Childhood Friends

I was the concubine Madam forced on the General.

She was testing whether his heart had strayed.

He remained perfectly unmoved and ordered me to copy scriptures all night to prove his devotion.

And me? My hand ached. So did my heart.

On my first day as the City Goddess, a half-grown boy came to offer me incense.

“Make my father meddle in my life less!”

So I kept his father busy with business, leaving him no time to press the boy to study.

Then his grandfather arrived, wielding an enormous sandalwood ruler.

After the beating, the boy limped back into my City God Temple.

I quietly poked my head out and saw him baring his teeth as he complained, “What a lousy deity!”

I could not stop myself from muttering, “I am not lousy.”

Ten years after graduation, at a class reunion in Beijing, I saw him again.

Among a group of male classmates nearing thirty and starting to put on a bit of weight, he still looked as young and handsome as ever.

We sat far apart at the table and didn’t exchange a single word.

When the reunion ended, a light rain began to fall, and I hurried to leave.

To my surprise, he stopped my car.

“Xiao Shan.” His eyes were just as clear and transparent as they had always been.

Perhaps it was because of the rain, but there seemed to be a faint hint of urgency in his voice.

“Could you… give me a lift?”

As a child, Li Sujun saved an immortal lord who promised to answer whenever she lit the Heaven-Seeking Incense.

She called for him three times.

He never came.

Years later, Sujun has become a healer—and the same immortal lord lies powerless at her door after failing his tribulation.

He insists she is the trial of love he must overcome.

She thinks he should look closer at his own mistakes.

But the dog, cat, and little snake in her home are not what they seem, and the path Sujun abandoned is already winding back toward her.

To understand what Zhao Yunzhi truly lost for her, she must face the family that discarded her, the sect that used him, and the difference between love as possession and love as freedom.

Everyone in my family had sickly bones.

My eldest sister coughed three times for every three steps, spat blood every third day, and fainted every fifth.

My brother’s bones broke at a touch—one a month, seven or eight times a year.

I alone had a head of iron and a body of bronze.

I could ram a peach tree with my forehead to bring down the fruit.

The tree shook, the peaches fell, and I was perfectly fine.

When I was seven, an eminent monk passed by.

One look at me, and he blurted out: “Bronze skin over bone.

A demon born.”

I couldn’t be bothered to listen.

I charged him headfirst and knocked him flat on his back.

It took him ages to wake up.

When he did, he laughed instead of getting angry and asked my parents: “Would you have your children live long lives, sound in body and bone?”

“Take one bone each from your eldest daughter and your son.

Nurture them beside your youngest daughter’s heart, then cut them out when she turns eighteen.”

“Your eldest daughter will then rise like the sovereign moon, and your son will be the richest man in the realm.”

My parents trembled.

“And this girl?”

The monk held my wrist, half closed his eyes, and chuckled out a little song: “No future as a human.

As a beast, she’ll have plenty of room to roam.”

Five years ago, I left Qi Tan in a fit of pique.

Later, after he won the Best Actor award, he stood at the Hundred Stars Awards Ceremony holding my photograph, pleading for help to find me. “My lover has been missing for a month,” he said. “Please, help me find her.”

But the news of my gruesome death had already broken countless times back in 2018. Qi Tan, however, had suffered a trauma-induced bout of amnesia, forgetting everything that happened after I died.

On the day his manager announced that Qi Tan was retiring from the industry indefinitely, the news of his suicide exploded across the headlines.

After the college entrance exams ended, students leaving the test site were interviewed and asked how they felt in that moment.

A handsome boy with eyes like stars and moonlight looked into the camera and said calmly, “I only hope to realize my dreams.”

A moment later, he added in a low voice, “And meet the rainbow in my heart.”

The camera cut to a girl with dimples and a smile as bright as a blooming flower. A rainbow hair clip pinned in her hair caught the light in tiny, glittering sparks.

She stuck out her tongue playfully. “Oh no, I think I might not get into Q University! If I end up having to repeat the year, Pei Zhiyu, you have to wait for me!”

Pei Zhiyu was the person I liked.

But I was not that beautiful girl.

When that interview aired, I was hiding at home, sobbing my heart out because I had bombed the college entrance exams.

It looked like my life and my first love were both about to be completely over.

My husband is wonderful to me.

He is incredibly considerate and gentle in bed, too.

After several failed attempts to actually make him angry, I finally resorted to posting a plea for help online: [How can I get my husband to be a bit more aggressive?]

[Sweet talk is all well and good, but I really want to try dirty talk.]

[Angry sex? Never tried that either.]

There were plenty of helpful netizens, but unfortunately, their suggestions were underwhelming.

That was until the day I came home drunk after a class reunion.

The living room was shrouded in darkness.

In the fragmented Moonlight, my husband did something rare-he called me by my full name. “Lin Sui, come here and kneel.”

In the seventh year of having a crush on my childhood friend, encouraged by my best friend,

I carried flowers and a cake onto an overnight train to confess my feelings to him.

But on a basketball court roaring with noise and people,

I ran straight into the sight of the two of them kissing.

With his arm around my best friend, my childhood friend asked coldly, “What are you doing here? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Disheveled and humiliated, I was just about to explain

when his roommate beside him let out a soft laugh. “My girlfriend came to bring me a cake. What’s it got to do with you?”

As Yan Zhengyang’s ultimate simp,

I had done square dancing with his grandma.

Played Go with his grandpa.

Played mahjong with his mom.

And with his dad…

Oh. Not his dad, actually.

I had mastered every trick in the book and was convinced Yan Zhengyang would never escape my clutches.

But a thousand pounds of devotion couldn’t compete with a few ounces of cleavage.

Ever since a curvy beauty moved in next door to him, everything changed.