Once the flood of memories from the original owner settled, Xie Yuechan realized with a sinking heart that she had become the sacrificial lamb of the novel An Zhao’s Vow. She was now the male lead’s first wife—a woman who shared her name, but possessed a reputation so foul it bordered on legendary.
Tonight was their wedding night.
The reality of her situation didn’t truly set in until Gu Jingan flicked back the bridal veil. The air around him was colder than ice shards, and his face carried a “do not approach” warning that felt personal.
That cursed law of web novels, she thought bitterly. If you share a name with a character, you’re destined to transmigrate into their shoes. If she had to be pulled into a fictional dynasty that didn’t exist in any history book, why couldn’t she have been the heroine? Instead, she was a “street rat” loathed by all, a piece of narrative scrap metal destined to be written out of the story within ten chapters.
The “An” in the book’s title referred to her new husband, the most brilliant youth in the capital. The “Zhao” referred to the actual heroine, Yan Wanzhao, who—spoiler alert—wasn’t her.
Standing before her, Gu Jingan was the picture of a perfect gentleman of the Great Liang. Not yet twenty, he had already ranked third in the imperial examinations. He had even turned down a lucrative fast-track position at the Ministry of Revenue to request a post at the Imperial Academy, where he now served as a fourth-rank official. He was ambitious, handsome, and backed by a formidable family tree.
On paper, Yuechan’s pedigree matched his. She was the sole legitimate heir of the Marquis of Heyang, and her grandmother was the Emperor’s aunt, the Grand Princess of Wannian. But while their statuses were a match, their characters were worlds apart.
The original Xie Yuechan was a disaster. She was illiterate in the arts and famous for a streak of cruelty that bordered on the absurd. Rumors swirled that her neighbors could hear the nightly screams of the maidservants she tormented. She stayed untouchable only because the Grand Princess doted on her, cleaning up her messes with terrifying efficiency.
The tragedy only starts when the Grand Princess passes away, Yuechan remembered. Without that shield, this girl is doomed.
The only reason a woman with such a blackened reputation had managed to ensnare Gu Jingan was through a series of underhanded schemes. Lost in thought, Yuechan forgot to look away, staring directly at her new husband.
Gu Jingan shifted, clearly uncomfortable under her unabashed gaze. He knitted his brows, his eyes flickering with a restrained loathing. On what should have been the happiest night of his life, his handsome face was a mask of joyless duty.
He set the jade wedding rod aside. Seeing her sitting there with a dazed, almost “simple-minded” expression, his final thread of patience snapped. Yet, his strict upbringing forbade him from being truly vitriolic.
The rest of the ceremony proceeded in a blur of mutual indifference.
Yuechan hadn’t eaten all day. By the time a bowl of dumplings was brought forward, she was lightheaded and trembling with hunger. The original Yuechan might have tried to maintain a shred of dignity in front of her crush, but the current one couldn’t help herself. The scent of savory meat hit her nose, and she reached out eagerly.
“Thank you, I’ll take it!” she blurted out.
She shoved a whole dumpling into her mouth and bit down. Her face instantly contorted.
“Pah! Gross! It’s raw!” she cried, spitting it back into the bowl.
The wedding coordinator shielded her face with a silk handkerchief, looking like she wanted to disappear. She had been paid a fortune by the Marquis’s wife to oversee this wedding, but ever since she stepped into the Gu Manor, she hadn’t dared to look anyone in the eye.
The temperature in the room plummeted. Yuechan didn’t need to look up to feel the freezing aura radiating from her groom, or the literal daggers being stared into her back by her new sister-in-law.
“Oh my, oh my!” the coordinator chirped nervously, trying to save the moment. “The Third Madame is supposed to say it’s ‘Raw!’ It’s a blessing for children! It’s a good omen! Oh dear, it’s a bit of a mess now… shall I have the kitchen boil another bowl?”
“Forget it, forget it,” Yuechan waved off.
“No need,” Gu Jingan said at the exact same time.
Yuechan caught the look of pure disgust on his face. It was clear: they both wanted this awkward farce to end as quickly as possible.
Fine, she thought. This ‘unattainable flower’ isn’t for me anyway. If she played her cards right and straightened out her act before the real heroine showed up, she might be able to negotiate a peaceful divorce. She had a massive dowry; even if her birth family turned their backs on her, she could use that capital to open a restaurant and return to her old profession.
They moved to the final ritual: the shared nuptial wine. Normally, after drinking, one was supposed to toss the cups under the bed for good luck…
Gu Jingan wasn’t even pretending to care. Without so much as a backward glance, he tossed his wine cup aside and swept out of the room. He was suffocating, trapped in a reality he loathed, and he desperately needed a few days of solitude to reclaim his composure.
His departure didn’t exactly clear the air. In fact, the tension in the room spiked, thanks to a particularly sharp gaze drilling into Yuechan’s side. She looked over and found a young girl with a round face and arched brows. The moment their eyes met, the girl rolled her eyes so hard they nearly disappeared, letting out a sharp, derisive “Hmph!” from her nose.
The eldest sister-in-law, Lady Zhu, stepped in to smooth things over, ushering the remaining guests out with practiced grace.
Finally, Xie Yuechan was alone. She let out a long, ragged breath of relief.
She took a moment to scan her new quarters. The decor was a far cry from the opulent, almost gaudy luxury of the Marquis’s estate; the Gu Manor favored a refined, scholarly elegance—all muted tones and tasteful simplicity.
The bridal headdress was beginning to feel like a lead weight. She called for a maid to bring water, desperate to shed the layers of the heavy wedding robe and the mask of white powder on her face.
The maid, a girl named Linglong, clearly looked down on this “Third Madame” who had schemed her way into the family, but she wasn’t bold enough to be negligent. She moved efficiently, bringing warm water and assisting with the transformation.
Once the flour-thick makeup was gone and Yuechan had changed into a simple, loose-fitting house robe, she finally felt like a human being again. However, her stomach gave a treacherous growl, reminding her that the “raw” dumpling incident had only made her hungrier.
“Bring some food. I’m starving,” she commanded. Linglong, she realized, wasn’t part of her own dowry staff; she was likely one of Gu Jingan’s personal attendants.
“Madame… shall we not wait for the Third Master?” Linglong asked hesitantly. In a household like this, a wife eating before her husband was practically a scandal.
“No need to wait,” Yuechan said, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s at the banquet, surrounded by wine and toasts. He won’t be going hungry anytime soon.”
She had already made up her mind: she would treat Gu Jingan like a distant roommate. If she stopped pestering him, maybe he’d hate her a little less, which would make the eventual divorce much smoother.
“Then I shall go to the kitchen. Is there anything in particular Madame desires?”
“It’s late, so don’t make a fuss. Just a bowl of noodles? Or… if that’s too much trouble, any old bowl of porridge will do.”
Yuechan was a woman of specific cravings. Back in her old life as a food blogger, if she wanted something and couldn’t have it, it felt like an itch she couldn’t scratch. But for now, she had to play the part of the low-maintenance bride. Just wait until I’m settled, she promised herself. I’m getting my own private kitchen in this courtyard.
Self-sufficiency was the only way forward. In her previous life, she could cook everything from high-end imperial cuisine to greasy street snacks. A good chef was never truly at the mercy of others.
The main kitchen was busy with the front-yard festivities, but they found time for a bowl of noodles. To prevent the men from waking up with splitting headaches, the stoves were also topped with clay pots of thick, restorative congealed porridges.
Soon, a tray arrived, laden with a bowl of noodles, a steaming pot of porridge, and several small side dishes. In a high-ranking household, even “simple and light” was an art form.
Yuechan lifted a bundle of noodles with her chopsticks, the steam swirling around her face. The broth was a clear gold, clearly a chicken stock that had simmered for a full day. The bowl was garnished with delicate shreds of chicken and abalone that looked like they would melt on the tongue.
It smelled heavenly. But after two bites, she set her chopsticks down with a sigh. It was bland. Technically perfect, but soul-crushingly under-seasoned.
She turned to the porridge, hoping for better luck. The rice had been cooked down into a smooth, velvety paste. Tiny cubes of abalone and shiitake mushrooms were folded into the mix, accompanied by crisp, pickled greens.
By her standards, it was barely a passing grade—functional, but uninspired. Still, it padded her stomach. Knowing better than to make a scene on her first night, she blew out the lamp and went to bed.
True to the original plot, Gu Jingan spent the night in his study, never once asking after his bride. By dawn, the entire Gu Manor knew the same thing: the new Third Madame had spent her wedding night entirely alone.