Wen Chaoyan dressed up as the cannon-fodder concubine in an ancient Chinese novel about a house, and when she opened her eyes, she was pushed into the winter lotus pond by her aunt.
She climbed up and wrapped herself in a quilt, shivering, and heard her aunt's mother's voice across the wall: "It's a pity that she didn't drown. We'll make another arrangement tonight."
She can hear everyone's thoughts.
Her aunt wanted to kill her, her aunt wanted to steal her marriage, and her father wanted to sell her to get an official position. There were more than 200 people in the house, but no one wanted her to live. The only exception was the old nanny next to my sister-in-law. She could only say one thing over and over in her mind: "She is back. She is exactly the same as the person twenty years ago."
Who's back? Who was it twenty years ago?
Before Wen Chaoyan could find out, the regent arrived. The whole government thought he was here to propose marriage to his eldest sister. But he passed through the hall full of guests, stopped in front of her, and put an old jade that had been worn close to her body for twenty years into her palm:
"Are you going to get haircut next year?"
Wen Chaoyan held on to the piece of warm jade for seven months. She was only seven months old.
If she is still alive in seven months, she will be the only owner of Shen's mansion.
But she couldn't hear the regent's voice, and he was always blank towards her.
Intention: Under the deepest calculation, there are still people who keep silent for twenty years to protect others. The truth will be late, but it will not be absent