Slap your mother-in-law?
She was kicking herself now.
Kicking herself for not landing more slaps earlier.
That Li Qing’e put on a sanctimonious front, acting like the perfect mother-in-law, but behind her back, she was a completely different person.
She had a feeling that in this life, Li Qing’e would pull the exact same tricks as before.
In her past life, when they lived together, Li Qing’e was always saying how understanding she was, coming over to comfort her every now and then.
Back then, she was so touched that she treated Li Qing’e like her own mother—she was extra kind to her, and worked hard to help tidy up the house.
Outwardly, they looked like the ideal mother-in-law and daughter-in-law. But the moment her back was turned, Li Qing’e would run her mouth to all the gossiping women in the alley, badmouthing and belittling her.
She remembered once, she’d finished cooking lunch and stepped out to call Li Qing’e to eat—only to hear her talking trash about her.
“Our daughter-in-law? She can’t do a single thing right. Can’t even cook a proper meal. Lazy as anything, and I’m the one who has to wait on her hand and foot. Always looking half-dead—who knows if she’s faking it? What rotten luck, getting stuck with a wife like this!”
Calling her lazy was bad enough—but worse still, Li Qing’e went around spreading lies that she was unfaithful, a loose woman who flirted with every man she saw.
She was still a married woman of the Lu family! Instead of standing up for her, her own mother-in-law went around smearing her name everywhere.
Li Qing’e was nothing but trouble.
After the humiliation she’d suffered today—getting slapped by her—there was no way she’d let this slide. Li Qing’e would surely come after her again.
Song Qinghuan gritted her teeth.
This time, she’d strike first. She would not give Li Qing’e a single opening.
She was still plotting her next move when a faint burning sensation pricked her wrist. Before she could even draw a sharp breath, everything suddenly flared bright white.
Blinded by the glare, Song Qinghuan quickly squeezed her eyes shut and covered them with her hand.
When she lowered her hand, her surroundings had changed completely.
The scene shifted before her eyes at dizzying speed.
The brick-and-wood bed, the faded striped sheet—its red dye faded inch by inch, replaced by a clear, vivid emerald green that rippled like water.
Song Qinghuan thought she was hallucinating. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again—and froze.
It wasn’t a trick of the light. She was standing at the edge of a pond.
The water was so clear she could see every jagged rock on the bottom; sunlight and ripples danced across the stones, casting a soft, luminous glow.
Further ahead, at the far edge of the pond, stood a tall slab of white marble—taller than two people—carved with two deep characters: Spirit Spring.
The characters were gilded, gleaming against the rippling light, carrying an air of quiet holiness.
The edges of the stone were carved with intricate, winding dragons; a dragon head jutted out from the base, and crystal-clear water flowed endlessly from its open jaws.
Water should have no scent, yet Song Qinghuan caught a faint, sweet freshness drifting through the air.
Curious, she crouched down, cupped a handful of water, and touched it tentatively to her tongue.
It was sweet—pure and rich, spreading across her taste buds.
At the same time, the stinging soreness at the corner of her mouth faded away, replaced by a cool, soothing calm.
She looked down in surprise at her reflection in the water. The fever blister that had been throbbing there just moments before was gone.
She blinked hard, then touched the spot—smooth as ever, as if it had never been there at all.
Song Qinghuan stared in wonder. She cupped another handful and drank it down.
The cool water slid down her throat, washing away the heat and exhaustion from their argument. Even the heavy, dragging fatigue she’d woken up with lightened.
It all came rushing back. The day before her engagement in her past life, she’d felt unwell—her body heavy and sluggish for no reason.
But back then, she’d been too caught up in the joy of marrying Lu Qiming. On top of that, Song Shouyang and Zhao Yufang had been drilling into her head, telling her over and over that she had to help the family once she was married, and find a way to get her brother a job. She’d been so busy she hadn’t noticed she was getting sick.
The next morning, after she’d cooked breakfast for the whole family, Lu Qiming and his parents had shown up at the door.
Only this time, Song Shouyang and Zhao Yufang had haggled over the bride price until they couldn’t come to an agreement.
After Lu Qiming’s family left, she’d been miserable all day. By midnight, her condition had worsened, and she’d spiked a high fever.
The next day, she was burning up—and that useless brother of hers had still ordered her to get up and cook. She’d been too out of it to hear him, so the little brute had doused her bed with a bucket of well water.
She’d dragged herself to cook and change the sheets, and just as she was about to rest, Song Shouyang and Zhao Yufang had burst in. They sat on either side of her bed, and started in on her again—
“Marrying Lu Qiming was already a step up for you. The deal falling through yesterday isn’t our fault—your family just isn’t worth that kind of bride price!”
“If you want this marriage, you have to go to him yourself and beg him to take you. If he changes his mind and finds someone better, you’ll have nothing left to cry about!”
Back and forth, from persuasion to outright guilt-tripping—weeping about how hard they’d worked to raise her, how much they’d sacrificed.
All of it, just to force her to beg Lu Qiming to marry her quickly.
Feverish and dazed, she’d foolishly believed them. Half-reluctantly, she’d dressed and set out to find Lu Qiming.
She’d just reached the riverbank when she saw him standing on the bridge.
She was about to call out—when he suddenly slipped and fell.
Song Qinghuan had always been a strong swimmer. Without a second thought, she’d jumped in after him.
When they stumbled back to shore soaked through, her thin shirt clung to her, outlining every curve of her body.
She’d climbed up first, hauling Lu Qiming by the waist—and someone had seen them.
Word spread fast. Lu Qiming’s parents and Song Shouyang’s couple had gotten together and decided to make it official.
But that fever and the cold plunge had nearly killed her. She’d spent over a week drinking bitter herbal medicine before she’d recovered—and even then, she’d been weak for months.