All Novel

While I was taking a bath, my phone suddenly popped up a message.

[There has been a vicious murder in the city, the killer is on the loose. Citizens are advised to lock doors and windows and not go outside.]

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

“Hello, Property Management here to check doors and windows.”

My hand holding the phone trembled.

There’s no Property Management in our neighborhood.

I am a Jiangshi.

My bones have hung on an ancient tree in the wilderness for over two hundred years, absorbing all the Moon Yin Energy.

The Night Patrolling Deity said that if I endured until the thirteenth day of the fifth month in the Ji-Mao year, my Cultivation would reach Indestructible Bone, and I could become a Spirit Monster, free from the Heavenly Dao Reincarnation.

I was quite pleased with myself, already pondering which spot in the mountains I should choose for a Cave Abode to become the Deer Cottage Immortal.

But then, a Flower Picking Scholar returning home for a funeral passed through the wilderness and ordered my bones to be taken down from the tree and buried in a pit.

He buried me…

Buried me…

Damn him, he’s dead for sure!

His Majesty handpicked three women to enter the palace and help secure the phoenix throne for the woman he loved.

The first was the Grand Tutor’s daughter, steeped in the classics and celebrated throughout the capital for her brilliance.

The second was the general’s legitimate younger sister, peerless with bow and horse and proud to the bone.

The third was me, a woman without powerful kin or scholarly fame, armed only with hands that could manage a household and turn simple ingredients into exquisite food.

On the night before I entered the palace, Grandfather reminded me again and again to keep my head down and stay safe.

I smiled and agreed, yet as soon as I turned away, I wondered why I should.

The learned woman had no respect for her sovereign.

The horsewoman let her mount trample the palace steps.

As for the woman raised to the phoenix throne, she could not recognize a written character if it were as large as a grain measure.

Now that I had entered this game, I did not want safety.

I wanted to win.

Now that I had caught the emperor’s eye, I would not settle for a share of his favor; I would take it all.

On the day Ran Ling returned to the capital in triumph, his long-lost first love was brought back to him.

She had once cast aside reputation and status to elope with him, and he had once taken a sword for her.

Everyone said the star-crossed lovers of their youth would finally get the happy ending they had been denied.

But I wasn’t worried, because my mother had transmigrated into this novel—and I was a devoted mama’s girl.

It didn’t matter what anyone schemed against me; I was the hollow rose my mother had raised.

I’ve read so many novels about the “crematorium” trope-where the husband has to crawl back and beg for forgiveness-but I never expected to find myself starring in one.

Except there’s no chasing, only the crematorium.

Because I’m actually dead.

I’ve become a ghost, watching the man who betrayed me. Seven days after my death, he finally seems crushed by a delayed sense of grief. In the home I can never return to, he howls in agony, acting as if life is no longer worth living.

You want to know how I feel?

I just stand there blankly, carefully admiring every inch of pain etched onto his face.

I listen intently to his desperate wails, triggered by my departure.

Beyond the desolation and heartache in my soul, a massive wave of schadenfreude suddenly wells up within me.

A joyful, blissful sense of schadenfreude.

It’s a sensation so sharp it borders on thrill. I cover my mouth and begin to laugh.

I am the deadweight sister of the Number One Sword Cultivator of the Heartless Path.

He is a once-in-a-millennium cultivation genius, while I have never possessed a spiritual root.

Whenever I encountered danger, I would do nothing but cry out for my brother to save me.

My brother would always arrive instantly.

He would wipe away my tears with one hand while slaying every demon and monster with the other.

I thought he would always spoil me like this. Until I found myself in peril once more.

No matter how much I screamed, my brother didn’t appear.

The provoked Ghost Fiend had already coldly gripped my throat.

Yet, all I could see was a swarm of bullet-chat comments mocking me: [The male lead is staying away on purpose. He wants this drama-queen sister to suffer a bit so she finally learns her lesson.]

[She knows she’s weak but keeps running around recklessly. If she doesn’t die, who will?]

[She really messed with the wrong person this time. The villainous Ghost King has a violent temper and hates weak, useless girls who do nothing but cry.]

[And it’s because she barged in so rashly that the female lead found an opening to break through the formation and escape.]

[The villain lost his beloved female lead again. He’s gone mad with rage and is going to swallow the supporting female lead whole…] I was so terrified that I didn’t dare shed another tear.

But then, I suddenly heard the Ghost King’s complaining inner thoughts: {Am I ugly? Why does nobody like me?} {Everyone who doesn’t like me deserves to die-}

Seeing the youth’s eyes grow increasingly crimson, I spoke up in a panic: “-I like you!” “I… I only came here to confess my feelings to you.” “Please be with me, Senior!” He froze.

My father is a black dragon.

My mother is a white dragon.

So my left half is black, and my right half is white.

In my spare time, I cover the left side of my face and cosplay as the White Wuchang, then cover the right side and cosplay as the Black Wuchang.

My parents will never have to worry about me finding a job again.

Qiu Ning had once thought Crown Prince Jin Ye was the man she was destined to marry, until Chu Mumu, a girl who had crossed over from elsewhere, forced him to kneel outside the Study Hall for a day and a night over her demand for a single, lifelong love.

When the imperial marriage finally soured, Qiu Ning still married into the Crown Prince’s residence. From that day on, every tear, every favor, and every tender glance became part of a game she meant to win.

On the eve of His Majesty’s bestowal of marriage, I lay in the Crown Prince’s arms and murmured, “Your Highness dotes on me so much. When my sister marries into the household, she won’t be angry, will she? Everyone else envies Your Highness for receiving His Majesty’s favor and being allowed to hold the wedding in the palace, but all I feel is sorry for you. It must be exhausting.”

I thought I was just putting on a fragile, sweet little act for the Crown Prince.

I never expected him to be sincere with me.

While I was at work, a line of comments drifted over my head: [Huh? Is this player pouring tea for the boss?]

[No way! This is a super SS-rank horror instance!]

The blood-red words swept past overhead, radiating an eerie, ominous air. Not far away, my boss sat with his gold-rimmed glasses on, head lowered as he read the newspaper, just like always.

I stopped looking at the “comments” and, bracing myself, picked up the cup of hot tea. “B-Boss, your tea is ready.”

The man in front of me didn’t take it.

Instead, he stared at me with an unreadable expression.

“Why are you so nervous?”

“Did you see something I can’t?”