On the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month, I was holding his sweetheart's stove when the prince's tea was poured into my face.
"A lowly substitute, does he deserve to be wronged?" He kicked me away in disgust, "Since she ran away, I will use you to pay for the prime minister."
Rumor has it that the prime minister is tyrannical and will use the bride's blood as a sacrificial knife on the wedding night.
I was tied up with red silk and thrown into the wedding room, but under the hijab I saw a pair of eyes as cold as the moon.
"Appearance?" The prime minister's fingertips traced my burned face, "I don't care about my true appearance."
While he was applying the medicine to me with his own hands, the prince suddenly broke in through the door.
"Prime Minister! I used this cheap maid before -"
The prime minister's dagger was already pressed against the prince's throat: "If you say one more word, I will use your blood to heal her wounds."
