Lin Zhaoxue wouldn’t survive the night.

Once proud and radiant, years of hardship in the inner household had left her gaunt and withered.

She looked like a dejected quail.

She leaned weakly against the pillows, barely clinging to her strength.

No, she couldn’t give up.

She hadn’t yet reconciled with Li Yanyong.

Lin Zhaoxue held onto a sliver of hope, hoping to see Li Yanyong one last time before she died.

It had been six months since she’d last seen him, a year since they’d spoken a word.

But in her final moments, she didn’t want to end things estranged from Li Yanyong.

So, despite her labored breathing, Lin Zhaoxue had gotten out of bed the previous night and gone to the kitchen stove.

She spent the night preparing a meal, chopping, kneading, steaming.

She even leveraged her parents’ connections to hire a court chef, the kind who usually cooked for the Empress—

All to prepare a “reconciliation meal” for Li Yanyong.

Lin Zhaoxue happily arranged the dishes and packed them.

Finally, she wrote a letter of apology, humbling herself, admitting she shouldn’t have argued.

She placed the letter at the bottom of the food box.

Then, she sent someone to deliver the vermilion-lacquered food box to Li Yanyong’s office.

Couples don’t hold grudges overnight, do they?

She hoped Li Yanyong would see her one last time, that they could reconcile.

The food box was returned, cleaned spotless, placed before Lin Zhaoxue.

Lin Zhaoxue stared at it, stunned.

She wasn’t happy.

Instead, she felt anger, frustration, shame.

Because her carefully prepared meal hadn’t been touched by Li Yanyong.

Worse, he hadn’t just left it uneaten; he’d given it to his uncle’s daughter, Ding Huanhua.

And the apology letter?

As if to deliberately humiliate her, Ding Huanhua’s maid returned it, untouched, with a polite smile.

The maid said, “Master Li is busy and couldn’t eat the food, so he gave it to our young lady. Our young lady asked me to thank you.”

Lin Zhaoxue sneered.

It was clear what was going on.

Ding Huanhua, and her father’s intentions—

Li Yanyong, engrossed in his official duties, was blind and oblivious.

But she wasn’t.

Lin Zhaoxue crumpled the apology letter, tearing a hole in the paper.

Her pathetic hopes were dashed, leaving her feeling utterly disgusted.

Impatient, she sent someone to question Li Yanyong about giving away the food.

But all she received was a cold, dismissive reply from Li Yanyong, his brow furrowed:

“Don’t make a fuss over trifles. Your wife should be more mature.”

The same old line.

Lin Zhaoxue felt a deep sense of powerlessness.

Her pride finally crumbled after Ding Huanhua’s maid left.

She slumped onto the pillows, lifeless.

Her frail body, weakened by illness, collapsed.

Her eyes were hollow, her life fading, leaving only deep weariness.

“Ah—help!!! Madam… Madam is failing!”

Lin Zhaoxue was dying.

Her maid checked her pulse.

Suddenly, with a crash, a basin fell to the ground. The maid, terrified, ran out, shouting.

The house became a cacophony of noise.

But Lin Zhaoxue didn’t react, staring blankly at the doorway, waiting for a certain figure to appear.

Only one thought haunted her mind.

She was dying; he should come to see her.

He couldn’t hate her so much that he wouldn’t even see her before she died.

After all, they had once been deeply in love.

Lin Zhaoxue and Li Yanyong had been young lovers, once passionately in love.

After marriage, Lin Zhaoxue knew Li Yanyong was focused on his career, so she dedicated herself to supporting him.

The Li family was a centuries-old clan with over a hundred members, and she was responsible for managing their vast household.

She did it flawlessly, pouring her heart and soul into it.

Beyond household management, there were filial duties and her responsibilities as a wife.

Li Yanyong had lost his father at a young age, and his mother, widowed early, had been chronically ill from years of hardship.

Initially, her illness was neglected by the servants, and she couldn’t even get out of bed.

Lin Zhaoxue, while managing the complex household accounts, tirelessly cared for her mother-in-law, working day and night, even preparing and administering her medicine herself to prevent laziness from the servants.

Thanks to her care, Li Yanyong’s mother regained her health and strength.

But the most challenging aspect was dealing with the malicious intentions of her uncle.

Her uncle had wanted to marry his daughter, Ding Huanhua, to Li Yanyong, but Lin Zhaoxue had intervened, earning his resentment.

Living under the same roof, he constantly tormented Lin Zhaoxue.

False accusations, forced rituals, and threats were commonplace, happening almost every other day. Her uncle was largely responsible for her deteriorating health.

Lin Zhaoxue feared upsetting Li Yanyong, so she endured it all.

But over time, she became exhausted.

Despite all her efforts, she only wanted a loving and supportive marriage with Li Yanyong.

But Li Yanyong never showed her any care.

When he returned home, he was either engrossed in official documents or focused on self-improvement.

They weren’t a couple; they were strangers living under the same roof.

Repeatedly stood up for dates and birthdays, and even when he did come home, he was distant, uncaring about her worries, dismissing her complaints as petty, and ignoring her jealousy over his closeness with other women, responding with only “Don’t make a fuss”—Lin Zhaoxue grew weary of being ignored and finally erupted.

She had grown up privileged and wasn’t accustomed to enduring everything.

She had her own principles and limits.

She began to argue with him.

Young Lin Zhaoxue still hoped that arguing would make him understand her suffering.

But men most despised nagging wives.

Especially the men in the court, who expected their wives to be virtuous and obedient.

Young Lin Zhaoxue didn’t understand this.

So, she was met with an increasingly cold marriage bed.

Now, although they still lived under the same roof, they hadn’t spoken in a year, hadn’t seen each other in six months.

Her heart grew colder and colder, her resentment deeper.

Years of household chores and her husband’s lack of understanding had taken their toll.

Lin Zhaoxue fell ill, her condition worsening.

Her illness was terminal.

But during a recent fire, she found an unexpected surge of strength, carrying the unconscious Li Yanyong to safety, exhausting herself in the process.

Afterward, she collapsed and never recovered.

Once deeply in love, how had they reached this point?

Even seeing him one last time was proving impossible.

As Lin Zhaoxue lay dying, covered by a blanket, the house was filled with people.

Everyone had come.

But Li Yanyong still hadn’t.

Her son, her hostile uncle, even the head of the Li family—everyone except the one person she longed to see.

Seeing the head of the family, Lin Zhaoxue instinctively flinched.