On our wedding night, my husband told me something plainly.
His heart belonged to Concubine Song, and there could never be anything between him and me.
I was not to use my position as the lady of the household to make Concubine Song’s life difficult.
Furious, I tore off my bridal veil and gave him two choices.
Either we went to his parents together and asked what exactly they meant by arranging this marriage.
Or he brought Concubine Song to me so the three of us could settle matters face-to-face.
He feared I would bully his beloved concubine, while I feared she would use his favor to humiliate his lawful wife.
After a brief hesitation, my husband chose to summon her.
The three of us sat down and agreed on three rules.
First, Concubine Song was never to set foot in my main courtyard, and anything that happened if she did would be her own responsibility; the same rule applied to me.
Second, since my husband refused to consummate our marriage that night, we would never share a bed for the rest of our lives.
Third, if his parents pressed us for an heir, he would deal with them, and if I suffered punishment or loss because of it, he would compensate me.
My husband’s face turned glacial as he signed the agreement in a fury.
From that day on, he never entered my room again.
Concubine Song basked in her victory and laughed at me for giving up the finest man in the world.
The two of them settled into their sweet little romance.
I was too busy building a life of my own to spare them a thought.
But three years later, my husband stepped into my courtyard with an uneasy look on his face.
I knew at once that he regretted everything-and that he wanted to sleep with me.
I said calmly, “Let’s divorce.”
