I married a good-for-nothing.
On our wedding night, he tossed out a “Let's live our own lives” and hobbled off to sleep in the study. Our home was bare, the rice jar empty, and the neighbors all said I was cursed with the worst luck imaginable.
But I noticed something:
The rice jar was always full.
The local thugs never dared come around again.
And my “useless husband” climbed over the wall every night, returning reeking of blood.
Then one night, assassins attacked. He struck off one of their heads with a single sword stroke, then turned to me.
“My lady, thank you for pretending to be poor with me for the past three years.”
I looked at the dragon-patterned jade pendant peeking out from his waist and finally understood.
The “good-for-nothing” I married was the regent of the empire.
And all this time, he hadn't been pretending to be poor. He'd been hiding the fact that he was earning me a title of nobility.
