Slice of Life

In my senior year of high school, my parents cut off every cent of my living expenses and tried to force me to drop out.

With nowhere else to turn, I enrolled at an elite school packed with rich heirs.

My grades were good enough to earn a full tuition waiver, but tuition was not going to keep me fed.

After going hungry for half a month, I finally worked up the courage to face the classmates who never studied and ask, “Does anyone need their homework done? It’s only five yuan per assignment.”

The young masters and heiresses, who had been busy showing off their wealth, fell silent and stared at me in shock.

Then the room erupted.

“Five yuan? Who do you think you’re insulting? Five hundred—I’m first!”

“Five thousand! Put me at the front!”

“Fifty thousand—and I mean dollars!”

“I’ll top every bid! Let’s see who dares fight me for first place today!”

The day Grandpa’s legs were crushed, I knelt on the ground, kowtowing as I heard the thoughts of the people around me.

[The heroine is so pitiful. Shouldn’t we help her?]

[No! If we help her, how is Song Hansheng supposed to make his entrance? He’s my favorite male lead in a redemption romance!]

[Shen Song is the heroine’s true love!]

[Nonsense! The heroine is the wife I picked for my darling Jiang Yanbei!]

Later, those male leads really did enter my life, one after another.

They loved me, saved me, fought over me, and tried to force me into their arms…

But I hated this world, and I had no need to be saved.

My goal was to kill the male leads.

In my second year at the army brothel, I became pregnant.

Every soldier who had ever entered my tent fought to claim the child as his own.

Chen Shitou had come to me only once, yet he dropped to his knees and begged, “Miss Yang, I’m about to go into battle with the vanguard. My parents have no child but me. I need to leave them something to remember me by.”

Later, I went to his hometown and met two of the kindest parents in the world.

I was my birth parents’ third child.

While my birth mother was pregnant with me, the village fortune-teller swore I would be a boy.

They could hardly wait.

They hid from place to place throughout the pregnancy and finally brought me into the world in the bitter cold of the twelfth lunar month—

a girl.

I was the heroine of a sweet-wife story: delicate, soft, and made to be swept off my feet.

All I had to do was behave and let one man after another dote on me.

My stepbrother was walking toward me with a glass of milk when a system appeared.

It told me that, according to the plot, I was supposed to develop a sex addiction that very day. From then on, the slightest contact with a man would leave me unbearably aroused, and it would only get worse.

That sounded pretty good to me.

I drained the milk in one gulp.

My stepbrother smiled.

I smiled too.

The system gave an even more wicked little chuckle.

“Except I just changed it into an addiction to studying.”

I grew up without a father or a mother.

When the widow at the east end of the village lost her son, I ran over and asked if she wanted to be my mother.

When I saw how strong the rough woodsman at the west end was, I asked if he wanted to be my father.

That was how the three of us pieced together a family.

On the day Mother was buried, Father gave me three copper coins.

He sent me all the way to West Street for candied hawthorns, but when I returned, he was gone.

Two days later, I found him at the lantern festival with a beautiful lady and another little girl in his arms.

The candied hawthorns he claimed to want were still wrapped in my hand.

Rather than waste them, I offered them to a pale, handsome prince who refused to drink his bitter medicine.

That small gift changed both our lives—and gave two abandoned hearts a home.

Ever since I was little, Mother had told me that the Marchioness was a broad, hulking shrew with the heart of a viper.

Anyone who offended her, she said, would be beaten half to death and locked in a dark room to perish.

Yet on the day we were brought to the marquis’s estate, the woman seated at the head of the main hall looked like a celestial maiden.

Mother sprang forward and hoisted her out of the chair.

“Sitting in the Marchioness’s place? Have you got a death wish?”

My father drowned while building a bridge for the village.

Our stepmother beat and berated us, and everyone thought she treated us terribly.

Years later, my brother rose to high office, and the emperor granted her the title of Lady of Imperial Mandate. Only when she stood at the height of honor did everyone finally understand: beneath her cutting tongue was the softest heart.

Song Qi drew a dare: check his phone.

Of everyone in his contacts, who had he told “I love you” the most?

The class beauty: three times.

Me: 972 times.

The jeering around us died at once.

The class beauty burst into tears.

In front of everyone, Song Qi deleted my contact information, then smiled as he coaxed her.

“That’s worth crying over?”

“You know I only dated her for three months to keep up an act.”

“Nothing I said to her was real.”

Those nine hundred-odd declarations had all come from one drunken night.

Song Qi had crouched by the roadside, impossible for anyone to pull away, his head bowed as he sent me the same three words over and over.

“Once I send you ‘I love you’ 999 times, the bet is off.”

“Then we’ll be together for real, okay?”