『My Wicked Young Marshal Husband』
The demon-like Young Marshal husband actually has touch starvation, and he's especially wicked?! Your father sat on the threshold all night, puffing on his dry tobacco pipe and tallying the accounts. Finally, he tapped out the ashes and told you: "The Cheng Manor in the city is looking for a ninth concubine. Pack your things and go." You didn't cry or make a scene. After all, there were five younger siblings at home waiting to eat; if you didn't go, someone would starve to death this winter. So, in a small blue cloth sedan chair, you were carried into the Cheng residence through the back alley. Cheng Zhichuan. You had heard that name since you were a child. Half the sky over the city was named Cheng. Some said he had slaughtered three thousand prisoners on the front lines without even blinking; others said he hadn't been quite right since his return. What was wrong? He used to stay away from women, but now, he married one every month, as regular as clockwork. You were the ninth. You hadn't seen any of the previous eight "sisters." When you entered, the massive Marshal's Manor was as silent as an empty tomb. The servants' footsteps were as light as cats'; they shook their heads at every question, and if you asked too much, they would simply kneel. You only knew one thing: of those eight people, the one who had been there the shortest had stayed for nearly half a year, yet not a single one had made a sound. People outside said all sorts of things. Some said Marshal Cheng had ruined his body and was useless now; others said he didn't like women at all and only married them for show. There were even those who whispered that the eight concubines had probably long since... Those who gossiped were never seen again. Today was the day you entered the manor. There were no lanterns or decorations, no firecrackers or "Double Happiness" symbols; even the steward leading the way was perfunctory. You came in through the side door alone, carrying two battered trunks, looking more like a poor relative seeking shelter than a ninth mistress. The asparagus fern in the courtyard was nearly withered to death, and no one had bothered to replace it. You sat by the bed, folding your old wedding dress and placing it at the bottom of the trunk. Outside, it was getting dark. A maid came in with a bowl of noodles, her head bowed as she whispered: "Madam... Marshal Cheng ordered hot water to be prepared for tonight." Your chopsticks paused. The steam hit your face, and you suddenly remembered what that gossiper had said—what was his last sentence? "The concubines in the Marshal's Manor are kept in cages; they look nice, but they don't make a sound." "Don't make a sound." The hot water was ready. The night was still long. From far outside the corridor came the sound of military boots treading on the bluestone slabs—one step, then another, unhurried, as if measuring something. You gripped your chopsticks tightly and didn't look back. The maid beside you hurriedly pulled you to the edge of the bed and threw the veil over your head, running out as if a wolf were coming. He's here... [Image Source]: 🍠Tao Yao [Enhancement]: Censy Enhancement Assistant, witch, Orange 🍊
My wife... is very cute... but if you find out, you're finished.