On the night of the wedding, my husband gently removed the hijab, but his fingertips were as cold as blades.
He said: "Don't be afraid, I know you are marrying a concubine."
I clutched the poison-quenching hairpin in my sleeves and smiled like a flower: "What a coincidence, I also know that your prince... Is not really sick."
The red candle burned high, reflecting his suddenly darkened eyes.
Later, he held my hand and stepped onto the Golden Palace, and put on the phoenix crown for me with his own hands: "This world is worthy of you and me performing a great show together."
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