Tang Miao was a bad woman. Before she turned sixteen, she was lively, spoiled, and willful. After sixteen, she was as quiet as a venomous woman and as volatile as a shrew, going mad and losing herself over Ning Shuyuan. At thirty-two, Tang Miao saw her country fall and her family perish, and became a government courtesan. She was hateful and pitiable. Countless people hated her in this life, and it seemed no one loved her. But before she died, she saw Chen Jiu, who had been perpetually stone-faced and sinister, holding her with pain written across his face. Even the hair at his temples, usually combed perfectly into place, was disheveled. Tang Miao didn’t understand why he was sad. She had been so awful to him, always tormenting him for her own amusement. She had given so much for Ning Shuyuan, yet he had never shown her the slightest pity. A cold smile curled Tang Miao’s lips. She had been neither good enough nor bad enough in this life. If she had another chance, she would be even more ruthless: stay away from Ning Shuyuan, protect her country, live freely, and treat Chen Jiu a little better. If only there could be another chance.
