My Aloof Wife Washes Her Male Servant's Feet

The moment I returned to the manor, I saw through the light that Shen Sizhu’s servant was lying on the bridal bed, which was strewn with red dates and longans. The ever-aristocratic Miss Shen was kneeling to massage his feet, and a brand-new golden sword sat on the table. That very noon, I had converted all my savings into gold bars to offer as the betrothal gift for Shen Sizhu’s hand in marriage. She had accepted without hesitation, but the moment I spoke, she slapped me without mercy. Shen Sizhu’s eyes were full of contempt. “Can’t afford a bronze mirror? Don’t you even have urine to look at yourself in?” “You really are a stupid lout raised by commoners, not fit to be seen in public!” Suddenly, the past five years of carefully obeying her rule against anyone in the manor marrying within its walls seemed like a joke. At dawn the next day, I sent my father a letter: “I admit defeat. I request permission to return to the palace and enter official service.”