Short story

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?”

Mother ascended to heaven.

She left me two things: an old yellow dog and a manual for cultivating immortality.

Oh, and one promise.

“Whenever someone beats you, shout your mother’s name three times, and I will come save you.”

I never shouted.

Father had seldom used his fists lately; he had heard that girls in our area had suddenly become valuable, and a wounded one would fetch a poor price.

My eldest legitimate sister hanged herself the night before she was to marry into the Eastern Palace.

The Court of Judicial Review’s postmortem report recorded an impossible finding: she was a virgin, yet three months pregnant.

Her baffling death destroyed my family—my mother killed herself, my father went mad, and the once-glorious Pei estate became a house of ghosts overnight.

Ten years later, I became the Court’s only female coroner and pushed open the carved door of my sister’s long-sealed chamber.

There, buried in my memories of that night, I found a truth monstrous enough to overturn everything I believed.

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.

When our village reservoir dries up, several skeletons and eighty-eight strangely shaped stone Buddhas emerge from the mud.

Grandma warns everyone never to touch the statues.

But after my cousin dies by smashing his own head against one of them, I uncover a century-old injustice—and a vengeful spirit determined to make every descendant of the Lin family pay.

After my boyfriend dumped me, he planned to go to Tsinghua University with the beautiful top student and live happily ever after.

But when the National College Entrance Examination ended, I was the only student from our school admitted to Tsinghua, and I took the stage as the student representative.

The two of them could only watch from below.

My elder sister disappeared when she was little, but fortune favored her: the Yong’an Marquis household took her in and raised her with every comfort.

By the time she returned to us, our mother had already arranged one marriage for her, while the marquis household had promised her to someone else.

One man was the adoptive brother who had grown up beside her; the other, her childhood betrothed.

Unable to let either go, she proposed a compromise: she would marry whichever man found the jade hairpin she hid.

The day she hid hers, however, she hid mine as well.

In my last life, Wei Heng found a hairpin first, but the one in his hand belonged to me.

The smile had barely touched his lips when her adoptive brother said coldly, “You cannot even recognize Ah Zhi’s hairpin. I suppose that leaves you no choice but to marry Ranran.”

After we married, every quarrel between my sister and her husband sent her running to Wei Heng in tears.

His heart ached for her, and his old regret never faded.

“If you had married me,” he would murmur, “I would never have made you cry. Not even once.”

I found them together beneath the moon, composing poems, and side by side among the spring blossoms.

Whenever I showed the slightest displeasure, Wei Heng called me jealous and narrow-minded, saying I could never match my sister’s poetry or painting.

Now I had returned to the day Wei Heng picked up my hairpin.

I held out my hand.

“Young Master Wei, Mother is already considering matches for me. Please return my hairpin.”

Madam Lin is choosing a bedchamber maid for her son.

All the pretty maids are eager to be picked.

Holding my fire poker, I ask Granny Shi, “Can I roast a potato?”

Granny Shi says, “Can you please show a little sense?”

Born a princess yet treated as the sacrificial “flower” for her twin brother, Lou Guanqi grows up with her health, fortune, and future quietly drained away.

After enemy soldiers carry the twins beyond the border, she survives humiliation and abandonment before finding a real family in Yunhuai Village, where Lou Sibao becomes the devoted elder sister she never had.

When the court drags Guanqi back into imperial power, every betrayal pushes her closer to vengeance—and every victory costs another piece of the love that once saved her.

As an ancient gu curse begins to reverse, Guanqi must decide whether a stolen throne can heal a life built on sacrifice, or whether power will devour everyone who still calls her family.

The newly crowned top scholar accidentally swallowed the love gu I had meant for my absent husband.

To keep him alive, I had to share his bed every seven days until the antidote arrived.

What began as mutual resentment slowly turned dangerously tender—just as my husband, General Zhou Hanchuan, returned and recognized me as the woman he had never forgotten.

Now one man refuses to let me go, the other refuses to grant me a divorce, and I am trapped between two rivals who would sooner kill each other than give me up.