“Xīwēi just won’t listen. She’s determined to marry Fu Xinghan, even to the point of wanting to die for it. I despise that young man with every fiber of my being!”
Grandfather Lin Weixin’s aged voice drifted in from outside the door, laced with worry and anger. To Lin Xiwei’s ears, it sounded dreamlike—yet also as distant as a past life.
Then another equally old voice chimed in agreement:
“I despise him too. He’s nothing but a soft rice eater who dares to chew hard—another Sima Xiangru wannabe. You and I have lived long enough to see through that little bastard’s vicious scheming at a glance!”
Lin Xiwei’s long, thick lashes trembled slightly as she slowly opened her eyes, recognizing the voice as that of Uncle Zhang, the old butler from her maternal family.
Uncle Zhang had once been her grandfather’s book boy, his lifelong companion. No matter how fiercely the tides of history surged, the Lin family never abandoned Uncle Zhang, and in the end even provided for him in his old age and burial.
Grandfather Lin Weixin sighed. “Xiwei has gone without food for a day and a night already. If this goes on… sigh.”
Lin Xiwei woke on the golden-thread nanmu wood dragon-carved bed, stars flashing before her eyes. Her thoughts stalled for a second before realization hit her like a thunderclap:
“Didn’t I end up crippled from Fu Xinghan’s domestic violence… lying paralyzed for thirty years, suffering until I finally died at eighty-four? How did I suddenly return to my maternal home? This doesn’t feel like a dream…”
Her eyes, green with hunger, swept quickly around the room—
A vintage European old-money style bedroom, filled with extravagant carved and inlaid gilt craftsmanship. The curtains and bedding were soft, romantic, French-girl chic. Even the decorative glass by the fireplace was mosaic stained glass, a replica of the Notre-Dame de Paris rose windows.
Only everything looked terribly worn, as if it hadn’t been mended or maintained for many years. Yes—this was her bedroom in the Lin Mansion.
The Lin family was once a renowned old-money clan in Shanghai. Unfortunately, even century-old aristocratic families could not escape the storms of history.
Lin Xiwei struggled up from the imperial dragon bed made of golden nanmu wood and called weakly:
“Grandpa… I—I’m hungry… eat… I want to eat…”
But her voice was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz. The old man outside didn’t hear a thing.
Fu Xinghan climbed in from the balcony, carrying an antique carved food box with peeling paint, calling out excitedly:
“Xiwei, Xiwei! I brought you your favorite dishes—poached chicken, steamed sea bass, crystal shrimp, and your favorite bird’s nest porridge.”
Lin Xiwei followed the sound and saw Fu Xinghan at twenty-two, refined and delicate—his handsomeness impossible to hide even beneath a bulky padded jacket.
He trotted to the bedside with the food box as if presenting a treasure, knelt on one knee, eyes brimming with affection.
“I heard from Yulan that you’ve been on a hunger strike for a whole day and night just to marry me. Xiwei, I’m really so touched…”
Lin Xiwei watched the young man by her bed, his mouth moving nonstop, her ears ringing blankly.
At that moment, she was certain—
She had been reborn.
…
Yet inside her heart, ice and raging fire clashed violently.
On this very day in her previous life, Fu Xinghan had also climbed in through the window to bring her food, showing concern and pouring out affection.
Little did she know that the bowl of bird’s nest porridge was drugged.
She drank it, unsuspecting.
Fu Xinghan’s paternal aunt Fu Cuilian—Lin Xiwei’s stepmother—then brought Grandfather Lin Weixin and others to smash the door open to “catch them in the act.”
Calling it catching adultery was generous. In truth, it was to force the old man to see with his own eyes the granddaughter he had personally raised, the refined young lady of a noble family, engaging in indecent acts with the lowlife he despised.
You, Lin Weixin, aren’t you so proud as the head of a great household?
Don’t you look down on us rural migrants and black households?
Isn’t the rose you nurtured with such care supposed to be pure and transcendent?
Well, look at her now. Still noble?
In her previous life, when the old man saw Fu Xinghan on his granddaughter’s bed, he was so enraged that he suffered a cerebral hemorrhage on the spot. He was rushed to the hospital but didn’t survive.
The only person in the family who ever stood up for Lin Xiwei… was gone.
She was then subjected to long-term PUA by her useless scumbag father and her honey-tongued stepmother, who claimed that her grandfather’s death was entirely her fault—that she was an indecent granddaughter.
This became a knot in Lin Xiwei’s heart for half her life.
It was only years later, when Fu Xinghan let something slip, that she finally learned the truth—she had been nothing more than a pawn, trapped in a carefully orchestrated conspiracy.
In a rage, Lin Xiwei had a violent confrontation with Fu Xinghan. The scumbag showed no mercy, beating her until she was paralyzed, bedridden for thirty years.
Her mother’s overseas fund was tied to her. Once she died, all the money would be donated.
Her scumbag father, stepmother, and rotten husband—parasites sucking her dry—forced the paralyzed Lin Xiwei to stay alive so they could continue spending her money, tormenting her until she was eighty-four.
Only after they completely drained the foundation under her name did they “grant” her death.
Fu Xinghan first secretly kept his white moonlight, Zhao Manxue.
Later, he stopped pretending altogether.
They lived as a de facto married couple right in front of Lin Xiwei for a lifetime and even had a son and a daughter.
After Lin Xiwei’s body had barely gone cold, Fu Xinghan beat gongs and drums to officially marry Zhao Manxue. Instead of holding Lin Xiwei’s funeral, they held a grand wedding, with a couplet that could be called an eternal “masterpiece”:
Half a century apart like weary swallows, letters of longing never delivered;
Looking back across a hundred years, a perfect match reveals true love.
…
Here and now.
Fu Xinghan stood before her, holding that drugged bowl of bird’s nest porridge, looking like a flawless, pure-hearted live-in husband, without a trace of scumbag about him.
“It’s cold out. Drink it while it’s hot. One bowl of bird’s nest porridge, and I guarantee you’ll be full of energy.”
Lin Xiwei’s eyes flickered. She glanced at the balcony, then at the bedside cabinet on the other side of the dragon bed.
“You came in alone? How did you get up from the balcony?”
The Lin Mansion was a French Concession villa built at the end of the last century, with a first-floor ceiling at least ten meters high. Without help, Fu Xinghan couldn’t possibly climb to the second floor.
“Yulan brought Ju Ying and Haojie to help me. They set up a ladder and sent me up to take care of you.”
Fu Xinghan acted at every moment, his clear eyes full of concern.
Yet when he lowered his head to stir the porridge, calculation flickered in his gaze.
Lin Yulan, Lin Juying, Lin Haojie—the second sister, third sister, and younger brother born to her scumbag father and stepmother.
Lin Xiwei sneered inwardly. “Fu Xinghan, you dog of a scumbag. Even He Fei and He Shuhuan would bow to you in admiration.”
In her previous life, Fu Xinghan’s consummate acting skills gifted Lin Xiwei a feature-length tragedy titled Her Thirty Years of Paralysis—
Marriage by deception, domestic abuse, spousal cruelty, crippling injury, infidelity, gambling, keeping mistresses and bastards, squeezing out her last penny… There was nothing filthy he wouldn’t do.
“Ah Han, taste it for me first. See if it’s too hot.”
After a lifetime of sparring with Fu Xinghan, Lin Xiwei’s own acting had become second nature. Playing coy? She was an expert.
The smile on Fu Xinghan’s face cracked for a fleeting instant—only an instant.
“It’s not hot. Still warm. I personally tested the temperature when the kitchen served it.”
He knew better than anyone what had been added to the porridge. How could he possibly drink it?
Lin Xiwei turned, climbed down from the other side of the bed, opened the bedside cabinet, and took out a Type 64 “Little Cracker” pistol.
Her movements were smooth and elegant, carrying a natural nonchalance—as if what she held wasn’t a lethal firearm.
She turned back, raised her hand, and the black muzzle pointed straight at Fu Xinghan across the bed.
Everything happened too fast.
When Fu Xinghan saw clearly, he froze in shock. The cracks in his smile widened, and he nearly dropped the porridge.
“Xiwei, what are you doing? I came all this way just to bring you food!”
The folk artist never disappoints. Fu Xinghan’s PUA routine activated instantly.
“I simmered this bird’s nest porridge slowly and carefully. Knowing you like sweets, I even added double honey. Are you really going to betray my good intentions?”
Tsk. Emotional blackmail—Lin Xiwei knew it all too well.
“Oh, is that so? Then drink it. The whole bowl. Drink it all for your auntie—don’t leave a single drop.”
As she spoke, Lin Xiwei flipped off the safety. Click-click. The gun was cocked.
Fu Xinghan’s face changed drastically.
The small pistol in the young lady’s hand wasn’t a toy.
It was real.