My Mad Husband, and the Wretches Who Keep Trying to Kill Him

He was always convinced someone was trying to kill him.

I crushed the eighteenth cup of poisoned tea and snapped the ninth poisoned hairpin. Sighing, I said, “Husband, there really are no assassins in our home.”

His eyes darkened as he handed me an osmanthus cake. “Try this first.”

I gritted my teeth and swallowed. Sure enough, the cake was poisoned, and with my very own latest formula.

At last, he smiled and gently wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. “Now you believe me.”