Back to the Day I Married My Staid Husband

I do not love my husband.

He is young, yet rigid and dull, like an old relic left to rot in the ground.

Even though he had feelings for me since childhood, everyone praised him as a prodigy, and our families had arranged our marriage when we were infants, he still followed every proper rite and came to marry me in a grand sedan chair.

I still did not love him.

He knew I did not love him. So, for the three years of our marriage, he treated me with respect and courtesy, like a guest in his home.

Three years later, I accompanied him to the capital for the imperial exams. He placed first, and was snatched up after the results were posted, chosen to become the princess's consort.

I knew he had refused the match, but I had no intention of letting this opportunity pass. So I flew into a rage, accusing him of abandoning the wife who had stood by him in hardship. No matter how he tried to explain, I would not listen. I forced him to sign a divorce agreement, then stormed away.

Then I died.

In the high halls of the imperial family, the princess had to get whoever she wanted. And in the eyes of those in power, I was nothing but an obstacle.

After I died, my spirit lingered in the mortal world. I watched helplessly as my husband went gray overnight and wasted away. He left the capital to mourn for three years. When he returned, he became a powerful court official, and brought down a dynasty that had stood for a hundred years.

Then, on the day rebel forces stormed the city, he drank a cup of poison and died before my grave.

Standing before his body, I gazed at the words on the tombstone: