Looking back on this life, He Xuan realized that the people she hated most were not the uncle and aunt who had caused her younger brother’s death, nor the grandmother who had treated her with icy indifference, nor the cousin who had stolen her marriage, nor the older cousin who had schemed against her, nor even the “ideal” wolf of a husband who had tried to kill her. The person she hated most was her own foolish, cowardly self. If only she had been stronger, more ruthless, and not so foolish as to trust those people. How could she have let them push her around and divide up everything she owned like a pack of hungry wolves? Unable to let go of her hatred, He Xuan swore before she died: If I can live again, I’ll be a shrew, a virago, a venomous woman. I won’t let those wretches lay a finger on me again.
