Depression

The villain was rich, but depressed.

I was poor, and worse, I was the heroine of an angst novel.

My parents were destined to die, leaving me and my grandmother to depend on each other.

Then, when Grandma fell seriously ill, I would have no choice but to grovel at the male lead’s feet.

He would torment me physically and emotionally, lock me up, make me miscarry, and in the end, I would die in despair.

Only then would he be filled with regret.

I figured all of it came down to being broke, so I decided to throw my lot in with the villain.

I found the villain quietly slitting his wrists and, fighting off the dizziness from low blood sugar, tried to talk him down.

“I’m not here to stop you. I just wanted to discuss whether you could maybe die a little later.”

“You don’t want your assets to go to your dad’s illegitimate son, do you? Are you really okay with them inheriting your money, buying yachts and private jets, and traveling the world?”

“All you have to do is hold on for a few more years. Then you’ll found your own company, become the new darling of the tech industry, and multiply your wealth more than tenfold.”

“I’ll help you take a shortcut. When the time comes, give me a cut, and I’ll help you get rid of Xie Xun.”

The villain’s eyes lit up, but he still looked disdainful.

“You?”

“Be grateful. Besides me, who else is on your side? Your dad? Your mom?”

That stabbed the villain right where it hurt.

Because he was an orphan with both parents still alive.

I found a chat log on Sheng Jing’s phone.

He had sent his female assistant a video of me helping Jiu Jiu with her homework and losing my temper.

“This is why I’d rather work overtime at the office than come home.”

The young assistant replied with a “poor you, sending hugs” sticker. “Manager Sheng, you have it so hard.

Work is exhausting enough, and then you have to deal with all that when you get home.”

When I transmigrated into the role of the true heiress, a universally disliked person, the story had already reached its end.

The fake heiress, doted on by all, had won everyone’s affection, leaving me to be cast out onto the streets. Destitute and adrift, I still clutched a half-eaten meat bun made from lymph node meat in my hand.

Such a miserable script gave me not a shred of will to live.

I lifted my head to look at the clear blue sky, my expression serene and relaxed. I was fully prepared to give up, contemplating whether to follow the original owner into the afterlife and elegantly choosing between a car crash or jumping off a building as the more dignified demise.

Just then, a passing gang of robbers dragged me into a car.

They pressed sharp knives to my throat, grinning ferociously:

“Don’t move! This is a robbery! Call your family right now and have them send five million in ransom.”

“If you dare make a sound, I’ll send you straight to hell!”

As expected, heaven has its own plans.

I nodded contentedly with a smile, tossed the bun aside, and screamed at the top of my lungs:

“Help!”

I am an old palace maid.

I have spent thirty-five full years in this deep palace.

The Chinese parasol tree before Qingliang Hall flourishes year after year, while I grow older with each passing year.

In this lifetime, I have seen the young and inexperienced Consort Zhen pass away, the Consort Yu in the prime of her beauty pass away, and even the white-haired Empress pass away.

They all died in the bloom of youth, crushed beneath the weight of imperial power.

Within these deep palace walls, how many beautiful women’s skeletons lie buried?