Short Story

I’m a washed-up, eighteenth-tier starlet who spent three years playing the submissive role just to marry into the Jiang Family, the wealthiest clan in the Beijing circle.

My three-hundred-million-yuan ‘wedding of the century’ to Jiang Yuan, the family’s only son, instantly shot to the top of the trending searches.

However, a big shot from the metaphysics circle claimed I had the face of a concubine.

The livestream chat exploded immediately:

“That’s hilarious. It’s the year 3202-who still becomes a concubine?”

“Is it possible they don’t mean a concubine, but a mistress?”

My expression darkened. I joined the livestream and pulled out my marriage certificate for everyone to see.

To my surprise, the master simply said:

“Among the living, you are indeed the primary wife.

“But if we’re counting the dead… well, that’s a different story.”

In our seventh year together, Liang Qiezhao was getting married into another family for business reasons.

The night we broke up, we were unusually calm. “I’ll move out as soon as possible,” I said.

“There’s no need for that.” The man sat hunched by the window, slowly and methodically clipping a cigar as he gave his instructions. “I’m transferring the title of this apartment to you. It’s closer to your office.” “Your old car is getting on in years and should be replaced. I’ve also left some money in your primary account.” “As for the future… if you run into any trouble and it’s inconvenient to contact me, you can call Secretary Qin.”

He spent a long time clipping that cigar. The cut was perfectly smooth, yet he kept his eyes down, inspecting it repeatedly. He didn’t light it, nor did he look up for a long time.

Behind him, clean, even snowflakes were drifting down. I suddenly remembered Christmas Eve that year. Regent Street was bustling with people under the Angel Lights, snow falling all around us.

Twenty-seven-year-old Liang Qiezhao had held my hand tightly. He held on until our palms were damp. And even then, he couldn’t bear to let go.

I was abducted and sold.

But I didn’t cry, and I didn’t cause a scene.

I even married a handsome man.

He asked me, “Do you want to escape?”

I replied with a beaming smile, “How could I, Brother?

“In life, I am yours; in death, I am your ghost.

“I will be with you for all eternity.”

He finally smiled and leaned down to kiss me.

I closed my eyes.

That’s right, of course I’m going to be with you for all eternity.

My life was destroyed by you.

Naturally, I’m going to drag you down to hell with me.

Jiang Yu broke up with me again.

This time, I planned to do what I did when he first dumped me at eighteen-go clear my head by the river.

But the wind off the water was freezing, so I decided to just head back. On the way home, I passed a barbecue stall. I thought I’d be like my twenty-year-old self, too heartbroken to swallow a single bite.

Instead, I found that the owner’s grilling skills were actually top-notch.

When I finally made it home, I intended to write him one of those long, pleading essays for a reconciliation, just like I did when we went through our routine breakups at twenty-two, twenty-three, and twenty-four.

But then my boss told me I had to go on a business trip. After nearly a month of being busy, I was practically entering a second honeymoon phase with my career in a neighboring city.

Jiang Yu finally couldn’t hold out any longer and called me. “Why haven’t you come to apologize yet?” Only then did I realize I’d forgotten something. Going through a breakup when you’re a little older is truly a hassle.

I could only ask him tentatively: “I’m so sorry, really. I’ve been so busy lately that I forgot to write the essay.” “How about… we just stay broken up?”

The day she died, a heavy snowfall blanketed the capital, sealing the city gates.

When the eunuch came to report the news, I was drinking in Noble Consort Liu’s palace.

I simply said, “Understood.”

It wasn’t until that cup of plum blossom wine-the one meant for our reconciliation-seared through my chest that I finally understood.

She had waited ten years, but she was never waiting for me to have a change of heart. She was waiting for me to die with her.

In Jiangnan, the Shen Family possessed a secret technique passed down through generations: the ability to embroider a person’s final appearance before they died.

For thirty years, my father embroidered for the powerful and elite, never once making a mistake.

That was until he died in his embroidery room, and on the Death Portrait before him-depicting a face bleeding from every orifice-was me.

I’ve read so many novels about the “crematorium” trope-where the husband has to crawl back and beg for forgiveness-but I never expected to find myself starring in one.

Except there’s no chasing, only the crematorium.

Because I’m actually dead.

I’ve become a ghost, watching the man who betrayed me. Seven days after my death, he finally seems crushed by a delayed sense of grief. In the home I can never return to, he howls in agony, acting as if life is no longer worth living.

You want to know how I feel?

I just stand there blankly, carefully admiring every inch of pain etched onto his face.

I listen intently to his desperate wails, triggered by my departure.

Beyond the desolation and heartache in my soul, a massive wave of schadenfreude suddenly wells up within me.

A joyful, blissful sense of schadenfreude.

It’s a sensation so sharp it borders on thrill. I cover my mouth and begin to laugh.

Three years after Lin Wan’s death, I found the record of her seven years of love for me tucked away in an old cardboard box.

The last page still carried the smell of medicine, where she asked if, in the next life, I could be the one to love her first. That night, I finally understood that the cruelest thing I had ever done was to let someone waste away to death without ever once looking back at her.

During the 618 sale, I was padding my cart to hit a discount threshold. I accidentally used my ex-boyfriend’s linked payment account-the one we’d never unlinked-to pay for a few pairs of men’s boxers.

“?”

My ex: “New man?”

Stubborn as ever, I bluffed, “Yeah, we just started dating. He’s way better than you.”

He replied calmly, “Looking at the purchase history, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

My sister has hated me for twenty years. She once told me to my face that it would be better if I just died.

So, just as she wished, I was diagnosed with stomach cancer.