Antihero Protagonist

My best friend stumbled into a suicide game, and it shattered her worldview.

Talk one person into killing themselves, and you were guaranteed at least ten thousand yuan.

Sell “suicide merchandise,” and you earned a twenty-percent cut.

The merchandise included death-scene photos, bloodstained clothes, ongoing reports on the victim’s family, and more.

My righteous best friend worked tirelessly for a month…

and managed to talk eight of the game’s chat groups into disbanding.

The people behind it lost their minds. “Wasn’t she diagnosed as an extremely rare antisocial personality during testing? How did she turn into a saint?”

Had it ever occurred to them that she wasn’t the one who took the test?

I was.

And as someone with that exceedingly rare antisocial personality, I preferred making my own rules.

I was the legitimate daughter of an illustrious clan, mild by nature and untouched by worldly desire, and I should have become the sacred monk’s disciple at the imperial temple, spending my life before an ancient Buddha and a solitary lamp.

For the sake of prestige, however, my parents insisted on marrying me to the eldest son of a ducal household—a well-matched libertine notorious for his debauchery.

Before I left, the monk heaved a long sigh and gave me a fragment of the Buddha’s bone, warning me to wear it at all times and never let it leave my body.

After I entered the Zhu household, my husband first brought home a concubine, then took a proper wife, but I did not mind, and my husband’s aunt praised me for knowing my place.

When my husband molested a colleague’s female relative and the Censorate denounced him, I did not mind, and my husband’s aunt praised my sweet temper.

My sister-in-law kept control of the household accounts, claiming that someone as pure as I was should never sully herself with the stink of money.

My mother-in-law demanded that I wait upon her morning and night and handle every task myself, so that I might become a model noblewoman.

At an imperial banquet, the Grand Empress Dowager took a fancy to the Buddha’s bone at my breast and demanded it for herself.

My mother-in-law hurried to tear it from my neck and offered it up with both hands, fawning shamelessly.

At last, I smiled in deliverance.

Twenty years, you damned bald donkey—let us see how you plan to keep the evil inside me chained now.

Qiu Yue learned young that in troubled times, only a hard heart and a ruthless hand could keep a woman alive.

When the innocent Jiang Wanning searches an entire city and saves her from death, Qiu Yue vows to protect her for the rest of her life.

So when a scheming scholar tries to ruin Wanning’s reputation and force his way into her family, Qiu Yue quietly leads him into a dark alley.

The scholar dies, a tale about a pig demon spreads through the capital, and her trusting young mistress believes every word.

Anyone who wants to hurt Jiang Wanning should understand one thing: Qiu Yue may wear the sweet smile of a harmless maid, but she has never hesitated to kill.

The boy who loved me more than anyone else in the world was dead.

His name was Jiang Yan. He was a police officer, stabbed seven times by a rich second-generation heir while trying to save a girl from domestic abuse.

Afterward, the girl tearfully claimed that Jiang Yan had molested her, and that was why her boyfriend had stabbed him.

The killer even got off scot-free with a psychiatric evaluation declaring him mentally ill.

As I stared at their faces, I suddenly laughed.

A psychiatric evaluation, huh?

What a coincidence.

I had one too.