Jiang Li was reborn.
She returned to the night before her wedding, about to marry Xiao Jue, the Coffin Prince whom everyone in the capital avoided. He had faked his death seven times and been sent off in seven funeral processions, each one causing a sensation across the city.
In her first six lives, she died before him every time, in all sorts of ways: in the bridal sedan, in a cellar, in a fire, on the executioner's block.
This time, she decided to give up and go with the flow.
She wouldn't run away or make a scene. She'd climb into the bridal sedan willingly, take over the household accounts on the day she arrived, and arrange her widow's life in advance: three meals a day, clothes for every season, and no one to boss her around. Perfect.
Then the man in the coffin came back from the dead.
Xiao Jue was reborn too, for the seventh time.
In each of his first six lives, he grew crazier than before: the first time, he took a blade for her; the second, he massacred a city for her; the sixth, he locked her in a cellar. She died anyway.
This time, he wouldn't save her. Let her die.
Then, on their wedding day, he lay in his coffin and heard the woman outside dividing up his estate and complaining that the coffin wood was poor quality.
He climbed out.
Later, everyone in the capital knew that the Princess Consort was crazy, and so was the Prince Regent.
Only the two of them knew that the book of fate said Jiang Li wouldn't live past twenty.
The two of them tore that book in half, each taking one piece.
