The Underworld assigned two celestial bureaus to us, who had died sudden deaths. My best friend scoffed that the God of Wealth Temple reeked of money, and rushed to choose the red silk at the Matchmaker Shrine. I clutched the God of Wealth's broken lot and became a divine official, while she counted incense offerings beneath the Matchmaker Shrine's red canopy and laughed at me for being “hopelessly vulgar.”
Ten years later, her Matchmaker Shrine stood empty. When her merit points hit zero, she knelt at my feet. “Wanwan, share some incense offerings with me...” I didn't answer.
So she burned all her merit points to activate a forbidden spell, sending time back twenty years.
This time, she became the God of Wealth Temple's favorite, while I crouched in the dilapidated Matchmaker Shrine, counting the dust on its cobwebs.
Then, while sorting the records, a red thread marked “Impossible to Fulfill” suddenly grew hot. At the other end was the boy who had jumped into the sea in his previous life to save her.
His memories held evidence that my best friend had forged a match, a diary revealing that he had quietly loved me for twenty years in the mortal world, and irrefutable proof that she had used her divine office to alter his fate.
Now, I am the Red-Thread Keeper of the Matchmaker Shrine.
Whose neck should this red thread, crumpled by her, tighten around?
With this red cord she trampled into the mud, I'll avenge him, get to the bottom of things for myself, and reclaim the justice this world owes to the match she ruined.”
