Revenge

My elder sister was said to be a bodhisattva reborn.

Her kindness cost me my dowry, my home, and finally my life.

When a magpie chose two brides for the crown prince, she became his virtuous wife, and I became the concubine who would bear children for her and do her dirty work.

Even my own son wished she had given birth to him.

I ended that life with a plate of poisoned pastries.

Now I have opened my eyes on the day of the consort selection again.

This time, I will not be her stepping-stone.

After her noble family falls, Si Lan and her elder sister are sold into a duke’s household.

Si Lan fights for every meal, every quilt, and every chance to survive, while her sister gives away the rewards and accepts the praise for her generosity.

In her first life, Si Lan’s sacrifices make her sister the heir’s concubine.

When his wife has Si Lan framed, the sister she protected refuses to save her.

Beaten to death, Si Lan wakes at the beginning of their servitude with every memory intact.

This time, her sister can fend for herself.

Armed with a sharp tongue and knowledge of the future, Si Lan begins working toward something far more valuable than a master’s favor: her freedom.

By the time Xie Ruo’an realized he had mistaken me for someone else, I was already his wife, three months with child.

That night, the eldest young master, always so dignified and composed, got drunk.

He looked at me for a long time, then sighed.

“Very well.

Let things stay as they are.”

And so I spent my whole life as the Marchioness of Xie.

I alone shared his bed, adorned in pearls and jade.

Everything seemed perfect.

Yet whenever I woke from dreams in the middle of the night, I remembered the stillness in Xie Ruo’an’s eyes that evening.

There had been no joy in them.

No dislike, either.

A twist of fate had kept him from marrying the girl he loved.

So he accepted it, and spent the better part of his life quietly by my side.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day he came to ask for my hand.

Lavish gifts filled the hall with gold and jade.

I refused the marriage and told him calmly, “My lord, you have the wrong woman.”

I was a midwife.

Up in the hills, I found a pregnant woman.

She claimed to be the wife of the Marquis of Yongning.

She begged me to save her, promising to repay me a hundredfold.

I said nothing and quietly took her home.

To everyone else, she was my cousin, a rich merchant’s concubine who had come to me for shelter.

Because I had just returned from the Yongning estate.

Where I had delivered the marchioness’s baby.

The day after our wedding, my husband went to the city for work and was killed by a falling billboard.

The CEO of the company responsible came to discuss compensation.

I said I was struggling to make ends meet.

He transferred me three million yuan.

I said I had nowhere to go.

He gave me a luxury apartment.

I said I didn’t want to stay a widow.

He gave me a handsome young man.

The morning after we slept together, he came to see me.

I was about to thank him when his expression changed.

“What is my brother doing here?!”

In my last life, I saved He Yan, the young master of a marquis manor.

He took me as his wife, and for a time, our marriage was the talk of Shangjing.

But I had been born and raised in the countryside.

My manners were crude, and my reputation gradually soured.

He Yan, too, slowly grew distant from me.

I wept day after day, and before I even reached thirty, I died in misery.

Given a second chance, I swore I would never live that way again.

Only, after eating wild greens for three days straight, I realized I simply could not let go of the marquis manor’s soy-braised pork knuckle, sticky rice chicken, crab roe lion’s head meatballs, scallion-fried lamb…

When the war ended, the army prostitutes did everything they could to persuade soldiers to take them home, because the alternative was being sold to a brothel.

By the time the dark-skinned, taciturn centurion came looking for me, only an old dying woman and I remained in the camp.

She laughed and asked why I was still waiting for Young General Pei when he was about to marry a princess in a blaze of glory.

That night, Pei Qingfeng pinned me to the bed and ordered me to wait for him at the house he had bought outside the city.

Not once did he ask about the man who had visited me that day.

He seemed certain I would never leave with anyone else.

What he did not know was that I had already accepted the centurion named Zheng Yuan.

On the day Pei Qingfeng married his princess, Zheng Yuan and I would be married too.

I’d been devious since I was little.

In primary school, my parents planned a holiday with just my brother.

Right before they left, I slipped Mum’s phone into the dirty laundry and threw it in the washing machine.

The phone was a washout.

So was the holiday.

In high school, some girls formed a clique and froze me out.

I made a fake account, posed as a tall, rich, handsome boy, and flirted with every one of them.

When they confessed their feelings, I acted torn.

“You’re lovely, but your best friend has been so good to me too.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what to do.”

The clique fell apart from within.

They kept sabotaging one another until graduation.

But I’d never shown that side of myself to my boyfriend, Xu Lang.

Until he started constantly mentioning an innocent younger student.

“You have no idea how clueless Meng Yuan is.

She can’t even find her way around outside.

I’m afraid someone will sell her off and she’ll help them count the money.”

I knew what this was.

Xu Lang’s attention was wandering.

It wasn’t quite cheating, but it was unpleasant enough.

I said nothing.

Xu Lang was an only child whose family’s wealth ran to ten figures in yuan.

No one was getting between me and that prize.

Chi Heng pretended to be poor and became my kept boyfriend.

Each month, I scraped together five hundred yuan from my living expenses to give him, and this went on for a year and a half.

As graduation approached, I finally found out:

He wasn’t a poor student on loans, but a young master who spent money like water.

He’d even been using someone else’s name the whole time.

The young master condescended to invite me to go abroad with him.

His friends all said I was lucky-with just a kind little white flower persona, I could climb up the social ladder.

Under his gaze, brimming with confidence that he’d get what he wanted,

I shook my head and said gently, “Better not.”

“I’m here to break up with you.”

My lady was injured and lost her memory. She forgot everyone, yet she remembered my husband.

My husband was once a beggar.

During a heavy winter snowfall, he lay by the roadside, covered in blood and filth.

Passersby all steered clear of him, but my lady alone ordered her carriage to stop and took him in.

From then on, he stayed in the manor to tend the horses for her.

My lady often visited him under the pretext of checking on the horses.

I saw the deep, lingering affection in their eyes with my own.

But how could a young lady of her status ever marry a horse slave?

Heartbroken, she told him:

“I cannot marry you.

“But I will find someone to take care of you in my stead.”

My lady personally betrothed me to him.

Later, the lowly horse slave found his way back to the imperial capital and reclaimed his identity as a prince.

I, in turn, became his legitimate consort.

On the day of the investiture, I was waiting.

I knew.

Sooner or later, my lady would come back to reclaim what was originally hers.