Clever Protagonist

Seven years after he forced me into marriage, my domineering CEO husband fell in love with someone else.

I wasn’t worried.

His sister, on the other hand, was so anxious she burst into tears.

“If you get divorced, what are Song Yu and I supposed to do?”

Song Yu.

The name sounded so familiar.

He was, if I remembered correctly, the childhood sweetheart I’d been dating before I married Gu Zeyan.

Li Furong spends three years saving Xie Qingheng through exile, only to be dismissed before his powerful friends as nothing more than a loyal servant.

When the man who promised her a future breaks his word and forces her into a nameless place in his household, she turns every lesson in survival against him.

Trapped among noblewomen as dangerous as the men who command them, Furong must decide how much of herself she will sacrifice to win the one thing she has always wanted: a life that belongs to her.

The women in the detention center didn’t much like me.

Among all those streetwise girls, I was the only one who wore glasses.

When they finally asked what I’d done, I told them: I’d stolen five thousand yuan from my parents to go to Peking University.

They laughed and called me an unlucky kid.

The day I got out, my parents didn’t come.

A battered van did.

Blondie rolled down the window and told me to get in.

She was taking me to the station.

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 my daughter’s birthday banquet, the longevity lock in its brocade box had been replaced with a decapitated snake.

As every noblewoman in the courtyard screamed in terror, my husband’s former beloved reddened her eyes, hugged her son, and apologized.

“He is only a child.

He did not mean to curse the young lady with an early death by bringing her a headless snake.”

Beneath her lowered gaze was a taunt.

She was waiting for me to fly into a rage and ruin my own daughter’s celebration.

I merely gave a quiet hum.

At once, a servant swung a cudgel into the back of her knee.

She dropped to the ground before me, smashing her forehead against the flagstones.

Blood streamed down her face.

She looked utterly wretched.

I tapped the lid of my teacup without even looking up.

“Drag her out and kill her.”

“The child may not know better, but is the adult dead too?”

I was a terrible stickler for the truth.

When my husband returned from war, he brought a woman home.

The moment she saw me, she dropped to her knees and declared that she wanted to marry the marquis, even if she could only be his concubine.

I said nothing at the time.

But after tossing and turning until midnight, I could bear it no longer and knocked on her door.

My husband wasn’t the marquis.

The marquis in this household was my widowed father-in-law; my husband was only his third son, born to a concubine.

Her dimming eyes suddenly lit up at the word widowed.

By the time Mother found me and brought me back to the palace, I was a farm girl.

My every gesture betrayed my lack of breeding.

People laughed at me.

She already had a brood of children, each precious as gold and jade.

She could scarcely be bothered to glance at me, while the girl who had taken my place was the darling of her heart.

Later, Mother went from empress to sovereign.

She simply sent me to a bitterly cold fief and left me to fend for myself.

After several years of frontier winds, just as my heart was giving up hope, an imperial edict arrived.

Mother commanded me to return to the palace and fulfill my duties as a loyal subject and a dutiful daughter.

But I already knew she was merely short of a princess to marry off for peace.

My subordinate was so excited that he sprayed spittle as he spoke.

“My lady, this summons gives us every right to return.

We will never have a better chance.”

For the first time, I did not tell him to be quiet.

My mother was exquisitely beautiful.

But during the years my father studied abroad, another man kept her in his power and abused her.

On the day Father returned, he stumbled upon what was happening.

I thought he would be horrified.

Furious.

Instead, he merely closed the bedroom door.

And heartlessly shut my mother inside with her humiliation and her tears.

After marrying the notoriously tyrannical emperor, I accidentally swapped bodies with him.

But the exchange wasn’t quite permanent.

By day, he dismissed officials.

By night, I rescued them.

He punished the consorts.

I soothed the beauties.

And he still had the nerve to snap at me.

“Which hand did you touch her with?”

Honestly.

Without me, this country would fall apart sooner or later.

When my beloved childhood friend publicly humiliated me, my own sister called it harmless fun.

I answered by turning his joke into a scandal that swept the capital.

After years in exile, I returned unwilling to bend—to my scheming sister, her five doting brothers, or the prince who treated my marriage as a bargaining chip.

They expected a disgraced noblewoman they could sacrifice.

Instead, I used every plot against them, exposed every betrayal, and chose to break before I bowed.