Revenge

I am the vicious supporting character in a novel.

Yet I have been forced to watch one transmigrator after another take over my body, throw away all dignity, and grovel before a little beast already rotten to the core, all because they dreamed of saving him.

They called it redeeming the villain—showing him the warmth and beauty of the world.

Without exception, every one of them was betrayed once the little beast rose to power, and every one died without an intact corpse.

Now the cycle has begun again.

I expected another laughable attempt at redemption, but this time, before the villain could grow into his power, the new transmigrator drove a blade straight through his heart.

Blood flecked her face, making her smile look dark and uncanny.

“I’d already made a mortal enemy of him, so why not kill him and end the threat for good?”

“This redemption game is painfully dull.”

On the day of my daughter’s sixth birthday, she fell into a lake, and the soul of a transmigrated woman took possession of her body.

She was not the first transmigrator I had encountered.

I expected another loud, shallow creature like Consort Chao, but this one proved entirely different.

As she stood on a spy and scolded me for being weak and softhearted, I discreetly wiped the blood from my hands and sighed.

Facing the Buddha, I said only, “Amitabha.”

After my older sister was assaulted, she fell for her attacker.

He was handsome, she said, and she wanted to marry him.

The news landed our parents in the hospital.

She still refused to come to her senses.

She clung to that man shamelessly and even transferred our family’s money to him behind our parents’ backs.

Everyone thought she had lost her mind.

Only I did everything I could to grant her wish and help her marry him.

I took an arrow for my husband and suffered grave internal injuries.

After four years recuperating on an estate in the south, I returned to the capital and found another woman had taken my place.

My son relied on her, my daughter adored her, my mother-in-law valued her, and even in our marriage bed, my husband called out her name.

I could not bear it and made a scene.

Together, they drove me to my death so the obstacle I had become would disappear and they could live happily as one family.

For twenty years, I wandered as a ghost and watched the end they brought upon themselves.

Then I was reborn on the road home.

I had returned.

“Don’t go back to the estate yet; I want to visit the Empress Dowager in the palace,” I said.

My legitimate elder sister and I joined the Wuji Sect on the same day, and our master taught her the Carefree Dao.

When it was my turn, Master gave me a sidelong glance and told me to seek my own Dao.

But I could not read, so I thought he wanted me to learn the way of theft.

Thirty years later, he emerged from seclusion, took one look at the boundless emptiness where our sect had once stood, and was struck dumb.

“Have the demons invaded?!”

My father was once the best-known peddler on Qingyun Street.

He walked from lane to lane selling everything from thread to malt candy.

Then he became addicted to opium.

He sold Mother back to a brothel and stuffed my little sister and me into the baskets on his carrying pole.

The last time he shouldered that pole, the rest of our lives swung from either end.

My sister was a goldsmith who entered the palace to deliver jewelry, only to be knocked unconscious by Consort Yi.

Consort Yi had quarreled with the emperor, so she stole my sister’s clothes and exit token and slipped out of the palace for fun.

Furious and frantic, the emperor cut my innocent sister down with a single stroke, then rode out to find the woman he loved.

In the end, my sister’s body was thrown into a mass grave.

The emperor and Consort Yi returned sweetly together on the same horse, and their reunion became a celebrated romance.

Half a year later, I became one of the emperor’s beauties.

After all, I am not human—I am a marten.

If a fox spirit can bewitch a ruler, so can a marten.

When I was eleven, my stepmother pushed me into a river, and after being passed from hand to hand, I ended up in the pleasure quarter.

Five years later, on an ordinary morning, I painted my brows, opened her door with a smile, and said, “I’m back. I missed you.”

Not long afterward, my stepmother’s body was found in an old well.

Three months after he dumped me without warning, I found my boyfriend again—with no memory of ever leaving me.

His eyes were clear, his mind stranded in the days when he had loved me most.

So I took him home.

I trapped him with the cheapest sweet nothings.

Then, just as he had once done to me, I turned his own tricks against him.

And drove him mad, one careful inch at a time.

I ran a wonton stall and raised a young master who had fallen on hard times.

But young masters do not stay fallen forever.

He was a wealthy family’s son, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Sooner or later, he would return to the heavens and become a star.

I had grown up begging for scraps from swill buckets. No matter how you looked at it, I was mud beneath his feet.