I transmigrated into an ancient romance novel as the unlucky legitimate daughter who gets punished by being made to kneel every day.
The original owner was sentenced to kneel in the ancestral hall for three years after talking back to the male lead.
I pulled out a copy of the Labor Law and slapped it down in front of him. “Eight hours of kneeling a day. How about paying me overtime?”
He tore up the law with a cold expression. “Ridiculous!”
I promptly decided to lie flat. “Then I’m going on strike.”
Later, his eyes red, he kicked open the ancestral hall door. “Get up. I’ll kneel instead.”
