After I Died, the Chief Councilor Went Mad

When my husband returned from disaster relief, he announced at court that he was taking another wife. But I had died the day before he returned to the capital, forced to test a medicine for the woman he cherished. My spirit floated in the air as I watched his eyes turn bloodshot when he heard of my death. I couldn’t understand it. He had hated me so much, so why did he look utterly broken now that I was gone? I watched him drown his sorrows in wine, consumed by grief. I watched the once-proud man become a disheveled drunk, and heard him wake from nightmares at midnight, weeping and murmuring over and over. It was all deeply satisfying. Reborn as an orphan, I returned without hesitation to take my revenge. I swore to make every one of my enemies wish they were dead. Yet he grabbed hold of me. The once aloof and noble man was a complete wreck. “You can torment me however you like. Just please, don’t leave me again. All right?” But after so many false hopes, I no longer dared believe in the love that had come too late.