Ancient China

The prince’s heir acquired a famous sword.

A fine sword deserved a beautiful woman.

My looks earned me the position of his sword-bearing maid.

Later, he took me to Taicang for the Sword Trials.

Someone saw me and remarked, “Baseborn to the bone.”

Everyone roared with laughter.

Only years later did they understand.

What the man had actually said was, “Blade-born to the bone.”

When my father died, he left me a pawnshop called Pawnshop Number Whatever.

By day, it had no customers.

By night, it was packed with souls, trading kindness, malice, and years of life for what they desired.

Tonight, my last customer was my husband, away on campaign.

He looked at the masked shopkeeper without recognizing me.

“I’d like to pawn my wife outright.”

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.”

On the day Pei Rongqi ascended the throne, a number of people were driven out of the palace.

Some were restless young maids; others were aging servants.

I looked at the eunuch and asked a rather presumptuous question.

“Eunuch Chen, must I leave too?”

We had known each other for years, and he looked a little troubled.

“His Majesty said it makes no difference whether the others go, Aunt Feng, but you must leave.”

I nodded in understanding and packed my things.

Looking back at the palace walls through the fine snow, I suddenly remembered Rongqi at nine, clutching my sleeve with all his strength.

“Sister, you must never, ever leave Rongqi.”

I was the heroine of an erotic novel.

Right in the middle of a passionate encounter, I suddenly landed in a chaste historical romance.

At that very moment, its male leads had lured me—the expendable supporting character—out to avenge their beloved.

They wanted to teach me a lesson.

Someone shoved me to the ground, and I couldn’t help letting out a little moan.

The man who’d been snarling at me a second earlier abruptly turned red at the tips of his ears.

“Ning Wan, what was that noise?!”

At twenty-five, I arranged for Bighead Xiao to take his first concubine.

Her dowry was an entire city.

At twenty-six, I arranged the second.

Her dowry was ten li of granaries.

At forty-two, he took his eighteenth.

There were so many women that I could no longer remember their names.

And I had gone from a farmer’s wife to the founding empress of Great Zhao.

“Oh, very well.

I will marry him.”

My sisters’ eyes went round.

Everyone knew how hopelessly I adored Ninth Young Master Cui: his literary gifts, his youthful grace.

I had led his horse, ground his ink, and made an utter fool of myself over him.

Why would I now agree to help our aunt the empress build her faction by marrying Pei Yao, that Turkic bastard neither of his parents cared for?

“Quick, tell Father!

Sanniang has agreed!”

My eldest sister reacted at once.

Afraid I might change my mind, she loudly applauded my decision and sent a servant off with the news.

The others recovered, hastily put on smiles, and clasped my hands from either side.

Such a sensible girl, they told me.

I was bound to go far.

I knew none of them would accept this splendid opportunity if it were offered to her.

But for me, it was already the best future I could hope for.

After all, in that dream, I had fought against it.

I was a coward by nature, timid as a quail.

Mother taught me the secret to making a living when you were poor— Do whatever people ask.

I never forgot.

At fourteen, my sister-in-law sold me to a brothel.

As she was leaving, she wiped away her tears.

“Xiaoqiao, I truly can’t bear to part with you.”

So I begged the madam to take her in too.

At seventeen, one of the girls stole my money to run away with a man.

When I caught her, she sobbed, “Xiaoqiao, cut off my hand!”

That night, blood covered the floor.

At twenty, I had saved enough to buy my freedom.

I gave every last coin to Lü Buyu.

We had been lovers for six months, and he had promised to take me away.

Instead, he used the money to redeem Qingyue, who had only just arrived.

He knelt before me.

“Xiaoqiao, she’s so pitiful.

I can’t watch her sink into this mire.”

“Or you could just kill me.”

For twenty years, I hated Shen Rou for stealing my husband.

I outlived her, rich and honored, yet on my deathbed I remembered that she had been only fifteen.

Given another life, I returned determined to expose her scheme and send her far away to a better fate.

But when I reached the pavilion, the hand sprinkling powder into the incense burner belonged to my husband.

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.