Fear Not, Frail Husband: Your Wife Was Born with Herculean Strength

I was a food blogger who could split bricks with one hand. When I opened my eyes again, I had become a peasant girl on the run from famine, so hungry I was barely clinging to life. My parents were weak, my older siblings selfish, and the whole family was gaunt and on the verge of starving to death. A golden finger? These fists, each as big as a cooking pot, were all I needed! While everyone else chewed tree bark, I punched open a crack in the ground and pulled out a nest of plump rabbits. When bandits chased us, I hauled a tree over to block their path and “borrowed” their provisions along the way. I thought this would be an extreme fight for survival, but somehow I turned it into a food livestream. There was just one problem: the sickly scholar I’d picked up along the way kept giving me strange looks. At first, coughing blood, he said, “Miss, you’ve shown me such kindness. I can only...” I cut him off. “Hold it! Get over this wheezing-every-three-steps business first!” Later, now the most powerful chancellor in the land, he drew me into his arms, his eyes red and his voice hoarse. “Wife, court politics are exhausting. Your husband can’t walk another step. Please carry me.” Who would’ve thought that with nothing but brute strength, I’d not only feed my whole family, but also raise a chancellor who held the entire court in his hands!