It took Jiang You two whole years to finally accept that her husband, Lu Wenchuan, was dead.
In the third year, she landed a major job: helping a rich heiress run away from her wedding.
On the wedding day, the officiant asked, “Does anyone here object to this marriage?”
Jiang You looked at the groom onstage, who was identical to her late husband, and slowly raised the court ruling in her hand.
“I do.”
“The groom died three years ago.”
The whole room erupted in an uproar.
The groom's face turned cold. “I'm afraid I don't know you, ma'am.”
Jiang You nodded. “That's normal. Dead people usually have terrible memories.”
The bride yanked off her veil. “So I almost married a dead man who already had a wife?”
Later, the man who kept insisting he didn't know her picked the cilantro out of her bowl, fixed her plumbing with practiced ease, and scrambled onto a table the moment he saw a goose.
Jiang You was finally sure.
There couldn't be two men in the world who had the exact same embarrassing reflexes.
But just as she was preparing to take her husband back, someone handed her a phone from three years ago.
It contained only one recording left by Lu Wenchuan.
“Jiang You, if one day I come back alive but say I don't know you...”
“Don't believe me.”
“And don't trust the Cheng family either.”
