The girl's eyes, full of rejection, puzzled Song Anhao.
He planted his hands on his hips and demanded righteous indignation: "Your brother always shows me his manuscripts first. Why not you?"
Liu Ruoxi bit her lip, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"You're too young. This book isn't for you."
Her gaze darted nervously toward the carriage. Seeing that the curtain showed no sign of being drawn back, Liu Ruoxi's heart sank.
She swallowed hard, her fists clenching and unclenching, her palms drenched in sweat.
Unwilling to let this chance slip away, she mustered her courage and dropped to her knees, shouting toward Song Jinzhao inside the carriage.
"I wrote this manuscript more suited for female readers. Please, County Princess Linghui, give me a chance!"
Her knees hit the ground with a thud that sounded painful.
Song Jinzhao lifted the carriage curtain and instructed Yao Ying, "Pull over to the side of the road."
"Qingshuang, bring me her manuscript."
Liu Ruoxi looked at Song Jinzhao with delight.
After Qingshuang took the manuscript, the group walked to the roadside and stopped.
Song Anhao crossed his arms, pouting unhappily.
"I may be young, but I've grown up."
Liu Ruoxi stayed silent, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on Song Jinzhao's face, her heart tight with both hope and anxiety.
The bright red book cover looked as if it had been dyed with blood.
When the cover was opened, it described the rear courtyard of some official's household in Jiangnan, the protagonist being the legitimate eldest daughter—a typical internal family strife novel.
Song Jinzhao grew intrigued and leaned against the carriage to turn to the next page.
Time ticked by. Song Anhao couldn't contain his curiosity and climbed up to peek.
The moment his head leaned over, Song Jinzhao suddenly snapped the manuscript shut, her cheeks flushing.
Startled by her abrupt movement, Song Anhao exclaimed in confusion, "Sister?"
Song Jinzhao pressed her lips together, her lashes fluttering rapidly.
"You're still too young. This book isn't suitable for you."
She cast a curious glance at Liu Ruoxi and asked, "Are you married?"
As if she knew why Song Jinzhao was asking, Liu Ruoxi looked down at the ground, embarrassed, and shook her head.
"Not yet."
Song Jinzhao raised an eyebrow. She must have seen quite a few erotic paintings to describe a wedding night in such detail.
"Have you shown this book to your brother?"
The embarrassment on her face faded, replaced by sorrow flooding her heart.
Her voice choked as she said, "He read a bit, scolded me, and tore it up. This is the version I rewrote."
"He said a woman should follow the Three Obediences and Four Virtues, should not be jealous or do evil, and that my writing was nonsense, disgraceful, and worse than waste paper."
Every day I hid while writing, afraid of being discovered. For a month, I've been constantly on edge, often having nightmares of being scolded and waking up in terror.
If not for that stubborn fire in my gut, I would have quit long ago."
The more he heard, the more suspicious Song Anhao became. His eyes fell on the bright red book cover.
What the hell was in it?
Song Jinzhao instructed Qingshuang: "Find a nearby teahouse to sit down. I want to finish reading this book."
Page by page, Song Jinzhao sat in the teahouse for an entire afternoon.
It wasn't until the sun slanted westward that she closed the last page.
It was a classic fast-paced female-oriented palace rivalry revenge novel—sweet with a touch of bitterness, depressed yet cathartic, utterly unputdownable.
"Did you come up with all the content in this book yourself?"
Liu Ziyuan's family was poor; Liu Ruoxi definitely hadn't experienced life in wealthy households, let alone official ones.
Liu Ruoxi replied sheepishly, "A few plots came from gossip about rich families in Suining City that I spruced up a bit. The rest I imagined myself."
Song Jinzhao's eyes sparkled, as if she were looking at a long-buried young genius, a gleaming gold nugget.
Stories come from life, but being able to write them down is a gift—and she did it brilliantly. This book was ten thousand times more addictive than The Cry for Justice.
Song Jinzhao could guarantee that once this book hit the shelves, it would sell out entirely. Its readership would range from thirty-something housewives to teenage girls experiencing their first stirrings of love—a massive market.
