When I was thirty years old, my father granted me a marriage to the young and infatuated prince.
The whole capital is talking about how the princess can be worthy of the husband who is waiting for her with three faces.
They don't know that that "infatuation" is a calculation, and those "faces" are armor.
On the wedding day, I tore up the marriage contract in public and exposed his fourteen years of betrayal one by one in the sun.
He knelt down and screamed: "Zhao Zhao, why?"
I leaned over and brushed away the non-existent dust on his shoulders: "Does it feel good? I feel good, that's enough."
The sweets I gave him when he was sixteen and the poison he gave him when he was thirty were all my best explanations for him.
Purpose: When everyone tells women that "love is the destination," how do we find ourselves? When age becomes a "devaluation label" for women, how do we redefine value? Women's awakening begins with taking love off the altar of life and placing it on a equal footing with self-worth.