Heartwarming

After five years of marrying into my family, my penniless scholar husband passed the imperial exam-and suddenly decided I, his butcher wife, reeked of grease and blood.

For half a month, he hemmed and hawed and refused to do his husbandly duties.

So I used the silver I’d earned selling pork to buy him two ink sticks and a ream of fine paper, then scraped together the last of my coins for a tiny bar of scented soap.

When I made it home through the rain, the big yellow dog under the eaves had one of the meat dumplings I’d wrapped dangling from its mouth.

From inside the house came a coy, wheedling voice.

“Father, the magistrate’s daughter smells so nice. Not like Mother.”

“And these pastries taste better than meat dumplings too.”

I took all the bits and pieces I’d hidden against my chest and threw them out-along with the father and son.

When Zheng Huaishu signed the divorce papers, he held our son in his arms and glared at me with resentment.

All the neighbors in the village laughed at me for letting a future official go.

The very next day, the matchmaker introduced me to a fair, slender stutterer.

A little girl trailed behind him.

Father and daughter gave me timid looks.

I asked irritably, “How often can you do your husbandly duties?”

“And how much meat will you eat in a day?”

The stutterer’s face turned bright red. The matchmaker yanked his clothes down over half his shoulder, and he said in a slow, gentle voice, “As long as my child gets a mouthful of rice… as her father, I’ll do anything…”

When a wealthy family came to the orphanage to choose a child, they wavered between me and Cheng Yun.

A barrage of comments scrolled before my eyes:

[The female supporting character is about to start acting pitiful again so she can get adopted.]

[Even if she does get adopted, she’ll just be abandoned later anyway.]

[She’ll spend her whole life hated by everyone, chasing what she can never have. Just another girl obsessed with competing against other girls.]

I silently lowered my head.

Because the “female supporting character” they were talking about was me.

Suddenly, two figures loomed over me.

A Northeastern couple who had never been mentioned in the plot looked down at me, their faces lighting up with surprise.

“Oh my goodness, look at this pretty little thing!”

“Sweetheart, your uncle and auntie are having pork and glass noodle stew at home today. Smells amazing. Wanna come back with us and have some?”

The Noble Consort was the most clearheaded woman I had ever met.

Even though His Majesty showered her with endless, singular favor, she always guarded her heart and refused to give it away.

I thought that if things went on like this, she would eventually be moved by His Majesty and meet him with sincerity in return.

Unfortunately, I never got to see that day.

Because His Majesty found someone else to cherish. He came to the Noble Consort for advice, asking her to help him win over the young woman he adored.

He said, “I have never liked a girl this much before. What do you think of me marrying her and making her Empress?”

Before my father, Zhao Yong’an, left to join the army, he said that if he died out there, my mother was allowed to remarry the village hunter.

But though the hunter had a crippled leg, he was the fiercest man around. They said he could kill a tiger with a single punch, and that he had even beaten his previous wife to death.

If my mother married him, it would be no different from sending her to her death.

Three years later, sure enough, news came that Father had died.

Grandmother and the clan elders took twenty taels of silver from the hunter and forced my mother to be sold off to him.

There’s something worse than being the third wheel when two of your friends start dating.

It’s when they break up. And then fight over custody of me.

I transmigrated into a tragic romance novel as the female lead’s sister.

In the original plot, I spent my time abusing her daughter while simultaneously trying to seduce her husband.

Ultimately, I groomed her daughter to become the next generation’s tragic heroine, while I met a miserable end myself-tossed into the ocean to feed the fish.

Now, looking at the innocent Little Bean Bun standing before me, I said: “If you love suffering, you’ll have a never-ending supply of it. So, do you want to swallow that bitter pill, or are you going to speak up for yourself?”

“Go up there and give him a piece of your mind. If you win the argument, I’ll buy you a burger; if you lose, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“What? You’re afraid to win? Do you really love being a perpetual runner-up that much? You don’t have to be number one, but you can’t settle for second best, and you certainly can’t be a pushover.”

“Your mother brought you into this world to enjoy life, not to suffer. Go compete, go grab what’s yours, and be brave! Go get ’em, baby!”

Do you know what it feels like to be diagnosed with a terminal illness at such a young age?

There is no spring in the Sea of No Return.

On the eve of our wedding, Shang Wujiu personally gouged out my Heart Lamp and sealed me within the Sea of No Return.

Three hundred years later, he knelt by the shore, begging me to return.

But he didn’t know that the lamp-the very thing that had extended his life-had long since burned into ash at the bottom of the sea.

In our seventh year together, Liang Qiezhao was getting married into another family for business reasons.

The night we broke up, we were unusually calm. “I’ll move out as soon as possible,” I said.

“There’s no need for that.” The man sat hunched by the window, slowly and methodically clipping a cigar as he gave his instructions. “I’m transferring the title of this apartment to you. It’s closer to your office.” “Your old car is getting on in years and should be replaced. I’ve also left some money in your primary account.” “As for the future… if you run into any trouble and it’s inconvenient to contact me, you can call Secretary Qin.”

He spent a long time clipping that cigar. The cut was perfectly smooth, yet he kept his eyes down, inspecting it repeatedly. He didn’t light it, nor did he look up for a long time.

Behind him, clean, even snowflakes were drifting down. I suddenly remembered Christmas Eve that year. Regent Street was bustling with people under the Angel Lights, snow falling all around us.

Twenty-seven-year-old Liang Qiezhao had held my hand tightly. He held on until our palms were damp. And even then, he couldn’t bear to let go.

On the very first day I hung up my sign offering a “Protection Charm for a Happy Marriage,” the handsome guy from next door came to make a wish: he wanted to be a normal person.

That night, he collapsed beneath the Torii of my home, drenched in blood that shimmered like liquid gold.

My small shrine, which hadn’t seen a single offering in three months, had suddenly picked up a deity on the verge of being reclaimed by the heavens.