Chapter 1: Her Husband’s Funeral, and a Night with a Stranger

Wen Ni placed a small pillow beneath her waist, her abdomen gently tensed, hoping that this time, she would conceive. The sticky sheets beneath her had already been changed. Yet, the elusive scent of sandalwood still lingered in the room.

She rated the man’s performance a six out of ten. He was considerate afterwards, inexperienced before, and far too wild during. She’d barely slept three hours last night; exhaustion weighed her down. Closing her eyes, she prepared to catch up on rest.

Suddenly, her phone erupted with shrill insistence. Wen Ni answered feebly, “Who is it?”

Her mother-in-law’s furious roar blasted through the speaker, “Even your husband’s younger uncle, who hasn’t returned in ten years, came to pay his respects, but you, his wife, are nowhere to be found! Where on earth have you gone? If you don’t get back here, I’ll skin you alive!”

Wen Ni held the phone away from her ear. “I’ll be right back,” she replied, and hung up, thoroughly vexed.

Uncle Zhou had come to mourn Zhou Mingfan, not for her! Oh, right. The deceased was not Zhou Mingfan, but his twin brother, Zhou Linchuan.

Originally, Wen Ni and Zhou Linchuan had been betrothed from childhood. There was no great love, but they were childhood companions.

On their wedding day, when they were both twenty-two, Shen Xue-ning showed up at the hotel entrance for just a moment, and Zhou Linchuan, without hesitation, abandoned Wen Ni at the wedding.

She had almost become the laughingstock of the entire capital.

It was then that his twin brother, Zhou Mingfan, suddenly appeared; the two were identical, and the wedding was barely salvaged.

Zhou Mingfan had entered Wen Ni’s life as a savior, showering her with warmth and passion. She couldn’t help but fall for him.

A week ago, Zhou Linchuan and Shen Xue-ning set a date for their wedding. That very night, the brothers went wingsuit flying together.

Due to a safety issue with the equipment, Zhou Mingfan fell and died.

Wen Ni was devastated, but by chance, overheard a secret phone conversation with “Zhou Linchuan”:

“I married Wen Ni only so Xue-ning could marry Linchuan without obstacles. Now that Linchuan’s dead, it’s his fate. From now on, I am Linchuan, and Xue-ning is my wife.”

“Wen Ni won’t notice!”

“Linchuan and I are twins—even our parents can’t always tell us apart. No way Wen Ni can.”

“Just say Zhou Mingfan is dead.”

…

Wen Ni finally saw the truth: both brothers had loved Shen Xue-ning.

But because Shen Xue-ning only loved the younger brother, Zhou Linchuan, Zhou Mingfan, for the sake of the woman he loved, forced himself to show affection and made Wen Ni fall for him, just so she’d let go.

To be thorough, even after the wedding, he continued to act the part of the devoted admirer—going to such lengths for love, truly a tragic figure.

Sitting in the car, Wen Ni forced herself to stop dwelling on the past. She drove, one hand subconsciously resting on her abdomen.

The extravagant intangible heritage studio and her grandmother’s medical bills—both were expenses she could never afford. Since Zhou Mingfan had wronged her first, it was only fair to even the score.

Now that Zhou Mingfan would live as Zhou Linchuan in everyone’s eyes, she would bear his child. With the old patriarch’s guilt toward his grandson and herself, she would claim the inheritance rightfully hers—becoming a wealthy, carefree widow.

From now on—

Men were only for amusement; she would never give her heart again.

All men in this world are cut from the same cloth—none worth trusting.

Half an hour later, Wen Ni, dressed in solemn black, appeared at the mourning hall. Head bowed, breath shallow, she made herself invisible, planning to sit quietly by as a mere ornament.

Two children from the Zhou family ran past and accidentally collided with her.

Already weak and sore, Wen Ni lost her balance and tumbled backward. She reached out, desperate for support, but found nothing.

Just as she braced for embarrassment, a strong arm wrapped firmly around her waist, drawing her close.

Her forehead knocked hard against a man’s chest—he radiated heat, and her hand, pressed to his chest, felt as if it might ignite.

She quickly withdrew her hand, flustered, barely steadying herself.

Before she could thank him, another hand shoved her sharply, “Aren’t you going to thank your uncle?”

A flash of coldness crossed Wen Ni's beautiful, round eyes. Without raising her head, she spoke in a soft, gentle tone, “Thank you, Uncle. I… I’m just so grief-stricken by Mingfan’s sudden passing that I’m weak. Please don’t hold it against me.”

“Grief-stricken?”

That voice—deep, hoarse, with an undertone like a hook, effortlessly unsettling a woman's heart.

So familiar.

It overlapped perfectly with the voice in her mind: “Don’t cry. You made your bed, now lie in it.”

Wen Ni’s heart skipped a beat.

Could it be that, in seeking a father for her child, she had chosen Zhou Mingfan’s uncle—Zhou Jingyi?

She lifted her head, face ashen, and met a gaze she would never forget, not even in death. In that instant, Wen Ni seemed to hear herself being torn limb from limb.

She staggered.

Zhou Jingyi reached out, gripping her wrist lightly, as if to avoid suspicion. “If you’re so grief-stricken, then… get some rest.”

His height was overwhelming. Each word he spoke landed squarely on the top of her head, pressing her down so she could not look up.

Wen Ni quickly withdrew her hand, the spot where he’d touched her burning.

To avoid any more contact, she obediently knelt before the altar, feigning profound sorrow, refusing to interact with anyone.

Zhou Jingyi stood nearby, his quiet gaze lingering on her face.

He hadn’t returned in ten years, and now, the little girl from before had grown into a striking young woman—one with a heart as black as pitch.

His lips tightened; his expression was grim.

No matter how one looked at it, coming home to attend his nephew’s funeral and ending up in bed with his nephew’s woman was utterly indefensible.

Zhou Jingyi averted his gaze. From this moment on, there would be nothing between him and Wen Ni.

Late at night, Zhou Jingyi, thirsty, went downstairs for water.

By candlelight, he saw Wen Ni—who should have been kneeling on the cushion, reciting prayers for Zhou Mingfan—reclining on the same cushion, speaking softly into her phone.

Her voice was low, but her tone was unmistakable: “Don’t worry, why would I ever follow him in death? Even if the entire Zhou family were wiped out, I wouldn’t follow. I’m fine, really. How could you say I’m not? By the way, can you send me something…”

Holding the phone one way grew tiring. As she shifted, Wen Ni caught sight of a blurred figure in her peripheral vision.

She hung up at once, picked up the candle, and walked to the foot of the stairs.

Head tipped back, she made out Zhou Jingyi standing on the landing.

She pressed her lips together. “How much did you hear?”

His voice was calm, yet oppressive. “Everything.”

Wen Ni ground her teeth in annoyance.

“Planning to silence me?” Zhou Jingyi asked.

She replied with a warm, sweet exasperation, “You caught me.”

Moonlight poured through the tall window to her right, casting a chill between them; he stood in the light, she in the shadows, each on their own side.

“So, what now?” Zhou Jingyi asked coolly.

Wen Ni nodded in agreement. “Yes, what now?”

Suddenly, while Zhou Jingyi was distracted, Wen Ni reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

With the height difference—magnified by the stairs—Zhou Jingyi stumbled down two steps, caught off guard.

Wen Ni rose on tiptoe, her lips brushing his cheek. “Would a bribe work?”

He looked down, unreadable.

As Wen Ni moved to kiss him on the mouth, he pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her. “I have no interest in entangling myself with a married woman.”

She blinked, her eyes pure and enchanting in the moonlight. “I’m not married. I’m a widow.”

Zhou Jingyi gave a cold laugh, his lips curving with icy disdain.

His burning fingertip traced her eye, lingering for a moment. “That’s even worse, Wen Ni. You’re a widow-maker.”

Without waiting for her to react to his words, he suddenly gripped her wrist tightly.

His voice dropped to a frigid register. “Wen Ni, don’t try to involve me. We’re not close.”