Short story

I fell for the beautiful, powerful, tragic second male lead.

For his sake, I shattered my spirit meridians and lost every trace of my cultivation.

Yet when the heroine burst into our wedding hall, he still abandoned me for her.

I called after him, “Xie Qingxing, take one step beyond that door, and I’m done with you.”

He merely held the girl in his arms and showed me the cool, aloof line of his profile.

“She needs me. How can I stand by and do nothing?”

But he had forgotten that Meng Zhiyuan was not the only person who needed him.

My spirit meridians were completely severed, and without pure-yang spiritual energy to sustain them, they would wither within half a month and take my life with them.

But that was all right.

Xie Qingxing was hardly the only cultivator in the world who practiced the Formless Sword.

After I accidentally fell into the water at six, I became the silliest girl in all Jiangnan.

And yet, I was also the luckiest, for I had a husband who was wonderful in every way.

From what I wore to what I ate, he personally took care of everything for me.

Then one day, I wanted a second bowl of iced cream at dinner.

When he refused, my cousin, who had never liked my husband, questioned me.

“A-Fu, don’t you think your husband bosses you around too much?”

My husband answered coldly on my behalf.

“She doesn’t.”

My cousin tried again.

“Your cousin never bosses you around like that, so doesn’t that mean I’m still the better one?”

My husband frowned, then calmly wiped the corner of my mouth.

“Good A-Fu, did you hear that?”

“Your cousin is trying to drive a wedge between us.”

“He’s absolutely rotten.”

Ever since I was little, Mother had told me that the Marchioness was a broad, hulking shrew with the heart of a viper.

Anyone who offended her, she said, would be beaten half to death and locked in a dark room to perish.

Yet on the day we were brought to the marquis’s estate, the woman seated at the head of the main hall looked like a celestial maiden.

Mother sprang forward and hoisted her out of the chair.

“Sitting in the Marchioness’s place? Have you got a death wish?”

Xu Man is forced into the Crown Princess Academy with only one goal: get her tuition back and save her ailing father.

When the academy uses rules and money to grind its noble students into submission, she joins forces with her classmates, exposes its corruption through a single ledger, brings the bride-training institution to a halt, and balances the books for women determined to win back their freedom.

In high school, the boy seated behind me had a crush on me, so he put glue in my hair, punctured my bicycle tires, and threw away my homework.

He would even snap my bra strap while I was concentrating in class.

Snap-the sound rang out with humiliating clarity through the classroom.

I spun around, red with shame and fury, and he grinned at me. “New style today, huh?”

His friend immediately joined in. “Xia Xin! He only does it because he likes you!”

“You two are going to get married someday anyway, so who cares if your future husband touches you? Hahaha!”

The tips of Zhou Qi’s ears were bright red, but the sight only made my stomach turn.

Later, in the cafeteria, I dumped a tray of food over his head and smiled into his furious face. “I like you!”

His friend leaped up to defend him. “How is dumping food on his head supposed to mean you like him?”

See? They knew exactly what they were doing.

So I yanked down his pants with one hand and said flatly, “There-now I like you.”

Before I married into the Eastern Palace, I secretly kept a man in Jiangnan behind the Crown Prince’s back.

He had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and worked hard in bed.

His only flaw was that he bragged far too much.

He was plainly a rough country man, yet he spoke of imperial treasures with utter disdain.

He claimed the Cloud-Mist tea reserved for the imperial family tasted like swill and that he used it to feed his cattle.

Rubies worth a fortune, he said, had been nothing but marbles to him as a child.

Even when I decided to leave him, he kept boasting.

Kneeling at my feet with both arms wrapped around my legs, he begged, “Weiwei, don’t go. I’ll make you Crown Princess!”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I have no interest in being Crown Princess.”

He stared at me in shock and muttered, “Weiwei, how are you even better at bragging than I am?”

Later, I married into the Eastern Palace. I heard the Crown Prince had long cherished another woman in his heart.

Though he had lost his memory, he had remained chaste for her.

He told me coldly, “I do not love you. Expect nothing from me.”

I blinked at that familiar face. Even after he crouched down to wash my feet, he still could not make sense of it.

With an adorably baffled look, he asked, “What’s going on? How come I’m so good at taking care of you?”

My father was a professor at a prestigious university, and my mother held a doctorate in literature.

But only my older sister inherited their brilliant genes.

As for me, all I could do was chant “Makka Pakka,” the bitter little gourd their family tree had produced.

When my parents divorced, my sister chose Dad.

“I don’t want a retarded little sister,” she said.

I turned to Mom. “Be happy, Mommy. Makka Pakka!”

Luckily, Mom took my advice: she happily quit her job and started a company.

Years later, Dad nearly drove my genius sister out of her mind.

And I, still Makka-Pakka-ing my way through life, became the daughter of a millionaire.

The day the bandages came off my eyes, he never showed up; instead, I received a message from his childhood sweetheart.

“You may have saved him, but don’t try to hold it over his head. He doesn’t have time to pick you up, so make your own way home.”

I called him, only for him to hang up the instant his phone rang.

When I finally saw him again three days later, he demanded to know why I had sent such a message to slander his precious childhood sweetheart.

I watched the aura of fortune above his head hemorrhage away.

Suddenly, accepting that I was the heroine of a melodramatic angst novel did not seem so difficult after all.

The noble consort who had been cherished all her life said on her deathbed that she regretted everything.

“If there is a next life, I would gladly trade places with you. I would be a lowly palace maid, endure until I turned twenty-five, then leave the palace and be free.”

“The emperor’s favor, all this hollow wealth and splendor – whoever wants it can have it.”

Tears ran down her face as she said that all she wanted was a love that was pure and true.

Just before she closed her eyes, she clutched my hand.

“Cherry, will you do it? Will you trade places with me?”

Weeping, I pressed my lips to her ear.

“This servant is willing.”

I had spent a lifetime cleaning up her messes.

I was so tired.

Mother always said that if a woman wanted to stay radiant, she had to know how to nourish herself.

Ginseng and deer antler were useless.

What truly nourished a woman was a young, vigorous man.

Following that regimen, she still looked sixteen well into her forties.

Having grown up under her influence, I understood the secret by the time I turned eighteen.

Scholars were lean, generals solid, actors charming.

I had sampled them all.

The one I found most intoxicating was Shen Zhaoye.

I lavished mountains of gold and silver on him, yet never so much as put an arm around his waist.

Then he came to take his leave, claiming he had found a more powerful patron.

Furious, I followed him by lantern light into Springwater Lane.

When I kicked open the door, he was kneeling beside a couch, offering tea to someone.

The beauty reclining there lifted her eyes lazily.

My lantern went out, and my soul nearly fled with the flame.

“Mother?! You’re sleeping with my man?”