The day I inherited the family heirloom wooden box, my company fired me.
The client suddenly wanted matcha cake, so the chocolate cake I'd stayed up all night making became worthless.
On my way home, I opened the box. A blood-red thread wrapped around my fingertip, burning so badly I screamed.
That night, a private message from my aunt popped up in the family chat: “Congratulations, you've unlocked the bloodline curse.”
“As the current curse keeper, you have three years to break the curse. Otherwise, all three hundred members of the clan will die.”
I was so terrified I nearly dropped dead on the spot.
Then she sent me a survey link: “Fill this out first.”
“Age: 28? Romantic experience: zero?”
She fell silent for a long while. “Looks like your only option is to take a gamble with blind dates.”
I opened the blind-date form: List the three people you'd most like to disappear from your life.
I immediately wrote down the client's name.
The form trembled and glowed. Thunder boomed outside the window.
My aunt's private messages came flooding in: “You little brat! The first name is your fated partner for life!”
