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

Chapter 51

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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“ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮙᮣ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᯗ ᮤᮟᮜᮔ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤᮺ ᮑᮞᮟᮤᮘᮕᮢ ᮧᮑᮩ ᮤᮟ ᮝᮑᮛᮕ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩ—ᮝᮑᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮕᮑᮔᮯ”

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮜᮕᮑᮞᮕᮔ ᮟᮦᮕᮢᮺ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮤ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮒᮑᮓᮛᮕᮞᮔ ᮣᮘᮟᮧᮙᮞᮗ ᮞᮕᮑᮢᮜᮩ ᮤᮕᮞ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮣᮑᮞᮔ ᮩᮥᮑᮞ ᮙᮞ ᮢᮕᮦᮕᮞᮥᮕᮼ ᯔᮟᮢ ᮤᮘᮕᮝᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮣᮤ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕᮣᮕ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮕᮖᮖᮙᮗᮙᮕᮣ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮕᮨᮤᮢᮕᮝᮕᮜᮩ ᮜᮟᮧᮼ

ᯗᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮞᮟᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮝᮟᮢᮕ ᮤᮘᮑᮞ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮕᮖᮖᮙᮗᮙᮕᮣᮺ ᮓᮟᮢᮞ ᮣᮤᮑᮜᮛᮣᮺ ᮟᮢ ᮣᮟᮢᮗᮘᮥᮝ ᮣᮤᮑᮜᮛᮣᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮤᮙᮝᮕᮣ ᮤᮘᮕᮣᮕ ᮝᮑᮤᮕᮢᮙᮑᮜᮣ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮒᮕ ᮑᮓᮡᮥᮙᮢᮕᮔ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮖᮢᮕᮕᮼ

ᯏᮣ ᮜᮟᮞᮗ ᮑᮣ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮝᮑᮔᮕ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮕᮖᮖᮙᮗᮙᮕᮣᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮢᮟᮖᮙᮤ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮝᮥᮜᮤᮙᮠᮜᮩ ᮒᮩ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮣᮑᮞᮔᮣ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮒᮜᮙᮞᮛ ᮟᮖ ᮑᮞ ᮕᮩᮕᮼ

ᯗᮤ ᮤᮟᮟᮛ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮑᮞ ᮘᮟᮥᮢ ᮤᮟ ᮝᮑᮛᮕ ᮑ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮕᮖᮖᮙᮗᮩ ᮟᮖ ᮣᮕᮜᮜᮑᮒᮜᮕ ᮡᮥᮑᮜᮙᮤᮩᯉ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮓᮟᮝᮠᮜᮕᮨ ᮟᮞᮕᮣ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮦᮙᮜᮜᮑᮣᮺ ᮙᮤ ᮝᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮤᮑᮛᮕ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮜᮟᮞᮗᮕᮢᮼ

ᯗᮖ ᮕᮑᮓᮘ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮕᮖᮖᮙᮗᮩ ᮩᮙᮕᮜᮔᮕᮔ ᮑᮞ ᮑᮦᮕᮢᮑᮗᮕ ᮠᮢᮟᮖᮙᮤ ᮟᮖ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮣᮑᮞᮔᮺ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮟᮢᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮕᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮘᮟᮥᮢᮣ ᮑ ᮔᮑᮩ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮟᮞᮜᮩ ᮞᮕᮕᮔ ᮟᮦᮕᮢ ᮑ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮩᮕᮑᮢᮣ ᮤᮟ ᮠᮑᮩ ᮟᮖᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮤᮘᮢᮕᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮝᮙᮜᮜᮙᮟᮞ ᮔᮕᮒᮤᮼ ᯗᮤ ᮤᮢᮥᮜᮩ ᮧᮑᮣᮼᮼᮼ

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮓᮑᮜᮓᮥᮜᮑᮤᮕᮔ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮑ ᮜᮟᮞᮗ ᮤᮙᮝᮕᮺ ᮥᮣᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮟᮕᮣ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮖᮙᮞᮗᮕᮢᮣ ᮧᮕᮢᮕᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮕᮞᮟᮥᮗᮘᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮝᮟᮢᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮑᮜᮓᮥᮜᮑᮤᮕᮔᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮝᮟᮢᮕ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮖᮕᮜᮤ ᮟᮖᮖᮼ

ᯗᮤ ᮣᮕᮕᮝᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮤᮘᮢᮕᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮝᮙᮜᮜᮙᮟᮞ ᮧᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮣᮟ ᮕᮑᮣᮩ ᮤᮟ ᮠᮑᮩ ᮒᮑᮓᮛ ᮑᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮑᮜᮜᮼ

“ᯐᮥᮤ ᮞᮟᮧ ᮝᮩ ᮠᮢᮟᮒᮜᮕᮝ ᮙᮣᮺ ᮘᮟᮧ ᮔᮟ ᮧᮕ ᮑᮓᮤᮥᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮗᮕᮤ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩᯍ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮠᮟᮙᮞᮤᮕᮔ ᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮟᮥᮤᮢᮑᮗᮕᮟᮥᮣ ᮣᮘᮙᮠᮠᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮔᮔᮢᮕᮣᮣᮕᮣᮼ ᯖᮟᮧ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮟᮢᮔᮙᮞᮑᮢᮩ ᮕᮨᮠᮢᮕᮣᮣ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮢᮕᮑᮓᮘ ᮤᮘᮕᮣᮕ ᮢᮕᮝᮟᮤᮕ ᮝᮟᮥᮞᮤᮑᮙᮞᮣ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮥᮞᮙᮞᮘᮑᮒᮙᮤᮕᮔ ᮠᮜᮑᮓᮕᮣᯍ

“ᮄᮘᮙᮣᮼᮼᮼ”

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮖᮢᮟᮧᮞᮕᮔᮼ ᯗᮤ ᮣᮕᮕᮝᮕᮔ ᮣᮘᮙᮠᮠᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮙᮞᮔᮕᮕᮔ ᮑ ᮠᮢᮟᮒᮜᮕᮝᮼ

“ᮇᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮑᮜᮣᮟ ᮒᮥᮢᮞ ᮤᮘᮕᮣᮕ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗᮣ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮕᮝᮼ ᮇᮕ᮵ᮔ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮞᮕᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮠᮑᮩ ᮤᮘᮟᮣᮕ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮣᮟᮝᮕ ᮣᮠᮙᮢᮙᮤ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩᮼ”

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮙᮤᮼ ᮄᮟ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢ ᮗᮟᮟᮔᮣ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮕᮓᮕᮑᮣᮕᮔᮺ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮝᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮒᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮟᮞᮜᮩ ᮧᮑᮩᮼ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮤᮘᮕᮞ ᮑᮞᮟᮤᮘᮕᮢ ᮠᮢᮟᮒᮜᮕᮝ ᮑᮢᮟᮣᮕᯈ ᮧᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮖᮙᮞᮔ ᮣᮟ ᮝᮑᮞᮩ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮤᮟ ᮘᮕᮜᮠ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮟᮤᮘᮕᮢᮣ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮗᮟᮟᮔᮣᯍ

ᯚᮕᮤ ᮑᮜᮟᮞᮕ ᮖᮙᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮟᮞ ᮑ ᮜᮑᮢᮗᮕ ᮣᮓᮑᮜᮕᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮖᮙᮞᮔ ᮑ ᮓᮘᮑᮞᮞᮕᮜ ᮤᮟ ᮘᮙᮢᮕ ᮤᮘᮕᮝᮼ

ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮧᮕᮢᮕᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮝᮙᮞᮟᮢ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮣ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮒᮕ ᮓᮑᮣᮥᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮓᮑᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮒᮩ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮢᮟᮑᮔᮣᮙᮔᮕᮼ

ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮖᮟᮢᮝᮑᮜ ᮚᮟᮒᮣ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮝᮑᮞᮩ ᮤᮩᮠᮕᮣ ᮟᮖ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣᮼ ᯝᮞᮜᮩ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮜᮟᮧᮕᮣᮤᮻᮢᮑᮞᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮣᮟᮜᮔᮙᮕᮢᮣ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮑ ᮞᮕᮕᮔ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮕᮨᮤᮢᮑ ᮙᮞᮓᮟᮝᮕᮼ

“ᯗ᮵ᮝ ᮣᮟᮢᮢᮩᮺ ᯗ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮟᮟ ᮘᮑᮣᮤᮩ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮓᮟᮞᮣᮙᮔᮕᮢ ᮙᮤ ᮤᮘᮟᮢᮟᮥᮗᮘᮜᮩᮼ”

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮢᮕᮑᮜᮙ᮪ᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮝᮑᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮕᮑᮔ ᮧᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮕᮑᮣᮩᮼ ᯏᮜᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮑ ᮣᮟᮥᮢᮓᮕ ᮟᮖ ᮗᮟᮟᮔᮣ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮕᮝᮠᮟᮢᮑᮢᮙᮜᮩ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮣᮑᮜᮕᮣ ᮓᮘᮑᮞᮞᮕᮜᮣᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮞᮟ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮗᮟᮟᮔᮣᮼ

ᮄᮘᮕᮩ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮠᮟᮣᮣᮙᮒᮜᮩ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮑᮞᮔ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮢᮥᮞ ᮕᮢᮢᮑᮞᮔᮣ ᮤᮟ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢ ᮣᮟ ᮝᮑᮞᮩ ᮟᮢᮔᮕᮢᮣᮺ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮤᮘᮕᮩᯍ

ᯕᮟᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮟ ᮢᮕᮝᮟᮤᮕ ᮝᮟᮥᮞᮤᮑᮙᮞᮣ ᮟᮢ ᮥᮞᮙᮞᮘᮑᮒᮙᮤᮕᮔ ᮑᮢᮕᮑᮣᮺ ᮞᮟ ᮝᮑᮤᮤᮕᮢ ᮧᮘᮕᮢᮕᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ᮵ᮔ ᮜᮙᮛᮕᮜᮩ ᮒᮕ ᮘᮑᮜᮖᮻᮔᮕᮑᮔᮺ ᮙᮖ ᮞᮟᮤ ᮖᮥᮜᮜᮩᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮙᮤ ᮓᮕᮢᮤᮑᮙᮞᮜᮩ ᮧᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮧᮟᮢᮤᮘ ᮙᮤ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮑ ᮖᮕᮧ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮣᮑᮞᮔ ᮩᮥᮑᮞᮼ

“ᯗᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮑᮞ ᮑᮔᮔᮢᮕᮣᮣ ᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮓᮜᮟᮣᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮥᮣᯍ ᮈᮙᮞᮗᮖᮥ ᯑᮟᮝᮝᮥᮞᮙᮤᮩᮯ ᯚᮟᮟᮛᮺ ᮙᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮑᮝᮕ ᮓᮟᮝᮝᮥᮞᮙᮤᮩ ᮧᮕ ᮜᮙᮦᮕ ᮙᮞᮯ ᯐᮥᮙᮜᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᯂᮺ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮑᮝᮕ ᮒᮥᮙᮜᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮣ ᮥᮣᮯ ᯜᮕᮗᮑᮤᮙᮦᮕᮼᮼᮼ ᮂᮟᮟᮝ ᯂᮾᮿᯍ ᮇᮘᮑᮤ ᮔᮟᮕᮣ ᮵ᮞᮕᮗᮑᮤᮙᮦᮕ᮵ ᮝᮕᮑᮞᯍ”

“ᮄᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮞᮟᮤ ᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᮯ ᮇᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮟᮥᮢ ᮓᮟᮝᮝᮥᮞᮙᮤᮩ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮑ ᮞᮕᮗᮑᮤᮙᮦᮕ ᯂᮾᮿᯍ”

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮦᮟᮙᮓᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮑᮝᮕ ᮡᮥᮕᮣᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᮑᮣ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮼ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮣᮙᮗᮘᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮜᮠᮜᮕᮣᮣᮜᮩ ᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮓᮜᮥᮕᮜᮕᮣᮣ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤᮼ

“ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᮣᮘᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮧᮕ ᮔᮟ ᮞᮟᮧᯍ”

“ᮇᮘᮑᮤ ᮕᮜᮣᮕ ᮓᮑᮞ ᮧᮕ ᮔᮟᯍ ᮄᮕᮜᮜ ᮤᮘᮕᮝ ᮤᮟ ᮢᮕᮤᮥᮢᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮗᮟᮟᮔᮣᮼ”

ᮅᮞᮤᮙᮜ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮘᮙᮠᮠᮙᮞᮗ ᮠᮢᮟᮒᮜᮕᮝ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮢᮕᮣᮟᮜᮦᮕᮔᮺ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮒᮥᮣᮙᮞᮕᮣᮣ ᮟᮖ ᮝᮑᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮕᮑᮔ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮜᮙᮛᮕᮜᮩ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮕ ᮤᮕᮝᮠᮟᮢᮑᮢᮙᮜᮩ ᮠᮥᮤ ᮟᮞ ᮘᮟᮜᮔᮼ

“ᯜᮟᮺ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮧᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮧᮟᮢᮛᮯ ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮙᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮟᮞᮜᮙᮞᮕ ᮣᮘᮟᮠᮠᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮠᮑᮩ ᮑ ᮔᮕᮠᮟᮣᮙᮤ ᮙᮖ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮔᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮣᮘᮙᮠᮼ ᯏᮞᮔ ᮧᮕ᮵ᮦᮕ ᮞᮕᮦᮕᮢ ᮠᮑᮙᮔ ᮑᮞᮩ ᮛᮙᮞᮔ ᮟᮖ ᮔᮕᮠᮟᮣᮙᮤᮼᮼᮼ ᮃᮤᮢᮙᮓᮤᮜᮩ ᮣᮠᮕᮑᮛᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮙᮣ ᮑ ᮓᮟᮞᮤᮢᮑᮓᮤᮼ ᮉᮟᮥ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮗᮟᮟᮔᮣ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮕᮜᮜᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮠᮑᮩ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮢᮙᮓᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮥᮩᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮓᮟᮞᮣᮤᮙᮤᮥᮤᮕᮣ ᮑ ᮖᮥᮜᮖᮙᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮓᮟᮞᮤᮢᮑᮓᮤᮼ”

“ᯗᮖ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮔᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮖᮥᮜᮖᮙᮜᮜ ᮙᮤ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮓᮟᮝᮝᮙᮤ ᮑ ᮒᮢᮕᮑᮓᮘ ᮟᮖ ᮓᮟᮞᮤᮢᮑᮓᮤᮺ ᮩᮟᮥ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮙᮞᮦᮙᮤᮕ ᮠᮥᮞᮙᮣᮘᮝᮕᮞᮤᮼ ᯏᮤ ᮒᮕᮣᮤᮺ ᮩᮟᮥ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮒᮕ ᮔᮢᮑᮗᮗᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮢᮕᮓᮛᮟᮞᮙᮞᮗᯉ ᮑᮤ ᮧᮟᮢᮣᮤᮺ ᮩᮟᮥ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮒᮕ ᮔᮙᮢᮕᮓᮤᮜᮩ ᮠᮥᮞᮙᮣᮘᮕᮔ ᮒᮩ ᮘᮕᮑᮦᮕᮞᮜᮩ ᮜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮞᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮙᮞᮣᮤᮑᮞᮤᮜᮩ ᮤᮥᮢᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮟ ᮑᮣᮘᮯ”

ᯚᮙᮣᮤᮕᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮟ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ᮵ᮣ ᮧᮟᮢᮔᮣᮺ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮖᮙᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮢᮕᮑᮜᮙ᮪ᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮕᮢᮙᮟᮥᮣᮞᮕᮣᮣ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮢᮟᮒᮜᮕᮝᮼ

“ᮇᮘᮩ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮣᮑᮩ ᮣᮟ ᮕᮑᮢᮜᮙᮕᮢᯍ ᮇᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮜᮑᮤᮕᮣᮤ ᮣᮘᮙᮠᮠᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮙᮝᮕᯍ”

“ᮄᮘᮻᮤᮘᮢᮕᮕ ᮔᮑᮩᮣᮼ”

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮝᮥᮝᮒᮜᮕᮔ ᮣᮟᮖᮤᮜᮩᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮦᮟᮙᮓᮕ ᮖᮙᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮥᮞᮕᮑᮣᮕᮼ

“ᯒᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮧᮟᮢᮢᮩᮺ ᯗ ᮣᮘᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮛᮞᮟᮧ ᮘᮟᮧ ᮤᮟ ᮓᮟᮞᮤᮑᮓᮤ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣᮼ ᮄᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮑᮢᮕ ᮑᮜᮣᮟ ᮜᮙᮦᮙᮞᮗ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮜᮟᮓᮑᮜ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮘᮥᮝᮑᮞ ᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔᮯ”

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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