Drama

On the day of my daughter’s sixth birthday, she fell into a lake, and the soul of a transmigrated woman took possession of her body.

She was not the first transmigrator I had encountered.

I expected another loud, shallow creature like Consort Chao, but this one proved entirely different.

As she stood on a spy and scolded me for being weak and softhearted, I discreetly wiped the blood from my hands and sighed.

Facing the Buddha, I said only, “Amitabha.”

I am the vicious supporting character in a novel.

Yet I have been forced to watch one transmigrator after another take over my body, throw away all dignity, and grovel before a little beast already rotten to the core, all because they dreamed of saving him.

They called it redeeming the villain—showing him the warmth and beauty of the world.

Without exception, every one of them was betrayed once the little beast rose to power, and every one died without an intact corpse.

Now the cycle has begun again.

I expected another laughable attempt at redemption, but this time, before the villain could grow into his power, the new transmigrator drove a blade straight through his heart.

Blood flecked her face, making her smile look dark and uncanny.

“I’d already made a mortal enemy of him, so why not kill him and end the threat for good?”

“This redemption game is painfully dull.”

My online boyfriend had an insanely attractive voice.

Every night, I hid under my covers and talked to him on the phone.

He indulged my every request, and his voice was so seductive it could practically get me pregnant on the spot.

Afraid my male roommate might overhear, I asked my online boyfriend to lower his voice.

That was when a comment feed suddenly appeared before my eyes.

[How can the supporting female character be this oblivious? She has no idea her online boyfriend is the obsessive male lead she lives with.]

[She really went and provoked him. She’ll have plenty of reasons to cry later.]

[She’s only chatting with him as a stand-in for the heroine, though. She’d better run before he finds out who she is, or it’ll be too late and he’ll…]

Terrified, I ended the call.

I stepped out of my room, intending to splash some water on my face and calm down.

Then, from the bathroom, I faintly heard a man’s voice trembling with restraint. “Baby, why did you hang up all of a sudden?”

The day Father strangled Mama to death, a fox spirit took over her body.

I caught her just as she was digging out Father’s heart.

She fumbled around trying to hide it, then deliberately let her fox muzzle show.

“I killed him, not your mother. Your mother was a good woman.”

“Oh,” I said, bringing over a clay pot.

“Wouldn’t that heart taste better stewed?”

My mother was the ubiquitous housekeeper Mrs. Wang from domineering-CEO romance novels.

After graduating from college, I inherited the family profession and became Mrs. Wang 2.0.

When the CEO’s first love faked a fall, I slid a cushion under her to keep her safe.

When Madam was too depressed to eat, I cheered her up with warm words and good food.

When the CEO scolded his first love, I comforted her too.

I lived by the housekeeper’s creed my mother had taught me: every visitor is a guest, and a good worker always sees what needs doing.

In the end, Madam and the first love came to blows over me.

“You can have my man—we can negotiate; try taking my housekeeper, and you’re dead!”

My mother taught me that a concubine could only live well by pleasing her husband until he cast aside his wife for her.

But I discovered that the lawful wife was beautiful, kind, and—most importantly—rich.

So I switched sides without hesitation and asked, “Madam, may I work for you instead?”

I told Jin Ran I was breaking up with him because I liked old men—rich, independent, quick to die, and generous with their estates—and asked whether he could offer me that.

Years later, I went on a third-rate prank show and was told to call my first love in front of a live audience.

I called Jin Ran. “Let’s get back together.”

After a long silence, his deep voice came through the phone.

“I’m twenty-seven. I’m not dying anytime soon.”

Born a princess yet treated as the sacrificial “flower” for her twin brother, Lou Guanqi grows up with her health, fortune, and future quietly drained away.

After enemy soldiers carry the twins beyond the border, she survives humiliation and abandonment before finding a real family in Yunhuai Village, where Lou Sibao becomes the devoted elder sister she never had.

When the court drags Guanqi back into imperial power, every betrayal pushes her closer to vengeance—and every victory costs another piece of the love that once saved her.

As an ancient gu curse begins to reverse, Guanqi must decide whether a stolen throne can heal a life built on sacrifice, or whether power will devour everyone who still calls her family.

Gu Yuqing is the daughter of a fallen general and the most unlikely court historian in Great Chu: a woman who can fight an army but can barely read.

When a modern woman awakens in the body of Empress Pei Lingyi, the two of them turn Yuqing’s brutally honest records into a weapon against corrupt ministers, unfaithful men, and a kingdom built to erase women.

As reforms spread and the Chancellor moves to seize the throne, Yuqing must return to the battlefield while Lingyi risks being erased from history altogether.

Between broken brushes, unfinished chronicles, and birthday cakes from another world, two women fight to write their names—and their love—into the future.

Born to a forgotten palace dancer, A-Xiu survives the Great Qi harem by keeping her head down and leaning on her kindhearted elder sister, Princess Ninghui.

When two arranged marriages promise both sisters a gentler future, A-Xiu slowly opens her heart to young general Bai Li while Ninghui prepares to wed her childhood love, Ning Ruyan.

But a coup on Ninghui’s wedding day exposes the price of loyalty and power, forcing A-Xiu to carry her sister’s final gift out of a fallen dynasty and build a life beyond the ruins of an old dream.