Secret Identity

Five years into my career, people called me pale, skinny, young-looking, and a fake-innocent schemer.

Meanwhile, my stunt double used me as a stepping stone to climb her way up, becoming wildly popular with an occult persona.

On shows, she told fortunes for celebrities, saying she had learned it from her boyfriend.

That boyfriend she kept talking about was the eldest son of a famous Occult Family.

But when she and I ended up on the same paranormal variety show, her talismans suddenly stopped working.

As for me, right in front of an audience of tens of millions, I took down a whole pack of ghosts with my bare hands.

“You want to be my nephew’s wife? Did you get my permission first?”

On my wedding day, my twin sister knocked me unconscious and locked me in the basement.

Then she impersonated me and married my fiancé.

“From today on, your man is mine.” Her eyes were filled with sheer determination.

She left in such a hurry

that she didn’t notice I had stopped breathing in the darkness.

While everyone else was fighting for the Emperor’s favor, I built an intelligence station in the cold palace.

Until the day he died, the Emperor never knew that the woman stirring up the hidden currents of his harem was someone whose name he could not even remember.

I died in Yongxiang Alley during my third winter there.

Not truly died-only the kind of death where your name is crossed out in vermilion ink on the registry.

They said Noble Lady Li, who had once worked in the imperial garden and was later favored by His Majesty for her beauty, had gone mad.

Because on the late Empress’s memorial day, I let my hair hang loose, went barefoot, and sang a rousing rendition of “Liangzhou Ci.”

In truth, I was not mad. I had simply calculated that the Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial would pass through the imperial garden that day.

Madness was the best pass in the cold palace, and the best armor.

On the day I moved into the West Third Institute, only one lame old eunuch came to lead the way.

The weeds in the courtyard rose past my knees, and the moss on the well curb was as thick as a velvet blanket.

My roommate, Attendant Li, had been thrown in here three years ago after offending the Imperial Consort.

When she saw me arrive, she did not even lift her eyelids. She only kept rubbing a length of hemp rope in her hands, its edges worn fuzzy.

I set my only bundle down on the crumbling earthen kang.

Inside were two sets of worn palace clothes, a bald writing brush, and half a ream of yellow paper.

The paper pasted over the window lattice had a hole in it the size of a fist. The north wind poured in with a howl, carrying the faint sound of pipes and flutes from far away.

I stared at that hole, but in my heart, a sliver of light slipped through.

In a madwoman’s world, there were the fewest rules.

Here, perhaps, I could live.

I had no idea my boss was a famous fanfic author, one with excellent prose, thrilling plots, and a perfectly balanced diet of content.

And I was one of his top-paying readers.

His new story was a complete departure from his usual style: an utterly squeaky-clean original novel.

I happily topped up my account to buy the chapters, but the more I read, the more I realized the dense, romance-impaired heroine was a lot like me.

The only difference was that the male lead was a shy, innocent, introverted herbivore-type boss whose little inner commentary was ridiculously cute.

He was nothing like my real-life boss, who barely spoke, had a severe case of germophobia, and was an absolute menace.

Later…

The author posted in the comments: “≧◇≦ Thank you all for your support. I-I-I’ve decided to be brave and confess!!! >_<”

Magnanimously, I sent the author a huge gift. “Go for it! Be brave, author! Fear no hardship!”

The very next second, my cold-faced, frowning boss walked out of his office and stopped in front of me, his face bright red.

Me: “?”

For three years after I entered the Eastern Palace as a concubine, I had never even seen the Crown Prince.

I took it in stride. After all, I was face-blind.

If I mistook someone else for the Crown Prince and committed a capital offense, I would rather have no favor at all.

But after so long without his favor, even my food, clothing, and daily expenses became a problem.

To live a little better, I simply found three lovers to support me.

Zhang San worked in the Imperial Kitchen and could always bring me plenty of delicious food.

Li Si guarded the Garment Bureau and often sent me beautiful clothes.

As for Wang Wu, he was a skilled craftsman in the workshops. Every time we met, he gave me some clever new toy.

Lately, though, all three of them seemed short on money.

So I began thinking that I should try to please the Crown Prince and ask for some rewards to help support them.

My younger sister gave birth to a son in the Eastern Palace.

I brought a fortune in family wealth and cartloads of rare medicinal pills with me to the palace to visit her.

The moment she saw me, she nestled into my arms and began to cry, tears falling one after another.

Her movements were intimate, her voice soft and spoiled. There was not the slightest trace of distance or unfamiliarity between us.

And yet my entire body went rigid, a chill crawling up my spine and sinking into my heart.

Because the face before me, identical to my sister’s in every way,

was not the dead woman’s skin I had sewn onto her with my own hands.

I’m a fanfic writer with nearly a million followers on Big-Eyed Guy.

My OTP? A wildly popular young actress and a famous up-and-coming director.

Soon, self-media accounts across the entire internet would be required to register under their real names, and verified influencers with over a million followers would be the first batch to go public.

The moment I got wind of it, I deleted my account and ran.

Because I was that wildly popular young actress.

But netizens loved drama far too much to let it go. They started posting gossip threads across every major social media platform: Girl, who the hell are you?

I’m the number one antique appraisal streamer on the entire internet.

Because I’m good at what I do, have a terrible temper, and always look like I rolled out of a dumpster, netizens jokingly call me “Mei Chaofeng.”

It’s perfectly normal for viewers who join my livestream to get roasted by me.

“Sister Chao, how do I turn on my camera?”

“Figure it out yourself. You’ve got two eggs hanging under your eyebrows, but all they do is blink instead of see.”

“Sister Chao, what do I do if I can’t switch screens?”

“You’re a living, breathing person. Don’t tell me you’re going to let a piss break kill you. Just go be stupid somewhere else.”

“Sister Chao, does this look authentic?”

“Calling that garbage would be an insult to waste sorting.”

Until the person who connected with me was a pure, handsome hunk with the sweetest, softest little vibe.

His face flushed red as he held up a pile of “junk,” fumbling all over the place.

“Sister… I’m sorry… I couldn’t figure out how to flip the camera.”

And there I was, chin propped in my hand, smiling as gentle as could be.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know how. I’ll teach you, okay? No rush.”

The viewers in the livestream couldn’t sit still anymore.

[Did she just change faces???]

[Double-Standard Sister!!!]

After I found out the handsome guy’s family had gone bankrupt and he’d been forced to become a male model, I verbally advised him to get out of that line of work as soon as possible.

In my heart, however, I was already calculating how to get my hands on him for a little fun.

But later, the “junk” he took out turned out to be more valuable than the last.

Among them, that emerald gemstone haunted my every thought.

The pitiful little thing transformed into a noble young master. He loomed over me, trapping me in the corner of the bed.

The outer corner of his eye, marked with a tear mole, curved slightly as his predatory gaze swept inch by inch over my skin.

At his fair throat, the emerald swayed gently.

“Give me what I want, Sister, and I’ll give you what you want.”

On the eve of my wedding, my future mother-in-law forced me to press my bloodied handprint onto the paper. She told me the Shen Family wasn’t marrying me for love, but because my fate could save her son.

What she didn’t know was that the way to break that Marriage Contract had been left to me by my grandmother herself.

The woman my husband had always pined for was parachuted in as my intern.

She sobbed and accused me of bullying her, and for the first time, my husband raised a hand against me.

The next day, I returned to the company with the group’s dissolution notice in hand.

Only then did they realize that his position as deputy general manager-and the entire office building-were both mine to control.