Slice of Life

I came second in the imperial examinations.

The first-place winner was the sort of swaggering hero who conquered everything in his path.

He spent his days drinking, writing poetry, and visiting brothels.

The third-place winner was the hero of an erotic novel.

He spent his days sleeping with princes and generals.

Once I became a censor, I worked overtime every day impeaching the two of them, until my face turned sallow and my eyes were ringed with blue.

Then I checked my pay at the end of the month: ten taels of silver.

Furious, I threw down my memorials, picked up my brush, and started a side business: Episode One: “The Third-Place Scholar Charms in Women’s Clothes; the First-Place Scholar Spends a Fortune for His Smile.”

Ji Yan’s first love hit me with her car.

When she called him, he rushed to the hospital.

His expression faltered slightly when he saw me.

After he and his first love accompanied me through the examinations, he asked how much the medical bills were.

For three years, we had kept our marriage a secret.

Even when I miscarried, he had never come to see me in the hospital.

This was the first time he had ever accompanied me to a medical appointment.

When the nurse told me to have my husband look after me, I switched off my phone.

That would not really work.

We were in the process of getting divorced.

I’ve always been absurdly confident.

When the system told me to win over the male lead, I said it would be a piece of cake.

He rejected me, begged me to torment someone else, and claimed he wasn’t good enough for me.

Clearly, he needed a guiding partner he couldn’t chase away.

I succeeded—until the system returned and announced his affection score was zero.

Apparently, I’d fallen for an extra with the male lead’s exact same name.

For two years, my online boyfriend and I have turned ordinary life into an absurd rich-heir role-play.

Then he adds me to his childhood-friends group, and I discover that every outrageous claim was true: he really is a powerful heir, and his so-called loyal lackey is the president of my company.

Convinced I have deceived him, I try to run before the truth ruins everything.

But Fu Yan has known exactly who I am all along, and he has no intention of letting class differences—or my spectacular misunderstandings—end our romance.

“Can I touch your tail?”

Twenty years ago, I used that same pitiful act to lure a snow fox into a cage and sell him to people from a zoo.

Twenty years later, I was on a blind date when a beautiful silver-haired youth sat down beside me, gently linked his arm through mine, and pouted.

“Honey, why are you going on blind dates behind my back?

Don’t you like me anymore?”

A cup of coffee hit me in the face.

The woman opposite knocked her chair aside and stormed out.

“Gay men who trick women into marrying them can go to hell!”

I wiped the coffee off my face and turned to him.

“Who are you?”

The silver-haired youth had already resumed his icy aloofness.

He sneered.

“The Fox King.

Here for revenge.”

On my first day in the Duke of Liang’s household, my stepdaughter threw her ceremonial tea onto the floor, and my stepson threatened to have me cast out.

I drenched her with a teapot and took a ruler to his hand.

When their father asked what had happened, I told him I was merely teaching the children our household’s rules.

Everyone says a stepmother’s lot is hard.

But this household would recognize only one mistress: me.

I was a third-rank hairdressing maid at Chengxi Palace.

My greatest pleasure each day was making Her Ladyship look beautiful.

What?

His Majesty had visited a dancing girl from Jiangnan?

Time for a fresh summer look full of little joys…

What?

His Majesty had developed a taste for exotic beauty?

Time for a midriff-baring outfit inspired by the flying celestial figures of Dunhuang…

My skills earned me the position of chief steward of the inner palace.

Then, when I turned twenty-five, I needed to leave the palace for a while.

The Noble Consort, who usually ignored everyone, clenched her teeth.

“I forbid you to go!”

The dignified, courteous Empress smiled gently.

“The palace rules are outdated.

It is time we changed them.”

But—but I was only going home to visit my family!

When my mother married Wang the Mute, she was already carrying me.

Everyone in the neighborhood had advice for him.

Some told him to get rid of the bastard with a strong dose of medicine.

Others told him to write a divorce letter and throw my mother out.

Wang only smiled, turned around, and sent for the best midwife for miles.

Then I was born.

The day I decided not to get married, Chen Shuo was at the market buying a bass.

He sent me a photo and asked, “This one’s nine hundred grams.

Too big?

Mum said you liked it steamed.”

I stared at the fish lying in its plastic basket for ten or fifteen seconds, then replied, “Chen Shuo, let’s not register our marriage next week.”

He probably thought I was stressed about the wedding again.

After a while, he replied, “Sure.

We can push it back.

You’ve been busy with your project lately anyway, haven’t you?”

I said, “I don’t mean push it back.”

There was nothing from him for two minutes.

“What do you mean?”

I put my phone facedown on my desk and didn’t answer.

At 4:27 that afternoon, I was sitting in a windowless meeting room with a final account for a construction project worth forty-seven million yuan spread out before me.

The printer kept spitting out paper next door.

The air vent hummed overhead.

My supervisor, Wei, was arguing with the contractor’s people over a hundred and seventy thousand yuan in additional works claims.

Everything was ordinary.

So ordinary it hardly seemed like the afternoon a woman had decided to cancel her wedding.

No one had been caught cheating.

There had been no slap, no other woman, no sudden revelation of anyone’s true colours.

Chen Shuo hadn’t betrayed me.

He was, by most standards, a decent man.

He didn’t smoke, didn’t throw money around, wasn’t violent, and had no interest in going out for what men called “a night with the boys.”

If you drew up a job specification for a suitable husband, he’d score eighty-five out of a hundred.

So everyone asked me, “Then why on earth won’t you marry him?”

That turned out to be the hardest question to answer.

Because when an adult truly wants to leave a relationship, there often isn’t one devastating piece of evidence against the other person.

Just one small bill after another.

And suddenly you realise that, for seven years, every one of those bills has had your name on it.

My beautiful, wealthy roommate and Beijing’s golden boy had a love life that was one long melodrama.

To make him jealous, she crooked a finger and stole the childhood friend I’d known for over ten years.

The golden boy came to find me.

“I’ll give you a hundred.

Get that mediocre childhood friend of yours away from her.”

Every novel I’d read about bringing an arrogant man to heel flashed through my mind.

I flicked my hair in what I hoped was a seductive gesture and said, “Give me two hundred.

Then pretend to be my dog and drive her crazy.”

“I guarantee she’ll never dare bring up breaking up with you again.”

He looked stunned.

“Two hundred?

Are you robbing me?”

I was stunned too.

“You can’t spare two hundred yuan?”

Suddenly, he went quiet.