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Summary
Zhao Yan and I married young. We had loved each other dearly.
But the first thing he did when he was reborn was leave me to find the woman who had spent decades at his side in my place.
I heard she had suffered terribly. Sold when she was young, she was later offered to the mercurial Zhao Yan because she resembled me, his wife who had died too soon.
After years of love and resentment, after all their trials, he had finally returned her feelings.
Perhaps Zhao Yan had forgotten what I had done for him.
In those years of war, I had traveled and negotiated on his behalf, worn myself sick, coughed up blood, and planned for his future.
When I lay dying, he had hurried back through the rain. Without a word, he had gripped my hand and wept, trembling.
And so, in this second life, when Zhao Yan went south in search of her and sent word that he could not come to ask for my hand himself, that I should wait a few more days, I fell silent for a moment.
Then I accepted the other marriage card on the desk, with another man’s birth particulars, and said only,
“There is no need to wait.”
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