Ancient China

My mother was mad for her entire life.

Before she died, she left me a vast fortune and a note.

The note read: Survival Rules for a Tragic Romance.

One: Never pick up a man by the roadside, especially one who has lost his memory.

If you have already picked him up, sever all ties with him at once.

Ignore this rule at your own peril.

Two: Remember that human beings possess an organ called a mouth.

Besides eating, a mouth can also be used to speak.

When someone misunderstands you, use your mouth to explain the truth in a timely manner.

Three: There are many ways to repay a debt of gratitude.

They do not include forcing your savior into marriage, then deliberately neglecting, suppressing, and abusing her.

If any of the above occurs, flee immediately.

In the year of famine, disaster fell upon our entire village.

My little brother was so hungry he no longer had the strength to cry, yet his small belly was swollen tight and shiny.

Mother held him in her arms and sat on the threshold, motionless, like a clay idol that had lost its soul.

In the pot was Guanyin clay boiled in clear water. Eating it made your stomach swell, and then you couldn’t pass it.

“Girl…” Father finally spoke. “Don’t blame your mother and me for being cruel… In the palace, in the palace there’ll at least be a mouthful of food.”

When the human trafficker came in, he brought with him a gust of dry, cold wind.

“She’s decent-looking enough, just a bit too thin and weak.

“Three pecks of millet. Not a grain more.”

I saw Father’s hand trembling violently as he pressed his handprint onto that sheet of paper.

Three pecks of golden-yellow millet were poured into the only broken grain jar in our home, making a soft rustling sound.

It was such a beautiful sound-the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

My little brother would probably live through this winter.

Ten years after my death, the young crown prince had grown up. Clutching my memorial tablet, he announced that he wanted to marry me.

His father beat him to tears with a court memorial.

The august emperor roared, “Wake up! She’s dead!”

You’re the dead one. Your whole family is dead.

I drifted back and forth, then kicked over his most treasured seal.

It landed with a clack, stamping half an impression onto the memorial—right where my name appeared.

Ruiniang.

The crown prince held up the memorial. The tears on his cheeks had not even dried, yet he was laughing and crying all at once. “Ruiniang! Look, Father, it’s Ruiniang! She’s still alive. She’s still alive!”

The emperor was plainly startled, but did his best to look composed. “Nonsense! I simply lost my grip on the seal!”

I kicked it again. The seal that had just settled flat went rolling across the desk and stamped half a crimson impression onto his dragon robe.

Ruiniang.

The emperor panicked and bolted for the door. Halfway there, he remembered something, ran back, and grabbed the crown prince by the nape.

At least he had some paternal feeling. He knew enough to take his son when he fled.

“Guards! There’s a ghost!” he shouted.

The crown prince, meanwhile, was sobbing as he cried into the empty air, “Ruiniang, is that you? You’ve come back, haven’t you?”

Even in tears, he held my memorial tablet tight against his chest.

I looked at him fondly and reached out to wipe his tears, only for my fingers to pass through empty space.

My fingertips felt hollow. My heart ached a little.

Of course. I was a ghost. I could not touch the living; only the things of the dead would answer me.

In the dead of night, a friend called me begging for help.

“Save me! Someone with their bones showing broke into my house!”

I cursed him for being insane and was just about to hang up.

Then he sent me the video.

In the surveillance footage, a stark-white humanoid skeleton was pacing back and forth through his living room.

Have you ever heard of the Evil Children?

While volunteering as a teacher in Shanglian Village, I saw what true Evil Children were like.

They hung bloody animal carcasses outside my door.

They led an old bachelor to my place and tried every trick they could think of to get me to open the door…

But what they didn’t know was that I was a demon subduer.

This village had been placed under the Curse of the Evil Children, and disaster was about to strike.

But now, I have no intention of saving them.

I was trafficked to a mountain village for a ghost marriage.

But they don’t know I’ve lived for three hundred years and am the Dragon King’s Wife.

In the dead of night, I soothe the Black Dragon coiled around my waist.

“Alright, alright. They’re just little kids of sixty or seventy. What are you getting mad at them for?”

My roommate was a professional bride.

She said she’d landed a big job recently, and the client was incredibly generous.

When I saw the fee wrapped in red paper, I tried to talk her out of taking it.

But on the day of the event, my roommate still snuck off.

And she never came back.

What she didn’t know was that every one of the event’s organizers…

wasn’t human.

In my last life, Xie Wujiu stormed the capital, and blood ran like rivers before the palace gates. In this life, before he could fall into darkness, I forced him into a private school and made him recite The Analects every day.

Only later did I understand: asking a starving person to speak of benevolence and righteousness can itself be cruel.

While escorting a shipment through the mountains, I found a woman out in the wilds.

I immediately had someone take her back to Cloud City, and even wrote a letter to my husband.

But half a month later, when I returned,

I found An Chao tangled up with that woman in bed.

An Chao kissed her and murmured, “Ning Qiniang is coarse and rough. She can’t compare to your sweet gentleness.”

I kicked the door open.

Even in his panic, An Chao did not forget to shield the woman behind him.

“Qiniang, Rou Rou is a helpless orphan girl. Since you sent her back here, didn’t you mean for me to take her as a concubine?”

I was so furious I laughed.

An Chao had been blinded by the woman’s beauty. He clearly hadn’t read my letter carefully.

She was no orphan girl.

She was a fox woman!

I was the most envied courtesan in all the capital.

Simply because I bore a seventy-percent resemblance to the Crown Princess, someone threw down a fortune and bought me on the very night I was first listed.

Hugging that heavy pile of silver, I sat in a small sedan chair, both thrilled and anxious.

I secretly made up my mind: even if my patron turned out to be some nasty sixty-year-old geezer, I would still gaze at him with tender affection and kiss him anyway.

As long as I could get my contract of sale and take hold of my own freedom, I could do anything!

But when I saw the prisoner in the cell, soaked with urine and raving like a madman…

I turned around and wanted to leave.

Sorry. I had still overestimated myself!