Legend has it that a tiger marries once every hundred years.
Seven days later, if she does not put on her wedding dress and walk into Qingwu Mountain, the streams will rot, the vegetation will die, and no one in the twelve villages in the three towns under the mountain will be able to survive the winter solstice.
The whole village knelt before her, begging her to die.
Only the tiger in black clothes came out of the mountain mist, his golden eyes were calm, and he told her with certainty:
"A hundred years ago, you promised to marry me."
Shen Qingluo sneered: "I am twenty-two this year."
She didn't know that Lu Xuanji had been waiting for her for a full hundred years.
He remembered what she liked to eat, which hand she would curl up when she was afraid of the cold, and how she once stabbed his heart with a knife to save the people at the foot of the mountain.
But Shen Qingluo didn't remember anything.
All she knew was that brides throughout the ages never went to enjoy happiness.
They were filled with the resentment of the beasts and then delivered to the mouth of the tiger.
A woman can bring peace to a mountain.
They have been walking this way for hundreds of years.
Everyone advised Shen Qingluo to accept her fate.
But she burned the marriage certificate of the tiger who had been waiting for her for a hundred years and became an angel for her in front of everyone.
"The person who promised you in my previous life is not me now."
"If you want to marry me, start over."
