All Novel

I was a spy.

While posing as a courtesan to deceive a man, I ran into my polished, scholarly foster brother.

His eyes held a dangerous gleam.

“Short of money?”

“What business is it of yours?”

He gave a cold laugh.

“I’ll make it my business for the rest of your life.”

I entered a horror game, and the final boss asked how I wanted to die.

“Thanks.

I’ll take old age, after a long life.”

The boss: “…”

There was a fool in my village who was always muttering: “Rock, scissors, cloth…”

The order had to be right.

If anyone got it wrong, he flew into a rage.

One day, a body turned up in the abandoned mud-brick house beside mine.

Even I became a suspect.

When the police carried the body out, it was still wrapped tightly in coarse cloth.

But when the fool saw it, his muttering changed to: “Cloth!

Cloth!

Cloth…”

I thought I understood why his rock, scissors, cloth had to come in that order.

A ridiculously handsome rich boy transferred to the university.

Not only could he drive a Rolls-Royce one-handed, he was funny, charming, romantic, and a shameless flirt.

There was just one problem: every girl who dated him got sick.

They couldn’t stand sunlight, craved blood, and even grew fangs.

“You smell wonderful.

You’re the sweetest-smelling girl I’ve ever met!”

The rich boy tied me to a pillar, looking utterly intoxicated.

“My little darling, is there anything you’d like to say to me?”

I tilted my face up and gave him a brilliant smile.

“Let evil and corruption scatter; let the Dao’s vital energy endure.

Obey this command with all haste!”

My childhood friend was the most popular boy in school.

He had dated nineteen girls, and every one of them was still in love with him.

Then Chen Qingsong transferred to our school.

The school beauty my childhood friend was pursuing abandoned her usual cold reserve and began showering Chen Qingsong with attention.

On our way home, he said lightly, “Xu Dusui, why don’t we give it a try?”

Almost at once, he dismissed his own suggestion.

“Then again, a clingy pest like you would be a better match for Chen Qingsong.”

I didn’t answer.

I was too busy texting: “Chen Qingsong, are we kissing again today?”

I took a concubine for my husband.

The concubine was tall and long-legged, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and extraordinary beauty.

My husband nearly lost his mind.

Because when the concubine pulled it out, it was bigger than his.

On the day I ascended the throne, I discovered that I could hear objects speak.

The Dragon Throne was a chatterbox, and a scalding bowl from the imperial kitchens screamed in my hands.

When I dropped it, only I could hear the shattered pieces lamenting their fate.

Prince Xiang’s heir was every noble young lady’s dream—and the emperor’s favorite candidate for the throne.

I slipped a little something into his soup to secure my future.

Unfortunately, my sister and three other ladies had the same idea.

One bowl later, he dropped dead at the imperial banquet, and all five of us became suspects.

I swore on my father’s life that I hadn’t killed him.

The trouble was, every suspect had a secret—and I wanted far more than a handsome husband.

I won my husband, Yang Dongye, with thirty wontons.

His family had fallen on hard times, and I was a notorious old maid: plain, fiery-tempered, and perfectly capable of keeping a household standing.

He wanted someone capable; I wanted someone young and handsome.

After several happy years, his family was exonerated—and his former fiancée came running from the capital.

I came second in the imperial examinations.

The first-place winner was the sort of swaggering hero who conquered everything in his path.

He spent his days drinking, writing poetry, and visiting brothels.

The third-place winner was the hero of an erotic novel.

He spent his days sleeping with princes and generals.

Once I became a censor, I worked overtime every day impeaching the two of them, until my face turned sallow and my eyes were ringed with blue.

Then I checked my pay at the end of the month: ten taels of silver.

Furious, I threw down my memorials, picked up my brush, and started a side business: Episode One: “The Third-Place Scholar Charms in Women’s Clothes; the First-Place Scholar Spends a Fortune for His Smile.”