Xu Anhao was awakened by pain.
Her whole body felt like it had been run over, soreness seeping from every joint.
She tried to turn over, but found something pressing down on her—heavy, burning hot.
No.
Her eyes flew open, and she was greeted by a man’s scorching chest, and a sharp jawline blurred in the darkness.
Her mind exploded with a loud buzz.
She remembered who she was—Xu Anhao, twenty years old, who had just signed a body donation agreement at the hospital, waiting for the illness that had tormented her for over half a year to carry her away.
So what was going on now?
A “ghost pressing down on her”?
But how was this “ghost” still moving?
Could it be that the King of Hell found her illness too long and annoying, and directly brought her to this “paradise” to seek pleasure?
But what kind of pleasure was this—only pain… so much pain…
“Don’t… stop…” She mustered all her strength to squeeze out a wisp of breath from her throat, so faint it was almost inaudible.
The “ghost” seemed to hear her, and the movements paused for a few seconds—but only a few seconds.
Then, that brutal force bore down again, shattering even her last bit of strength.
—To hell with it, what ghost pressing down? This was a person pressing down on her.
Who knew how long had passed when the weight on her body suddenly lightened.
The man rose swiftly, casually grabbed his clothes and threw them on, and headed straight for the bathroom.
At the doorway, his steps paused. Without turning his head, he tossed back: “Song Yunqing, have you no shame?”
Xu Anhao was stunned.
Wait—
Song Yunqing?
Not Xu Anhao?
The next moment, a tidal wave of memories crashed into her mind, making her temples throb.
The seventies.
A small northern city.
Song Yunqing.
Zhou Yunji.
She slowly closed her eyes, piecing together the chaotic fragments bit by bit.
The original host was the Song family’s biological daughter who had been abducted for sixteen years. At age two, she was dumped by a human trafficker at the village entrance and taken in by an elderly couple, who named her “Xu Anhao.”
What a coincidence—the same name as her past life.
At eighteen, a great flood struck her hometown. Among the disaster relief team was her biological father, Song Jianjun. Just like that, she was recognized and brought back to the Song family in the city.
But before that, the Song family had already mistaken another girl for their daughter—Lin Xiaohui.
Lin Xiaohui had occupied her place for five years, obedient and sensible, endearing to everyone, and had even won over the elders of both the Song and Zhou families.
Especially Zhou Yunji’s parents, who had long regarded this “fake heiress” as their future daughter-in-law.
What was worse, the person Zhou Yunji liked was also Lin Xiaohui.
After the original host returned, the engagement naturally should have gone to her.
But the Zhou family said, “We love both children equally. The wedding date is approaching—suddenly switching people would make us seem unfair.”
The original host panicked.
Afraid the marriage would really be given away, she did something stupid—she spread rumors everywhere that “during the flood rescue, Zhou Yunji saved me, and my body was already defiled.”
It caused an uproar throughout the city.
Zhou Yunji had no choice but to swallow his anger and marry her.
Three months of marriage, and he hadn’t touched her once.
The original host, goaded to madness by Lin Xiaohui, somehow got her hands on drugs and secretly slipped them into Zhou Yunji’s water—
Which led to tonight’s absurd night.
Xu Anhao lay in bed, staring at the pitch-black ceiling, motionless for a long while.
The sound of rushing water came from the bathroom.
She opened her mouth, her throat dry as smoke, but still tried to speak, her voice hoarse as sandpaper scraping glass:
“…Thanks a lot.”
Transmigration is transmigration, but to transmigrate into a cannon-fodder side character.
So she’d transmigrated into a cannon fodder character—fine. But the first thing that happened after transmigrating was being called “shameless” by her nominal husband.
The water in the bathroom stopped.
She heard footsteps, then the sound of the door opening.
Xu Anhao didn’t move.
Forget moving—in this body, she could barely even breathe.
The footsteps stopped beside her bed.
“Playing dead? Isn’t this what you brought on yourself?”
The man’s voice was cold as ice.
Xu Anhao opened her eyes. By the moonlight filtering through the window, she made out the man standing beside the bed.
Young. Extremely young.
Twenty-five or twenty-six, with sharp features and a hard jawline. An old military jacket was draped over his shoulders, and his hair was still dripping, water running down his neck.
Handsome, truly handsome.
Fierce, truly fierce.
She said nothing.
Zhou Yunji looked down at her, not a trace of warmth in his eyes. “Satisfied?”
Xu Anhao opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but closed it again.
With the voice she had now, she sounded like a broken gong—better not to speak at all.
Besides, what was there to say?
That she was very satisfied—satisfied with his complete lack of skill, satisfied with his couple pounds of flesh and brute force?
Or that “You’ve got the wrong person, I’m not your wife”?
She had no desire to be sent to a mental hospital as a lunatic.
Zhou Yunji waited a few seconds. Getting no response, he let out a cold laugh. “Do you even know that those pills… could kill someone?”
The original host hadn’t known. Xu Anhao knew all too well.
She cleared her throat. It still hurt, but at least she could squeeze out a sound. “Just now… were you feeling unwell?”
Zhou Yunji choked.
What did she mean, was he feeling unwell?
Was that what he’d been talking about?
He felt like he was playing a lute to a cow. Too lazy to waste more words, he turned to leave.
“Wait.”
A voice came from behind him—hoarse beyond recognition, but perfectly clear.
Zhou Yunji paused, but didn’t turn around.
Xu Anhao propped herself up to sit. The pain made her suck in a sharp breath, but she still got the words out:
“Don’t you want a divorce?”
Zhou Yunji’s shoulders stiffened slightly.
“I agree to it,” Xu Anhao said. “You write the application. The day it’s approved, I’ll come back and sign.”
The room was so quiet you could hear the insects chirping outside.
Zhou Yunji slowly turned around and looked at her.
Moonlight streamed through the window, falling on her face. Pale complexion, cracked lips, hair messily plastered to her forehead—a sorry sight.
But those eyes—
Those eyes were calm in a way that wasn’t like her.
Not like Song Yunqing, who lit up at the sight of him, pestered him relentlessly, stopped at nothing.
Clean.
So clean it was like she was a different person.
Zhou Yunji frowned.
He wasn’t the kind of domineering man who insisted only he could ask for a divorce and no one else. If the marriage couldn’t work, anyone could speak up.
But… at the very least, not now!