8. Dreaming Boldly
2023.10.08.
The door slammed shut with such force it seemed ready to shatter, right before Hille’s eyes, who had frozen like a pillar of salt upon witnessing that overwhelming curse.
Hille, too terrified even to knock on the door, collapsed to the ground, ears still ringing with the beast’s howl. When that scream abruptly cut off as if severed by a blade, he scrambled backward on his buttocks, then bolted in the opposite direction for his life.
His pants grew damp, and sobs poured from his mouth without a single tear. There was no time to feel shame.
Those crimson eyes glaring at him as if to crush him into dust—he would never forget them, even in death.
***
The attending physician Hille had fallen gravely ill.
Steward Gustav, having seen Hille collapse from afar, immediately shoved him into a guest room.
A steward administering sedatives to the attending physician? Just as Gustav was thinking how unusually dramatic the physician’s initiation had turned out to be, a message arrived from the gate guards.
Gustav relayed the news to his master, his face pale.
“Is the carriage still there?”
Clade opened his eyes, regaining composure in the daylight, and asked Gustav in return.
Creak—creak—.
His body, slumped on the old rocking chair that hadn’t been oiled in years, showed no intention of rising.
The steward clenched his teeth, inwardly wishing he could change anything in this room—starting with oiling that irritating chair.
“Yes. There’s no coachman, but there’s faint movement inside the carriage…”
“You must have misheard.”
Clade abruptly cut off Gustav’s words, as if unwilling to hear more.
His indifferent gaze drifted through empty air toward the window.
Through a narrow gap in the slightly open curtains, snow fell as it had every morning, continuing without pause this morning as well. Observing Clade’s faintly furrowed brow, the steward added,
“Actually, yesterday Marquis Rev briefly asked to see you. Perhaps you should have gone out then?”
“If I went out every time someone called, I’d have said farewell eight times already in front of this estate.”
After hesitating a moment, Gustav spoke again.
“To be honest, I went out at dawn to check myself, Your Highness. The new bride asked whether she should allow the prince to enter.”
A look of disapproval shot toward Gustav. But Clade’s irritation quickly shifted toward the new bride instead.
“My permission?”
Clade snorted.
“Dreaming boldly, isn’t she.”
Gustav, cautiously gauging Clade’s expression, gathered up the blood-soaked bedsheet.
The stains came from Clade pricking the back of his own hand every night to endure the volcanic pain that erupted within him.
Bloodstains dotted the plush carpet and wooden floor in various places.
The large, dark bedroom resembled not the chamber of a noble prince, but the quarters of a warrior returned from a brutal massacre. It was miraculous he was still alive despite losing so much blood.
The amount of blood seemed excessive just from pricking the back of the hand, but since everything surrounding Clade was far from ordinary, questioning it would only give one a headache.
Gustav swallowed hard and hurried to clean the room.
An experienced old steward, he was determined not to disturb his master’s mood by reporting trivial news about the discarded princess consort, but to tidy the room instead.
“Is there anything else you need?”
“Tell them I don’t want to hear again that I’ve killed several wives—just tell them to get out.”
Clade ordered, irritably tracing the back of his hand that Gustav had just treated.
Gustav stepped closer to Clade, lowering his upper body slightly.
Clade glared at him as if he were the ninth wife waiting outside, muttering coldly,
“If she doesn’t want to go back, tell her to die. Just not in front of my house.”
Gustav paused briefly, then, as if accustomed to such words, half-bowed and disappeared, carrying the bloodstained sheets.
Only after the bedroom door clicked shut completely did the rocking chair, bearing the weary and sensitive master, begin to creak once more.
Creak—creak—.
A winter morning blanketed in white.
At last, night descended upon Clade’s bedroom.
Slowly, his eyelids closed over eyes like gleaming beads that continued to shine despite having lost their light.
Gradually, the tension in Clade’s jaw—clenched as if reliving the agony of the past night and measuring the pain yet to come—began to ease. Soon, Clade Euphris’s dark bedroom sank into perfect silence.
At that moment, Clade had no idea.
That his ninth wife would remain standing before him for a full three more days.
***
Steward Gustav truly did not wish to say anything that might irritate this particularly sensitive discarded prince.
But there were facts that had to be reported—even to a master who despised nothing more than the shadow of death descending upon his home while lying lifelessly in bed like a corpse in a coffin.
“Gustav. Have you lost your mind?”
“I apologize, Your Highness. But how could I possibly lay hands on the new princess consort? I’ve only ever seen those who left on their own feet. This situation…”
The horrifying truth being that the ninth bride of the discarded prince had stubbornly endured—for three full days. Counting the nights, it had been four.
Clade, who had been lying listlessly on the bed, abruptly sat up.
Clade, who rarely approached windows except as mere decorations, now pressed close to one, facing the scenery visible through the frost-covered glass. His irritated gaze quickly scanned outside.
Beyond the blinding white snowfield and the iron fence, one insignificant carriage still stood defiantly upright.
Two days ago, he had scoffed at the suggestion to send her a down blanket and a small brazier.
Yesterday, the servants’ joking remarks about needing to build a coffin had drifted into the bedroom.
“It’s possible she’s still alive, Your Highness. The maids are too afraid to approach, saying they dread seeing a corpse, so confirmation was delayed…”
Hearing that this matter was no longer within the servants’ jurisdiction, one of Clade’s eyebrows sharply arched upward.
Assuming the woman was still alive, the solution was simple.
Either bring that foolish, stubborn woman into the mansion and provide warmth, or alternatively, send warm supplies into that pitiful carriage.
If the former, she would die within the estate. If the latter, she would collapse from exhaustion while staging her protest out there.
Neither option appealed to him, so there was only one choice.
Clade knew exactly how to make that uninvited guest flee at once.
It was a flawless, hundred-percent-effective method he had never once failed with.
After a long silence, Clade’s dry lips parted.
“Send all servants to my room. Not even a single mouse may enter or leave the estate or its gates.”
Gustav dared not look up at Clade’s visibly irritated face, quietly bowing his head instead.
***
Louise would not live long—that much she already knew.
Even as a child, after over ten years of convalescence in the southern regions, and later, even with Yuan enduring the laboratory work and trying every possible medicine, Louise’s illness had never been cured.
Sudden nosebleeds. Coughing up blood when overexerted. Collapsing without warning even while running healthily.
It wasn’t the frailty caused by thin bones and weak muscles. Outwardly, she appeared no different from ordinary people.
Her father had said the illness was a Pelliese hereditary disease.
A condition that struck one or two individuals per generation.
A terminal illness leading to an early death.
Fortunately, it had not manifested in her father’s generation, but Louise had not escaped it.
The reason Yuan had endured the torment inflicted by her uncle and remained in the Pelliese estate was not solely for the lifelong dream of home and family.
It was also hope—hope that by assisting her uncle in countless experiments in the laboratory, she might one day discover a way to cure Louise.
Yuan squeezed her eyes tighter, already frozen and heavy.
Even knowing she would die earlier than others, she could not be certain whether Louise had died naturally.
The rumors about discarded prince Clade Euphris were extremely dark. He might have killed Louise, or worsened her condition.
‘I have to ask.’
A new home. A new family.
Though Louise had rescued Yuan from the hell called Pelliese and brought her here, passively accepting life as it was given and truly accepting it were two different matters.
At the very least, Yuan needed to know how Louise had died, what her final moments were like—only then could she properly lay Louise to rest in her heart.
Only then could she begin to live in this world that Louise had brought her to—a world without Louise.
“Uuuh—.”
Wriggling her fingers, now frozen stiff, felt as if her entire body were screaming. Sensation in her fingertips had long since vanished.
For nights on end, Yuan had agonized over what to say when she finally met discarded prince Clade Euphris. Now, she could barely tell whether this was a dream, reality, or a hallucination.
After all, utter silence surrounded her.
The occasional murmurs of the guards had abruptly ceased.
The sound of a crow’s beak, thick as an arm, pecking at the carriage roof, no longer reached her ears.
Even the desolate winter wind seemed to have fallen silent.
Am I dying?
No—am I already dead?
Should I at least shout toward that mansion before I die?
What did Louise’s final moments look like? Were you a kind husband to her?
As futile imaginings filled her mind,
—Clang!
A sudden noise burst forth, and sharp cold air rushed into her face. The feeble barrier she had managed to maintain was violently shattered.
Through narrowed eyes, dark pupils briefly flashed into view.
Unlike the cold air, warm sunlight poured in, painfully caressing her pupils.
Ignoring her body’s scream of protest, Yuan creakily pushed herself up.
Only when she had lifted her upper body halfway did she finally manage to fully open her crumpled eyelids.
Before her stood a man silhouetted against the flood of light.
“Oh.”
Discarded prince Clade Euphris.
No one had introduced him, nor had he introduced himself.
Yet this sensation—of every hair on her body standing on end, unrelated to the cold—could only mean one thing: she was finally seeing with her own eyes the man she had only heard about in rumors.
Male lead Asks for a Divorce Every Day
It’s not often you come across a plot like this in the female-dominant genre — make sure to check it out!
This is a novel I’m planning to reread as well.
The male lead is strong, skilled in martial arts, and not the usual fragile type you often see in matriarchal novels.
Meanwhile, the female lead is a scientist—rational and logical. Even when she falls for the male lead, she doesn’t let her emotions cloud her decisions.
If you push through the first few chapters, you’ll gradually find the story really intriguing.
It has a mix of mystery, detective elements, and romance.
The author’s writing style is like crafting a puzzle—except they deliberately leave out a few pieces, making it hard to predict what happens next, yet keeping you hooked.
In the end, everything will come together and be explained.
One-sentence summary: Wife, stop playing with beakers and look at me!
In a laboratory accident, research scientist Zhu Wansheng accidentally travels to a matriarchal world. The original owner of the body is an eighteen-year-old only daughter of a wealthy rouge merchant, already married with a handsome young man.
Zhu Wansheng grins: Nice! She always said she was heaven’s favorite granddaughter. After a life of toil in her previous life, she can enjoy blessings in this one.
However, her joy lasts no more than three seconds as bad news arrives: the original owner’s family is about to go bankrupt, and her husband wants a divorce.
Even worse, she’s stuck with a research system full of restrictions.
Zhu Wansheng: ? Is this the destiny of a research dog?
——
Faced with this mess, Zhu Wansheng pours herself a bowl of wine to drown her sorrows. In her drunken haze, her husband arrives.
His figure is imposing, holding a long sword, with a dignified air that captivates Zhu Wansheng.
Gu Yingqing, however, looks at the alcohol-reeking Zhu Wansheng with undisguised disgust and coldly asks, “Divorce or not?” The intoxicated Zhu Wansheng mumbles vaguely, “I think… it’s not… it’s not… impossible!”
——
The next day, after sobering up, Zhu Wansheng is full of energy, rolling up her sleeves ready to make a big move. As for yesterday? She has no memory of it.
Zhu Wansheng is ambitious; a research dog fears nothing!
Upgrading rouge, extracting fragrances, producing perfumes, researching lipsticks… all shall bow to the power of modern technology!
The original owner’s dying rouge shop is revitalized. Her mother is pleased and with a wave of her hand, passes on the family business to her. As she takes control and her experimental results gain popularity, it’s the pinnacle of her life…
——
But there are always those who can’t stand to see her doing well. Jealousy, scheming, assassination attempts – they want nothing less than her life.
The person who has always kept his distance from her suddenly holds her tightly in his arms, eyes full of concern.
She is unharmed, but he falls into a pool of blood…
Zhu Wansheng feels guilty, “I can grant you one wish.”
Gu Yingqing tentatively circles his arms around her, carefully resting his head in the crook of her neck, pleading softly, “I regret it. Can we not divorce?”
Zhu Wansheng: ? When did I agree to a divorce?
[Small Theater]
The newly developed rouge is beautifully packaged, and Zhu Wansheng is eager to try it.
Gu Yingqing suddenly appears: “My lady, may I apply it for you?”
Cool fingertips lightly brush her lips. His Adam’s apple bobs as he leans in for a light bite.
Zhu Wansheng: ?
Gu Yingqing: It smells so good, I wanted to taste it…
On a warm spring day, Zhu Wansheng tries a new perfume: “Spring Night.” Gu Yingqing corners her against a wall.
Warm breath lingers on her neck.
“My lady, from now on, may I test the fragrances for you?”
[Humorous female scientist vs scheming live-in son-in-law male lead]
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