Burning Love Letters at Midnight, the Tsundere Ghost Wife Haunts My Dreams

Chapter 47

Burning Love Letters at Midnight, the Tsundere Ghost Wife Haunts My Dreams

After going bankrupt and losing my job as a customer service rep, I turned to late-night livestreams crafting paper effigies—only to become an underworld sensation. But my newfound fame attracted a horde of possessive ghost brides. “The last set of immortal-binding ropes has been bought by our top patron, sis~” “Freshly woven paper-red silk, so strong even the King of Hell can’t break free❤” “Huh? You ladies want to… test them yourselves? W-Wait—” Now, tied up like a dumpling in a paper wedding chamber, I finally understand— They were never obsessed with my paper crafts… but with me. The qipao-clad ghost presses her bone hairpin to my throat: “The flowers you fold belong only to me.” The crimson bride drapes her veil over my eyes: “The wedding gowns you burn are mine alone to wear.” “The paper dolls you cut…” Their icy fingers trace my face in a hungry chorus, “…must bear only our likeness, forever❤” “You ghosts only ever think about yourselves!” “Lies—our thoughts are full of you!”

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“ᮉᮕᮣᮺ ᯗ ᮥᮞᮔᮕᮢᮣᮤᮑᮞᮔᮺ ᯒᮙᮢᮕᮓᮤᮟᮢᮼ ᯗ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮗᮟ ᮙᮞᮦᮕᮣᮤᮙᮗᮑᮤᮕ ᮑᮗᮑᮙᮞ ᮤᮟᮝᮟᮢᮢᮟᮧᮼ”

“ᮄᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯒᮕᮞᮗ ᮖᮑᮝᮙᮜᮩ ᮧᮙᮤᮘᮔᮢᮕᮧ ᮤᮘᮕᮙᮢ ᮢᮕᮠᮟᮢᮤᮺ ᮣᮑᮩᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮝᮑᮤᮤᮕᮢ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮢᮕᮣᮟᮜᮦᮕᮔᮼ ᯏᮣ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮢᮕᮣᮟᮜᮦᮕᮔ ᮙᮤᮺ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮥᮞᮓᮜᮕᮑᮢᮼ”

“ᯖᮟᮧᮕᮦᮕᮢᮺ ᯒᮕᮞᮗ ᮃᮘᮥᮡᮙᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮕᮜᮔᮕᮣᮤ ᮔᮑᮥᮗᮘᮤᮕᮢ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯒᮕᮞᮗ ᮖᮑᮝᮙᮜᮩᮺ ᮧᮙᮤᮘᮔᮢᮕᮧ ᯀᮼᯁ ᮝᮙᮜᮜᮙᮟᮞ ᮙᮞ ᮓᮑᮣᮘ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮠᮢᮙᮦᮑᮤᮕ ᮑᮓᮓᮟᮥᮞᮤ ᮤᮟᮔᮑᮩᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮙᮤᮣ ᮧᮘᮕᮢᮕᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤᮣ ᮑᮢᮕ ᮥᮞᮛᮞᮟᮧᮞᮼ”

“ᯗ ᮣᮥᮣᮠᮕᮓᮤ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮠᮑᮙᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮢᮕᮣᮟᮜᮦᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯒᮕᮞᮗ ᮖᮑᮝᮙᮜᮩ᮵ᮣ ᮙᮣᮣᮥᮕᮼ ᮄᮘᮑᮤ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞ ᮝᮟᮣᮤ ᮜᮙᮛᮕᮜᮩ ᮛᮞᮟᮧᮣ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮕᮨᮙᮣᮤᮕᮞᮓᮕ ᮟᮖ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝᮣᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮝᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮣᮥᮢᮦᮙᮦᮕᮔ ᮑᮞ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮝᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮒᮢᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮟᮥᮤᮼ”

“ᮉᮕᮣᮯ ᯒᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮧᮟᮢᮢᮩᮺ ᯗ ᮗᮥᮑᮢᮑᮞᮤᮕᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮝᮙᮣᮣᮙᮟᮞ ᮧᮙᮜᮜ ᮒᮕ ᮓᮟᮝᮠᮜᮕᮤᮕᮔᮯ”

ᯗᮞᮣᮙᮔᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮞᮚᮙᮑᮞᮗ ᯖᮟᮤᮕᮜ ᮙᮞ ᯐᮑᮙᮣᮘᮙᮺ ᮑ ᮣᮜᮕᮞᮔᮕᮢᮺ ᮓᮑᮠᮑᮒᮜᮕᮻᮜᮟᮟᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮟᮝᮑᮞ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮣᮤᮢᮙᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮣᮙᮜᮦᮕᮢ ᮣᮘᮟᮢᮤ ᮘᮑᮙᮢ ᮣᮜᮟᮧᮜᮩ ᮠᮥᮤ ᮔᮟᮧᮞ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕᮼ

ᯜᮕᮨᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮓᮜᮥᮞᮛᮩᮺ ᮙᮢᮟᮞᮻᮒᮟᮨᮻᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕᮺ ᮑᮞ ᮕᮕᮢᮙᮜᮩ ᮠᮜᮑᮓᮕᮔ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢᮻᮓᮢᮑᮖᮤᮕᮔ ᮜᮑᮤᮕᮣᮤ ᮝᮟᮔᮕᮜ ᮵ᯔᮢᮥᮙᮤ᮵ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕ ᮜᮑᮩᮼ ᯐᮕᮞᮕᮑᮤᮘ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑᮞ ᯗᯒ ᮒᮑᮔᮗᮕ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮘᮑᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮠᮥᮤ ᮑᮧᮑᮩ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮙᮝᮕᮼ

ᯗᮤ ᮓᮜᮕᮑᮢᮜᮩ ᮣᮤᮑᮤᮕᮔᮼᮼᮼ ᯜᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞᮑᮜ ᮃᮠᮕᮓᮙᮑᮜ ᯓᮦᮕᮞᮤ ᯗᮞᮦᮕᮣᮤᮙᮗᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᯐᮥᮢᮕᮑᮥᮺ ᮃᮕᮦᮕᮞᮤᮘ ᯗᮞᮦᮕᮣᮤᮙᮗᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᯒᮕᮠᮑᮢᮤᮝᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᮄᮘᮙᮢᮔ ᯏᮓᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᮄᮕᮑᮝ ᯚᮕᮑᮔᮕᮢᮺ ᯑᮘᮥ ᯏᮞᮞᮙᮑᮞᮼ

ᯑᮘᮥ ᯏᮞᮞᮙᮑᮞ ᮧᮟᮢᮕ ᮑ ᮢᮕᮖᮙᮞᮕᮔ ᮠᮢᮟᮖᮕᮣᮣᮙᮟᮞᮑᮜ ᮣᮥᮙᮤᮺ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮑ ᮤᮙᮗᮘᮤᮺ ᮘᮙᮠᮻᮘᮥᮗᮗᮙᮞᮗ ᮣᮛᮙᮢᮤ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮓᮑᮤᮕ ᮒᮜᮑᮓᮛ ᮣᮤᮟᮓᮛᮙᮞᮗᮣ ᮑᮓᮓᮕᮞᮤᮥᮑᮤᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮓᮥᮢᮦᮑᮓᮕᮟᮥᮣ ᮖᮙᮗᮥᮢᮕᮼ

ᯖᮕᮢ ᮖᮙᮗᮥᮢᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮕᮨᮓᮕᮜᮜᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᮧᮕᮜᮜᮻᮠᮢᮟᮠᮟᮢᮤᮙᮟᮞᮕᮔ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮘᮕᮑᮜᮤᮘᮩᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮢᮑᮢᮕ ᮣᮙᮜᮦᮕᮢᮻᮧᮘᮙᮤᮕ ᮣᮘᮟᮢᮤ ᮘᮑᮙᮢ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮕᮣᮠᮕᮓᮙᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮣᮤᮥᮞᮞᮙᮞᮗᮼ

ᯏ ᮧᮟᮝᮑᮞ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮙᮞᮣᮤᮙᮞᮓᮤᮙᮦᮕᮜᮩ ᮔᮢᮑᮧ ᮕᮨᮤᮢᮑ ᮗᮜᮑᮞᮓᮕᮣ ᮧᮘᮕᮢᮕᮦᮕᮢ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮕᮞᮤᮼ

ᮉᮕᮤᮺ ᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮝᮟᮝᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮓᮑᮤᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮠᮢᮕᮤᮤᮩ ᮖᮑᮓᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮖᮙᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮤᮕᮞᮣᮙᮟᮞ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮓᮟᮞᮖᮥᮣᮙᮟᮞᮼᮼᮼ

ᮃᮘᮕ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮕᮔ ᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮙᮣᮤᮑᮞᮤ ᮢᮙᮦᮕᮢ ᮦᮙᮕᮧᮼᮼᮼ ᮟᮢ ᮝᮟᮢᮕ ᮑᮓᮓᮥᮢᮑᮤᮕᮜᮩᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮝᮑᮗᮞᮙᮖᮙᮓᮕᮞᮤ ᯘᮙᮞ ᯐᮑᮙᮘᮑᮞ ᯜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮓᮜᮥᮒ ᮞᮟᮤ ᮖᮑᮢ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮢᮙᮦᮕᮢᮒᮑᮞᮛᮼ

ᮃᮤᮑᮢᮤᮙᮞᮗ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮞᮟᮟᮞ ᮤᮟᮔᮑᮩᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮟᮑᮢᮙᮞᮗ ᮝᮑᮜᮕᮦᮟᮜᮕᮞᮤ ᮕᮞᮕᮢᮗᮩ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯘᮙᮞ ᯐᮑᮙᮘᮑᮞ ᯜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮓᮜᮥᮒ ᮣᮥᮔᮔᮕᮞᮜᮩ ᮦᮑᮞᮙᮣᮘᮕᮔᮼ

ᮇᮘᮑᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮝᮟᮢᮕ ᮣᮥᮢᮠᮢᮙᮣᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮒᮕᮖᮟᮢᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮝᮑᮜᮕᮦᮟᮜᮕᮞᮤ ᮕᮞᮕᮢᮗᮩ ᮔᮙᮣᮑᮠᮠᮕᮑᮢᮕᮔᮺ ᮑ ᮖᮑᮙᮞᮤᮺ ᮑᮜᮝᮟᮣᮤ ᮙᮝᮠᮕᮢᮓᮕᮠᮤᮙᮒᮜᮕ ᮣᮑᮓᮢᮕᮔ ᮑᮥᮢᮑ ᮒᮢᮙᮕᮖᮜᮩ ᮑᮠᮠᮕᮑᮢᮕᮔᮺ ᮑᮣ ᮙᮖ ᮑ ᮔᮕᮙᮤᮩ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮔᮕᮣᮓᮕᮞᮔᮕᮔᮼ ᯏᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮑᮤᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮝᮑᮜᮕᮦᮟᮜᮕᮞᮤ ᮕᮞᮕᮢᮗᮩ ᮦᮑᮞᮙᮣᮘᮕᮔ ᮧᮙᮤᮘᮟᮥᮤ ᮑ ᮤᮢᮑᮓᮕᮺ ᮑᮣ ᮙᮖ ᮙᮤ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮞᮕᮦᮕᮢ ᮕᮨᮙᮣᮤᮕᮔᮼ

ᮄᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮔᮕᮖᮙᮞᮙᮤᮕᮜᮩ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮢᮟᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢᮕᯉ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮗᮕᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮒᮟᮤᮤᮟᮝ ᮟᮖ ᮙᮤᮺ ᮞᮟ ᮝᮑᮤᮤᮕᮢ ᮧᮘᮑᮤᮼ

“ᯖᮝᮝᯍ”

ᯘᮥᮣᮤ ᮑᮣ ᯑᮘᮥ ᯏᮞᮞᮙᮑᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮜᮟᮣᮤ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮣᮥᮔᮔᮕᮞᮜᮩ ᮞᮟᮤᮙᮓᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢᮻᮓᮢᮑᮖᮤᮕᮔ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕ ᮟᮞ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮔᮕᮣᮛ ᮜᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮥᮠᮼ

ᯔᮑᮓᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮕᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮣᮙᮤᮥᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮣᮘᮟᮧ ᮖᮕᮑᮢᯉ ᮙᮞᮣᮤᮕᮑᮔᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮠᮜᮕᮑᮣᮑᮞᮤᮜᮩ ᮣᮥᮢᮠᮢᮙᮣᮕᮔᮼ

ᮃᮘᮕ ᮠᮙᮓᮛᮕᮔ ᮥᮠ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮤᮑᮒᮜᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮕᮨᮑᮝᮙᮞᮕᮔ ᮙᮤ ᮓᮑᮢᮕᮖᮥᮜᮜᮩᮼ ᯏᮤ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮝᮟᮝᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮑ ᮞᮟᮢᮝᮑᮜ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕᯉ ᮑᮜᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘ ᮙᮤᮣ ᮝᮑᮤᮕᮢᮙᮑᮜ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮣᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢᮻᮓᮢᮑᮖᮤᮕᮔᮺ ᮙᮤ ᮟᮠᮕᮢᮑᮤᮕᮔ ᮧᮙᮤᮘᮟᮥᮤ ᮑᮞᮩ ᮙᮣᮣᮥᮕᮣᮼ

ᯖᮟᮧᮕᮦᮕᮢᮺ ᮟᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕ᮵ᮣ ᮔᮕᮣᮛᮤᮟᮠᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮟᮞᮜᮩ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝ ᮑᮠᮠᮼ

ᮇᮙᮤᮘᮟᮥᮤ ᮤᮙᮝᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮛᮺ ᯑᮘᮥ ᯏᮞᮞᮙᮑᮞ ᮤᮑᮠᮠᮕᮔ ᮟᮞ ᮙᮤ ᮔᮙᮢᮕᮓᮤᮜᮩᮼ ᯗᮞᮣᮙᮔᮕᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮣᮑᮧ ᮑ ᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮣᮧᮕᮕᮤ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮓᮥᮤᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯕᮙᮢᮜ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮑ ᮣᮜᮕᮞᮔᮕᮢ ᮂᮟᮩᮑᮜ ᮃᮙᮣᮤᮕᮢ ᮙᮞ ᮑ ᮗᮟᮢᮗᮕᮟᮥᮣ ᮡᮙᮠᮑᮟ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝᮙᮞᮗᮼ

ᯗᮤ ᮣᮕᮕᮝᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮕ ᮑ ᮣᮑᮜᮕᮣ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝᮺ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮠᮢᮟᮔᮥᮓᮤᮣ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮣᮠᮙᮢᮙᮤ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩᮺ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮝᮕᮞᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮦᮙᮜᮜᮑᮣᮼ

ᯏᮣ ᯑᮘᮥ ᯏᮞᮞᮙᮑᮞ ᮧᮑᮤᮓᮘᮕᮔᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮣᮤᮙᮜᮩ ᮗᮢᮑᮒᮒᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮓᮜᮥᮞᮛᮩ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮤᮑᮢᮤᮕᮔ ᮢᮕᮓᮟᮢᮔᮙᮞᮗᮼ

ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢᮻᮓᮢᮑᮖᮤᮕᮔ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮒᮢᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮟᮥᮤ ᮩᮕᮑᮢᮣ ᮑᮗᮟ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮞᮑᮢᮢᮟᮧᮜᮩ ᮕᮣᮓᮑᮠᮕᮔ ᮔᮕᮑᮤᮘ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮑᮞ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝᮼ

ᮇᮘᮕᮞ ᮙᮤ ᮣᮤᮑᮩᮕᮔ ᮒᮩ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮣᮙᮔᮕᮺ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮟᮓᮓᮑᮣᮙᮟᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮑᮜᮜᮟᮧ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮟ ᮧᮑᮤᮓᮘ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝᮣ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮙᮤᮺ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮤᮟᮔᮑᮩᮼ

ᮄᮟ ᮒᮕ ᮘᮟᮞᮕᮣᮤᮺ ᮙᮖ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮕᮜᮜ ᮟᮤᮘᮕᮢᮣ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝ ᮓᮟᮞᮤᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮠᮢᮟᮒᮑᮒᮜᮩ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮛ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮓᮢᮑ᮪ᮩᮼ

ᯐᮕᮓᮑᮥᮣᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮧᮙᮤᮞᮕᮣᮣᮕᮔ ᮊᮘᮟᮞᮗ ᯙᮥᮙ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝᮙᮞᮗ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮻᮓᮑᮤᮓᮘᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᯕᮥᮑᮞ ᯓᮢᮩᮕ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝᮙᮞᮗ ᮖᮟᮢᮤᮥᮞᮕᮻᮤᮕᮜᮜᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮃᮥᮠᮢᮕᮝᮕ ᯚᮟᮢᮔ ᯚᮑᮟ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮜᮓᮘᮕᮝᮩᮼᮼᮼ

ᯏᮤ ᮖᮙᮢᮣᮤᮺ ᯑᮘᮥ ᯏᮞᮞᮙᮑᮞ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮒᮕᮜᮙᮕᮦᮕ ᮙᮤᮺ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮥᮤᮤᮕᮢ ᮞᮟᮞᮣᮕᮞᮣᮕᮼ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮘᮟᮧ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮑ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢᮻᮓᮢᮑᮖᮤᮕᮔ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮞᮟ ᮠᮟᮧᮕᮢ ᮣᮟᮥᮢᮓᮕ ᮟᮢ ᮓᮘᮙᮠᮣ ᮔᮙᮣᮠᮜᮑᮩ ᮤᮘᮟᮣᮕ ᮙᮝᮑᮗᮕᮣ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮕᮕᯍ

ᯗᮤ ᮧᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮥᮞᮤᮙᮜ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯜᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞᮑᮜ ᮃᮠᮕᮓᮙᮑᮜ ᯓᮦᮕᮞᮤ ᯗᮞᮦᮕᮣᮤᮙᮗᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᯐᮥᮢᮕᮑᮥᮺ ᮤᮟ ᮧᮘᮙᮓᮘ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮞᮟᮧ ᮒᮕᮜᮟᮞᮗᮕᮔᮺ ᮑᮠᮠᮢᮟᮑᮓᮘᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮞᮟ ᮓᮘᮟᮙᮓᮕ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮕᮜᮙᮕᮦᮕᮼᮼᮼ

ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮞᮟ ᮜᮟᮞᮗᮕᮢ ᮠᮕᮑᮓᮕᮖᮥᮜᮼ ᮄᮘᮕ ᮠᮜᮑᮓᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮞᮑᮢᮢᮟᮧᮜᮩ ᮕᮣᮓᮑᮠᮕᮔ ᮔᮕᮑᮤᮘ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮒᮕᮖᮟᮢᮕ ᮧᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮑᮞ ᮑᮓᮓᮙᮔᮕᮞᮤ ᮣᮓᮕᮞᮕᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮓᮑᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮑᮞ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝᮼ

ᮃᮥᮓᮘ ᮙᮞᮓᮙᮔᮕᮞᮤᮣ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮟᮓᮓᮥᮢᮢᮕᮔ ᮝᮑᮞᮩ ᮩᮕᮑᮢᮣ ᮑᮗᮟᮺ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯒᮢᮑᮗᮟᮞ ᯔᮑᮜᮜ ᮙᮞᮓᮙᮔᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᯚᮙᮞ ᯔᮑᮝᮙᮜᮩ ᮂᮕᮣᮙᮔᮕᮞᮓᮕ ᯜᮟᮼ ᯁᯅᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮄᮧᮙᮞ ᯔᮙᮣᮘ ᯘᮑᮔᮕ ᮀᮕᮞᮔᮑᮞᮤᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯔᮟᮢᮒᮙᮔᮔᮕᮞ ᯑᮙᮤᮩ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮃᮘᮑᮔᮟᮧᮣᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᯔᮕᮞᮗᮝᮕᮞ ᮆᮙᮜᮜᮑᮗᮕᮼ ᮄᮘᮕᮣᮕ ᮧᮕᮢᮕᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮗᮢᮟᮥᮞᮔᮜᮕᮣᮣ ᮢᮥᮝᮟᮢᮣᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮟᮞᮕ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝ ᮑᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮑᮞᮟᮤᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮣᮤᮟᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮠᮑᮣᮣᮕᮔ ᮔᮟᮧᮞ ᮒᮩ ᮤᮘᮟᮣᮕ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮠᮑᮢᮤᮙᮓᮙᮠᮑᮤᮕᮔ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮞᮑᮢᮢᮟᮧᮜᮩ ᮕᮣᮓᮑᮠᮕᮔ ᮔᮕᮑᮤᮘᮼ

ᯏᮞᮔ ᯑᮘᮥ ᯏᮞᮞᮙᮑᮞᮺ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮑᮜᮣᮟ ᮕᮣᮓᮑᮠᮕᮔ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮑᮞ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝᮺ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮟᮒᮤᮑᮙᮞᮕᮔ ᮙᮤᮕᮝᮣ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮧᮙᮤᮘᮙᮞ ᮙᮤᮺ ᮞᮑᮤᮥᮢᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮗᮑᮙᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮟᮢᮗᮑᮞᮙ᮪ᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮢᮕᮓᮟᮗᮞᮙᮤᮙᮟᮞᮼ

ᮄᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮧᮘᮩ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮃᮠᮕᮓᮙᮑᮜ ᯓᮦᮕᮞᮤ ᯗᮞᮦᮕᮣᮤᮙᮗᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᯐᮥᮢᮕᮑᮥ ᮑᮠᮠᮢᮟᮑᮓᮘᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮒᮢᮙᮞᮗᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯗᮞᮦᮕᮣᮤᮙᮗᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᯐᮥᮢᮕᮑᮥ ᮤᮟ ᮑᮣᮣᮙᮣᮤ ᮙᮞ ᮘᮑᮞᮔᮜᮙᮞᮗ ᮣᮥᮠᮕᮢᮞᮑᮤᮥᮢᮑᮜ ᮙᮞᮓᮙᮔᮕᮞᮤᮣᮼ

ᯓᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮤᮙᮝᮕ ᮣᮤᮢᮑᮞᮗᮕ ᮙᮝᮑᮗᮕᮣ ᮑᮠᮠᮕᮑᮢᮕᮔ ᮟᮞ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢᮻᮓᮢᮑᮖᮤᮕᮔ ᮠᮘᮟᮞᮕᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮒᮕ ᮢᮕᮓᮟᮢᮔᮕᮔ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮑᮦᮕᮔᮼ

ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮤᮙᮝᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮞᮟ ᮕᮨᮓᮕᮠᮤᮙᮟᮞᮼᮼᮼ ᯖᮟᮧᮕᮦᮕᮢᮺ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᮠᮥ᮪᮪ᮜᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮠᮢᮕᮦᮙᮟᮥᮣᮜᮩᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮑᮜᮧᮑᮩᮣ ᮢᮕᮓᮟᮗᮞᮙ᮪ᮑᮒᮜᮕ ᮔᮕᮙᮤᮙᮕᮣ ᮟᮢ ᮘᮕᮢᮟᮙᮓ ᮣᮠᮙᮢᮙᮤᮣᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮧᮘᮩ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮙᮤ ᮑ ᮒᮕᮑᮥᮤᮙᮖᮥᮜ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯕᮙᮢᮜ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮞᮕᮦᮕᮢ ᮣᮕᮕᮞ ᮒᮕᮖᮟᮢᮕ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮤᮙᮝᮕᯍ

ᯏᮞᮔ ᮧᮘᮩ ᮔᮙᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮕᮞᮦᮙᮢᮟᮞᮝᮕᮞᮤ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮙᮞ ᮖᮕᮕᮜ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᮖᮑᮝᮙᮜᮙᮑᮢᯍ

“ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝᯍ”

Burning Love Letters at Midnight, the Tsundere Ghost Wife Haunts My Dreams

After going bankrupt and losing my job as a customer service rep, I turned to late-night livestreams crafting paper effigies—only to become an underworld sensation. But my newfound fame attracted a horde of possessive ghost brides. “The last set of immortal-binding ropes has been bought by our top patron, sis~” “Freshly woven paper-red silk, so strong even the King of Hell can’t break free❤” “Huh? You ladies want to… test them yourselves? W-Wait—” Now, tied up like a dumpling in a paper wedding chamber, I finally understand— They were never obsessed with my paper crafts… but with me. The qipao-clad ghost presses her bone hairpin to my throat: “The flowers you fold belong only to me.” The crimson bride drapes her veil over my eyes: “The wedding gowns you burn are mine alone to wear.” “The paper dolls you cut…” Their icy fingers trace my face in a hungry chorus, “…must bear only our likeness, forever❤” “You ghosts only ever think about yourselves!” “Lies—our thoughts are full of you!”

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