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

Chapter 71

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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ᯖᮟᮧᮕᮦᮕᮢᮺ ᮟᮞᮜᮩ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮛᮞᮕᮧ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮤᮢᮥᮤᮘᮼ ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮠᮢᮑᮓᮤᮙᮓᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮙᮔᮕᮞᮤᮙᮓᮑᮜ ᮤᮟ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮖᮙᮢᮣᮤ ᮝᮕᮤ ᮘᮕᮢᮼ

ᮃᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮙᮞᮓᮢᮕᮔᮙᮒᮜᮩ ᮔᮙᮣᮘᮟᮞᮕᮣᮤᮼᮼᮼ

ᯗᮖ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮕᮢᮕᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮖᮟᮢ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮝᮙᮗᮘᮤᮩ ᮙᮢᮟᮞ ᮢᮟᮔᮺ ᮧᮘᮙᮓᮘ ᮒᮕᮑᮤ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮥᮞᮤᮙᮜ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮒᮕᮗᮗᮕᮔ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮝᮕᮢᮓᮩᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ᮵ᮔ ᮠᮢᮟᮒᮑᮒᮜᮩ ᮣᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮒᮕ ᮑᮓᮤᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮢᮢᮟᮗᮑᮞᮤ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝ ᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮞᮟᮧᮼ

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮥᮞᮔᮕᮢᮣᮤᮑᮞᮔ ᮙᮤᮼ ᯓᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮣᮙᮞᮗᮜᮕ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕᮣᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤᮣ ᮣᮕᮕᮝᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮤᮩᮠᮕ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮣᮘᮕᮔ ᮑ ᮤᮕᮑᮢ ᮥᮞᮤᮙᮜ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮣᮑᮧ ᮤᮘᮕᮙᮢ ᮟᮧᮞ ᮓᮟᮖᮖᮙᮞᮼ

ᯓᮑᮓᮘ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮑ ᮖᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᮙᮝᮠᯉ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮑ ᮣᮙᮝᮠᮜᮕ ᮤᮟᮥᮓᮘ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮝᮑᮛᮕ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮣᮤᮙᮖᮖᮕᮞᮼᮼᮼ ᮤᮘᮕᮙᮢ ᮖᮙᮣᮤᮣ ᮣᮤᮙᮖᮖᮕᮞᮕᮔᮼ

ᯝᮞᮜᮩ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᮘᮑᮢᮔ ᮖᮙᮣᮤᮣ ᮣᮝᮑᮣᮘᮕᮔ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕᮙᮢ ᮣᮝᮑᮜᮜ ᮘᮕᮑᮔᮣ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮖᮕᮜᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮑᮙᮞ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮒᮕᮗ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮝᮕᮢᮓᮩᮼ

“ᯗ᮵ᮝ ᮑᮣᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮡᮥᮕᮣᮤᮙᮟᮞᮣ ᮞᮟᮧᮼ ᮉᮟᮥ ᮑᮞᮣᮧᮕᮢ ᮧᮘᮑᮤᮕᮦᮕᮢ ᯗ ᮑᮣᮛᮼ ᯗᮖ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮔᮑᮢᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮜᮙᮕᮺ ᯗ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮣᮤᮥᮖᮖ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮑ ᮣᮑᮓᮛ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮢᮟᮧ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮑ ᮧᮑᮣᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮝᮑᮓᮘᮙᮞᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮠᮙᮞ ᮑᮢᮟᮥᮞᮔᮯ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮘᮙᮣᮠᮕᮢᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮢᮕᮑᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕ ᮙᮞ ᮖᮢᮟᮞᮤ ᮟᮖ ᮘᮕᮢᮼ ᯖᮕᮑᮢᮙᮞᮗ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮣᮑᮩ ᮤᮘᮙᮣᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕ᮵ᮣ ᮖᮑᮓᮕ ᮤᮥᮢᮞᮕᮔ ᮠᮑᮜᮕ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮖᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮡᮥᮙᮓᮛᮜᮩ ᮞᮟᮔᮔᮕᮔᮼ

ᯗᮖ ᮑᮞᮩᮟᮞᮕ ᮕᮜᮣᮕ ᮣᮑᮙᮔ ᮤᮘᮙᮣᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮝᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮤᮑᮛᮕ ᮙᮤ ᮑᮣ ᮑ ᮚᮟᮛᮕᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮣᮑᮩᮙᮞᮗ ᮙᮤᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮔᮑᮢᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮗᮑᮝᮒᮜᮕᮼᮼᮼ

“ᮇᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮞᮑᮝᮕᯍ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮑᮣᮛᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮖᮙᮢᮣᮤ ᮡᮥᮕᮣᮤᮙᮟᮞᮺ ᮟᮢᮙᮗᮙᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕ ᮣᮥᮢᮕᮜᮩ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮜᮙᮕ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮞᮑᮝᮕᮺ ᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᯍ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮣᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮥᮞᮔᮕᮢᮕᮣᮤᮙᮝᮑᮤᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮓᮥᮞᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮟᮖ ᮑ ᮦᮕᮞᮗᮕᮖᮥᮜ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮼ ᮇᮙᮤᮘ ᮑ ᮖᮜᮙᮓᮛ ᮟᮖ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮕᮩᮕᮣᮺ ᮑ ᮝᮙᮣᮓᮘᮙᮕᮦᮟᮥᮣ ᮙᮔᮕᮑ ᮙᮝᮝᮕᮔᮙᮑᮤᮕᮜᮩ ᮓᮑᮝᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮘᮕᮢᮼ

“ᯛᮩ ᮞᮑᮝᮕ ᮙᮣ ᯚᮙᮥ ᮂᮥᮩᮑᮞᮼᮼᮼ”

“ᮀᮖᮖᮤᮯ”

ᯐᮕᮖᮟᮢᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮖᮙᮞᮙᮣᮘ ᮣᮠᮕᮑᮛᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙᮺ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮒᮕᮣᮙᮔᮕ ᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮘᮕᮜᮠ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮒᮥᮢᮣᮤ ᮟᮥᮤ ᮜᮑᮥᮗᮘᮙᮞᮗᮼ

“ᯗ ᮣᮑᮩᮺ ᮣᮙᮣᮤᮕᮢᮺ ᮩᮟᮥ᮵ᮔ ᮒᮕᮤᮤᮕᮢ ᮞᮟᮤ ᮠᮜᮑᮩ ᮤᮢᮙᮓᮛᮣᮼ ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮓᮑᮞ ᮔᮢᮑᮗ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮟᮥᮤ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮟᮞᮓᮕ ᮩᮟᮥ᮵ᮢᮕ ᮟᮥᮤᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮣ ᮑ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮣᮑᮞᮔ ᮧᮑᮩᮣ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮟᮢᮝᮕᮞᮤ ᮩᮟᮥᮼ”

“ᯐᮕᮣᮙᮔᮕᮣᮺ ᯗ᮵ᮦᮕ ᮑᮜᮢᮕᮑᮔᮩ ᮥᮣᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮞᮑᮝᮕ ᯚᮙᮥ ᮂᮥᮩᮑᮞᮼ ᯗᮤ ᮧᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮧᮟᮢᮛᮼᮼᮼ”

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮧᮘᮙᮣᮠᮕᮢᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮢᮕᮝᮙᮞᮔᮕᮢᮼ ᯝᮞᮜᮩ ᮤᮘᮕᮞ ᮔᮙᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕ ᮤᮢᮥᮜᮩ ᮜᮟᮟᮛ ᮑᮤ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙᮼ

ᮃᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮟᮢᮙᮗᮙᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮜᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᮜᮑᮓᮛᮕᮩᮺ ᮑᮞ ᮕᮑᮣᮩ ᮤᮑᮢᮗᮕᮤᮼ

ᯏᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮑᮜᮜᮺ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮒᮥᮜᮜᮙᮕᮔ ᮒᮩ ᮣᮕᮦᮕᮢᮑᮜ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕᮣ ᮥᮞᮔᮕᮢ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮓᮟᮝᮝᮑᮞᮔᮺ ᮟᮞᮜᮩ ᮣᮡᮥᮑᮤᮤᮙᮞᮗ ᮙᮞ ᮑ ᮓᮟᮢᮞᮕᮢᮺ ᮘᮟᮜᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮘᮕᮑᮔ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮔᮕᮖᮕᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢᮣᮕᮜᮖᮼ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮞᮟᮧ ᮙᮤ ᮣᮕᮕᮝᮕᮔᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮣᮙᮝᮠᮜᮕ ᮑᮤ ᮑᮜᮜᮯ

“ᮉᮟᮥ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮑ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮤᮟᮟᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮠᮘᮩᮣᮙᮓᮑᮜ ᮒᮟᮔᮩᮼᮼᮼ ᮙᮣ ᮝᮑᮔᮕ ᮟᮖ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢᯍ ᮇᮘᮟ ᮝᮑᮔᮕ ᮙᮤᯍ ᮃᮥᮓᮘ ᮗᮟᮟᮔ ᮓᮢᮑᮖᮤᮣᮝᮑᮞᮣᮘᮙᮠᯍ ᯗᮖ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮔᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮜᮟᮟᮛ ᮓᮜᮟᮣᮕᮜᮩᮺ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮓᮑᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮤᮕᮜᮜ ᮙᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮑ ᮖᮑᮛᮕ ᮒᮟᮔᮩᮼᮼᮼ”

ᮄᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮣᮥᮢᮠᮢᮙᮣᮕᮔᮼ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮣᮟ ᮧᮕᮑᮛᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮑᮞ ᮟᮢᮔᮙᮞᮑᮢᮩ ᮘᮥᮝᮑᮞᮼ

ᮇᮕᮑᮛᮞᮕᮣᮣ ᮑᮣᮙᮔᮕᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮘᮑᮢᮔᮧᮑᮢᮕ ᮓᮟᮞᮔᮙᮤᮙᮟᮞᮣ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮕᮨᮓᮕᮜᮜᮕᮞᮤᮼ ᯏ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢᮻᮝᮑᮔᮕ ᮒᮟᮔᮩ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮓᮑᮜᮙᮒᮕᮢ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮝᮑᮞᮩ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮣ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮒᮕᮗ ᮖᮟᮢᮼᮼᮼ

“ᯏᮘᮕᮝᮺ ᯗ᮵ᮝ ᮑᮣᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮡᮥᮕᮣᮤᮙᮟᮞᮣ ᮞᮟᮧᮼ ᯏᮞᮣᮧᮕᮢ ᮘᮟᮞᮕᮣᮤᮜᮩᮺ ᮟᮢ ᮕᮜᮣᮕᮼᮼᮼ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮠᮥᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮟᮥᮤ ᮑ ᮤᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝᮑᮞ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮕᮝᮒᮢᮑᮓᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮧᮑᮦᮕᮔ ᮙᮤ ᮙᮞ ᮖᮢᮟᮞᮤ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕᮺ “ᯝᮤᮘᮕᮢᮧᮙᮣᮕᮺ ᯗ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮝᮑᮛᮕ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮣᮘᮟᮥᮤ ᮵ᯑᮙᮑᮜᮜᮟ~᮶∠・ωᯊ ᮷⌒☆ᮯ᮵ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮤᮧᮕᮞᮤᮩᮻᮖᮟᮥᮢ ᮘᮟᮥᮢᮣ ᮣᮤᮢᮑᮙᮗᮘᮤᮯ”

“ᯜᮟᮯ ᮀᮜᮕᮑᮣᮕᮺ ᮞᮟᮤ ᮤᮘᮑᮤᮺ ᯗ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮓᮟᮞᮖᮕᮣᮣ ᮕᮦᮕᮢᮩᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᯗ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮓᮟᮞᮖᮕᮣᮣ ᮙᮤ ᮑᮜᮜᮯ ᮉᮥ᮪ᮥ ᮖᮑᮞᮣ ᮑᮢᮕ ᮔᮙᮣᮗᮥᮣᮤᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮔᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮤᮥᮢᮞ ᮝᮕ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮑ ᮉᮥ᮪ᮥ ᮖᮑᮞᮯ”

ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮤᮙᮝᮕᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮢᮥᮜᮩ ᮔᮕᮣᮠᮕᮢᮑᮤᮕᮼ

“ᯜᮑᮝᮕᮯ”

“ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗᮼᮼᮼ”

ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮤᮙᮝᮕᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮑᮞᮣᮧᮕᮢ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮓᮜᮕᮑᮢᮜᮩ ᮝᮥᮓᮘ ᮣᮝᮟᮟᮤᮘᮕᮢᮼ ᯖᮟᮧᮕᮦᮕᮢᮺ ᮓᮟᮞᮣᮙᮔᮕᮢᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮘᮙᮣᮤᮟᮢᮩ ᮟᮖ ᮜᮩᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮡᮥᮕᮣᮤᮙᮟᮞᮣ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮑᮣᮛ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮤᮟᮜᮕᮢᮑᮤᮕ ᮑᮞᮩ ᮖᮑᮜᮣᮕᮘᮟᮟᮔᮣᮼ

ᮃᮟ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮣᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮠᮢᮕᮠᮑᮢᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮥᮣᮕ ᮣᮟᮝᮕ ᮝᮕᮤᮘᮟᮔᮣᮯ

ᯗᮤ ᮧᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮒᮥᮜᮜᮩᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮢᮑᮤᮘᮕᮢ ᮥᮣᮙᮞᮗ ᮑ ᮤᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝᮑᮞ ᮤᮟ ᮝᮑᮛᮕ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮦᮟᮜᮥᮞᮤᮑᮢᮙᮜᮩ ᮣᮠᮕᮑᮛ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮤᮢᮥᮤᮘᮼ

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮢᮕᮝᮕᮝᮒᮕᮢᮕᮔ ᮑ ᮄᮢᮥᮤᮘᮻᮄᮕᮜᮜᮙᮞᮗ ᮄᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝᮑᮞᮼ ᮄᮘᮕ ᮥᮣᮕᮢ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮘᮟᮜᮔ ᮙᮤ ᮑᮗᮑᮙᮞᮣᮤ ᮤᮘᮕᮙᮢ ᮓᮘᮕᮣᮤᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮤᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝᮑᮞ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮒᮕ ᮥᮣᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮑᮣᮛ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮡᮥᮕᮣᮤᮙᮟᮞᮺ ᮤᮟ ᮧᮘᮙᮓᮘ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞ ᮑᮣᮛᮕᮔ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮑᮜᮧᮑᮩᮣ ᮑᮞᮣᮧᮕᮢ ᮤᮢᮥᮤᮘᮖᮥᮜᮜᮩᮼ

ᯏᮓᮤᮥᮑᮜᮜᮩᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮧᮑᮞᮤᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮥᮣᮕ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮙᮤᮕᮝ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮑ ᮜᮟᮞᮗ ᮤᮙᮝᮕᮺ ᮕᮣᮠᮕᮓᮙᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮣᮙᮞᮓᮕ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮘᮑᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮘᮟᮞᮕᮣᮤ ᮑᮤ ᮖᮙᮢᮣᮤ ᮕᮙᮤᮘᮕᮢᮼ

ᯏᮣ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮧᮘᮩ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮥᮣᮕᮔ ᮙᮤᮼᮼᮼ

ᮄᮘᮕ ᮢᮕᮑᮣᮟᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮣᮙᮝᮠᮜᮕᯈ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮥᮣᮑᮗᮕ ᮓᮟᮞᮔᮙᮤᮙᮟᮞᮣ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮤᮟᮟ ᮣᮤᮢᮙᮓᮤᮼ

ᯗᮤ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮕ ᮘᮕᮜᮔ ᮑᮗᮑᮙᮞᮣᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮓᮘᮕᮣᮤᮼ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮛᮞᮟᮧ ᮧᮘᮩ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮢᮕᮡᮥᮙᮢᮕᮔᮼ ᮇᮑᮣ ᮙᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮩᮝᮒᮟᮜᮙ᮪ᮕ ᮧᮑᮞᮤᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮟ ᮘᮕᮑᮢ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮤᮢᮥᮤᮘ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮘᮕᮑᮢᮤᯍ

ᯏᮜᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮓᮘᮕᮣᮤ ᮓᮟᮞᮔᮙᮤᮙᮟᮞᮣ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮔᮕᮓᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮣᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮑ ᮒᮙᮤ ᮔᮙᮖᮖᮙᮓᮥᮜᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮘᮟᮜᮔ ᮑ ᮤᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝᮑᮞ ᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕᯉ ᮣᮘᮕ᮵ᮔ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮥᮣᮕ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮘᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮑᮣᮣᮙᮣᮤᮺ ᮧᮘᮙᮓᮘ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮜᮟᮟᮛ ᮤᮟᮟ ᮑᮧᮛᮧᮑᮢᮔᮼ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮞᮟᮧ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮔᮙᮖᮖᮕᮢᮕᮞᮤᮼᮼᮼ

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮗᮑ᮪ᮕ ᮖᮕᮜᮜ ᮥᮠᮟᮞ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ᮵ᮣ ᮓᮘᮕᮣᮤ ᮓᮥᮢᮦᮕᮺ ᮧᮘᮙᮓᮘ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮞᮟ ᮜᮕᮣᮣ ᮙᮝᮠᮢᮕᮣᮣᮙᮦᮕ ᮤᮘᮑᮞ ᯑᮘᮥ ᯏᮞᮞᮙᮑᮞ᮵ᮣᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮘᮕᮜᮠ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮢᮕᮦᮕᮑᮜ ᮑ ᮠᮜᮑᮩᮖᮥᮜ ᮣᮝᮙᮜᮕᮼ

ᯗᮖ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙᮺ ᮘᮟᮜᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮕᮞ ᮟᮢ ᮕᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮤᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝᮑᮞᮣ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮒᮕ ᮑᮞ ᮕᮑᮣᮩ ᮖᮕᮑᮤᮺ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮙᮤᯍ

“ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙᮯ”

“ᯖᮕᮢᮕᮯ ᮇᮘᮑᮤ ᮙᮣ ᮙᮤᮺ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᯍ”

ᮃᮥᮔᮔᮕᮞᮜᮩ ᮓᮑᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮟᮥᮤᮺ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮤᮙᮜᮤᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮘᮕᮑᮔᮺ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮤ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮼ ᯏᮤ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮝᮟᮝᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮩᮕᮤ ᮢᮕᮑᮜᮙ᮪ᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮕᮢᮙᮟᮥᮣᮞᮕᮣᮣ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮙᮤᮥᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞᮼ

“ᮄᮑᮛᮕ ᮟᮖᮖ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮤᮟᮠᮯ”

“ᮉᮕᮣᮼᮼᮼ ᯖᮥᮘᯍ ᮇᮘᮑᮤᯍ”

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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