Under the red hijab, it is not a wedding hall, but a mourning hall.
The moment Ling Chuxia opened her eyes, she smelled the strong smell of incense and candles, mixed with the smell of burnt paper money.
There was no loud noise of gongs and drums in my ears, only the low sound of chanting sutras wrapped around my ears like a snake.
She was carried into a lifeless mansion - Prince Jing's Mansion.
There was no red silk on the lintel, only white flags hanging; there were no welcome guests in front of the steps, only servants wearing sackcloth and wearing filial piety, bowed their heads and lowered their hands, as if attending a funeral.
"The star of disaster matches the dead, just in time to send him on his way!" A sharp sneer came from the side, mixed with the whispers of the clan's noble family members, "This daughter-in-law of the General's Mansion killed three fiancés, and now she is married to a crippled prince who is about to die. It is a match made in heaven."
Ling Chuxia was sitting in the sedan chair, her fingertips moving slightly.
She is not the original owner.
She is Ling Chuxia, a modern battlefield surgeon and descendant of the ancient martial arts family. She suffered a cardiac arrest while rescuing seriously injured patients on the smoke-filled operating table. When she opened her eyes again, she became the "disaster" despised by everyone.
