I was the eldest daughter of the prime minister’s household, but I fell in love with a poor scholar. My father despised me even more and cast me out. Even so, I married him without hesitation. To help my husband stand out among the other scholars, I drew out the blood from my heart to awaken his intelligence. Three years later, he passed the imperial examinations and became the top scholar. I was also carrying his child. But when my beloved husband learned I was pregnant, he showed not the slightest joy. Instead, he held a cup of poison and forced it down my throat. Cold sweat streaming down my face, I writhed on the ground in agony, while my husband watched with cold indifference. “The person betrothed to me was the prime minister’s legitimate daughter. How could a lowly servant like you ever be fit to become the wife of a top scholar?” As I lay dying, I saw my husband pull my legitimate younger sister into his arms, flirting and laughing with her. Overwhelmed by a boundless hatred, I sank into endless darkness. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn on the day I met the scholar. The scholar held up a jade pendant and publicly declared that he wanted to marry the legitimate daughter. My sister happily agreed. Watching them exchange affectionate glances in front of everyone, I suddenly understood: they had been reborn too. I suppressed my hatred and lowered my head with a cold smile. My sister had no idea that without me, her lucky star, the scholar would never pass the imperial examinations.
