband.

But every considerate step only makes Tan Xu more jealous and desperate, while the supposed heroine seems far more interested in befriending Su Mo than stealing him.

As misunderstandings unravel, Su Mo must decide whether the love she thought was one-sided has been mutual all along.

Zhou Ci and I were also a pair of resentful lovers, exchanging harsh words and blows, finally threatening, “Whoever doesn’t get divorced is a dog.”

On the way to the divorce, we cursed each other with the most venomous words we could muster.

But when the oil tanker crashed towards us, he jerked the steering wheel, using his side to take the impact.

He let me live 0.01 seconds longer.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in the summer at the end of my second year of high school.

Zhou Ciye was holding a bouquet of flowers, asking if I would accept it.

The next second, his listless face lifted, full of gloom.

The moment our eyes met, I knew he had come back too.