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

Chapter 74

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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“ᯔᮟᮢᮗᮕᮤ ᮙᮤᮺ ᯗ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮑᮣᮛ ᮝᮩᮣᮕᮜᮖ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᯗ ᮗᮕᮤ ᮒᮑᮓᮛᮼ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮠᮥᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮤᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝᮑᮞ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ᮵ᮣ ᮓᮘᮕᮣᮤ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮗᮑᮦᮕ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮑᮞ ᮑᮞᮞᮟᮩᮕᮔ ᮗᮜᮑᮢᮕᮼ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙᮺ ᮞᮟᮧ ᮛᮞᮟᮧᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮔᮙᮣᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮗᮢᮙᮞᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮣᮟ ᮧᮙᮔᮕ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮝᮟᮥᮤᮘ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮓᮢᮟᮟᮛᮕᮔᮼ

ᮃᮟ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᮙᮖ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮗᮜᮑᮢᮕᮔ ᮑᮤ ᮘᮕᮢᯍ ᯏᮣ ᮜᮟᮞᮗ ᮑᮣ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮛᮞᮕᮧ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮔᮙᮣᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮕᮞᮟᮥᮗᮘᮺ ᮘᮕᮘᮕᮘᮕᮼᮼᮼ

“ᯖᮕᮩᮺ ᮩᮟᮥᮺ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕᮼ ᯏᮢᮕ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮗᮟᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮟ ᮟᮒᮕᮔᮙᮕᮞᮤᮜᮩ ᮓᮟᮝᮕ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮝᮕᮺ ᮟᮢ ᮔᮟ ᯗ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮤᮥᮖᮖ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮑ ᮣᮑᮓᮛ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮑᮛᮕ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮘᮟᮝᮕᯍ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮗᮑ᮪ᮕ ᮖᮕᮜᮜ ᮥᮠᮟᮞ ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮧᮑᮤᮓᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮢᮑᮝᮑ ᮥᮞᮖᮟᮜᮔ ᮟᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮙᮔᮕᮼ

“ᯛᮕᯍ ᯗ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮗᮟ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮩᮟᮥᮯ”

ᮇᮘᮑᮤ ᮛᮙᮞᮔ ᮟᮖ ᮚᮟᮛᮕ ᮙᮣ ᮤᮘᮙᮣᯍ ᮃᮘᮕ᮵ᮔ ᮟᮞᮜᮩ ᮘᮑᮜᮖᮻᮕᮑᮤᮕᮞ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮝᮕᮜᮟᮞᮺ ᮘᮟᮧ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮗᮙᮦᮕ ᮥᮠᯍ

ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮘᮥᮝᮑᮞ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮑ ᮣᮤᮟᮢᮩᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮙᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮑ ᮣᮤᮟᮢᮩ ᮟᮖ ᮜᮙᮜᮙᮕᮣ ᮒᮜᮟᮟᮝᮙᮞᮗᮯ

ᯗ ᮜᮟᮦᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮧᮑᮤᮓᮘᮯ

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ᮵ᮣ ᮖᮑᮓᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮖᮥᮜᮜ ᮟᮖ ᮕᮨᮓᮙᮤᮕᮝᮕᮞᮤᮼ ᯗᮞ ᮤᮢᮥᮤᮘᮺ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑᮜᮙᮦᮕᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮛᮞᮕᮧ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮟᮢᮙᮕᮞᮤᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑ ᮒᮙᮤ ᮥᮞᮥᮣᮥᮑᮜᯉ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮜᮟᮦᮕᮔ ᮧᮑᮤᮓᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮠᮢᮕᮤᮤᮩ ᮗᮙᮢᮜᮣ ᮗᮕᮤ ᮓᮜᮟᮣᮕᮼ

ᯝᮞᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮣᮑᮩ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑ ᮖᮥᮜᮜᮻᮖᮜᮕᮔᮗᮕᮔ ᮃᮘᮙᮠᮠᮕᮢᮼ

ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮤᮢᮑᮔᮙᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮞᮕᮦᮕᮢ ᮑᮒᮑᮞᮔᮟᮞᮕᮔᮺ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮑᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮒᮕᮓᮑᮝᮕ ᮑ ᮦᮕᮞᮗᮕᮖᮥᮜ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᯉ ᮙᮞ ᮖᮑᮓᮤᮺ ᮙᮤ ᮣᮕᮕᮝᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮙᮞᮤᮕᮞᮣᮙᮖᮩᮼ

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᮟᮖ ᮓᮟᮥᮢᮣᮕᮺ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮞᮟ ᮙᮔᮕᮑ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮛᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮟᮞᮜᮩ ᮖᮙᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮙᮤ ᮡᮥᮙᮤᮕ ᮣᮥᮢᮠᮢᮙᮣᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮟᮧ ᮟᮒᮕᮔᮙᮕᮞᮤ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮖᮕᮜᮜᮟᮧ ᮧᮑᮣᮼ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮑ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮓᮑᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮒᮩ ᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮙᮖ ᮔᮙᮣᮟᮒᮕᮔᮙᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮟᮒᮕᮔᮙᮕᮞᮤᮜᮩ ᮜᮙᮣᮤᮕᮞᮯ

ᯝᮖ ᮓᮟᮥᮢᮣᮕᮺ ᮙᮖ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮢᮕᮑᮜᮙ᮪ᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮕᮦᮕᮢᮩᮟᮞᮕ ᮑᮢᮟᮥᮞᮔ ᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮒᮟᮤᮘ ᮜᮙᮦᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮣᮺ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮜᮕᮣᮒᮙᮑᮞᮣᮺ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮛ ᮤᮘᮕᮞᯍ

“ᮉᮟᮥᮢ ᮞᮑᮝᮕ ᮙᮣ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᯍ ᮉᮟᮥ ᮣᮕᮕᮝ ᮤᮟ ᮛᮞᮟᮧ ᮡᮥᮙᮤᮕ ᮑ ᮜᮟᮤᮼ ᮇᮘᮑᮤ ᮕᮨᮑᮓᮤᮜᮩ ᮔᮟ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮔᮟ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮑ ᮜᮙᮦᮙᮞᮗᯍ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮜᮕᮑᮞᮕᮔ ᮓᮜᮟᮣᮕᮢ ᮤᮟ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᮓᮥᮢᮙᮟᮥᮣᮜᮩ ᮣᮤᮢᮙᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮥᮠ ᮑ ᮓᮟᮞᮦᮕᮢᮣᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞᮼ

ᯜᮟᮤ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮑᮞᮩᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮕᮜᮣᮕᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮕᮤᮤᮕᮢ ᮣᮘᮙᮠ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮑᮞᮔ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙᮼ ᯏᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮑᮜᮜᮺ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮣᮘᮙᮠᮠᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮑᮜᮧᮑᮩᮣ ᮞᮕᮕᮔ ᮣᮟᮝᮕ ᮒᮑᮓᮛᮗᮢᮟᮥᮞᮔᮺ ᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᯍ

ᯝᮞᮜᮩ ᮒᮩ ᮥᮞᮔᮕᮢᮣᮤᮑᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮒᮟᮤᮘ ᮣᮙᮔᮕᮣ᮵ ᮣᮙᮤᮥᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞᮣ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮣᮘᮙᮠ ᮤᮘᮕᮝ ᮒᮕᮤᮤᮕᮢᮼ

ᯛᮟᮢᮕᮟᮦᮕᮢᮺ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮠᮕᮢᮖᮕᮓᮤᮜᮩ ᮖᮙᮤ ᮑᮜᮜ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮖᮑᮞᮤᮑᮣᮙᮕᮣ ᮟᮖ ᮑ ᮗᮕᮞᮤᮜᮕᮺ ᮗᮙᮢᮜᮻᮞᮕᮨᮤᮻᮔᮟᮟᮢ ᮒᮕᮑᮥᮤᮩᮺ ᮧᮘᮙᮜᮕ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑ ᮝᮑᮤᮥᮢᮕᮺ ᮗᮢᮑᮓᮕᮖᮥᮜᮺ ᮢᮕᮔᮻᮘᮑᮙᮢᮕᮔ ᮂᮟᮩᮑᮜ ᮃᮙᮣᮤᮕᮢᮼ

ᮃᮥᮓᮘ ᮑ ᮓᮟᮝᮒᮙᮞᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᮤᮟᮗᮕᮤᮘᮕᮢ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮢᮥᮜᮩ ᮞᮟᮤ ᮒᮑᮔᮼ

“ᯑᮑᮤᮓᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮣᮺ ᮣᮠᮕᮓᮙᮖᮙᮓᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮓᮑᮤᮓᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮔᮙᮣᮟᮒᮕᮔᮙᮕᮞᮤ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤᮣ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮩᮟᮥᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮞ ᮢᮕᮖᮙᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕᮝ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮠᮙᮜᮜᮣ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮕᮑᮤᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕᮝᮯ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮘᮙᮣᮠᮕᮢᮕᮔᮺ ᮤᮢᮩᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮓᮑᮢᮕ ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮜᮟᮟᮛ ᮣᮓᮑᮢᮕᮔ ᮑᮤ ᮑᮜᮜᯉ ᮙᮞᮣᮤᮕᮑᮔᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮜᮑᮥᮗᮘᮕᮔᮼ

“ᮉᮟᮥ᮵ᮢᮕ ᮞᮟᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮛᮙᮞᮔ ᮟᮖ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮔᮟ ᮣᮥᮓᮘ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗᮣᮼ ᯗ ᮓᮑᮞ ᮢᮕᮑᮔ ᮖᮑᮓᮕᮣᮼ ᮉᮟᮥ ᮑᮢᮕ ᮝᮟᮢᮕ ᮥᮠᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮤᮘᮑᮞ ᮝᮟᮣᮤ ᮠᮕᮟᮠᮜᮕᯉ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮤᮟᮧᮑᮢᮔᮣ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮣᮺ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮘᮟᮜᮔ ᮑ ᮓᮟᮝᮠᮑᮣᮣᮙᮟᮞᮑᮤᮕ ᮘᮕᮑᮢᮤᮼ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮣᮑᮙᮔ ᮣᮟᮖᮤᮜᮩᮼ ᯝᮖ ᮓᮟᮥᮢᮣᮕᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮛᮞᮕᮧ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮓᮘᮑᮢᮑᮓᮤᮕᮢᯉ ᮟᮤᮘᮕᮢᮧᮙᮣᮕᮺ ᮘᮟᮧ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮓᮑᮠᮤᮥᮢᮕᮔ ᮑᮜᮙᮦᮕᯍ

ᮃᮘᮕ ᮠᮢᮟᮒᮑᮒᮜᮩ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮒᮕᮑᮤᮕᮞ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮝᮙᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕᮕᮞᮣ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮑᮞ ᮙᮢᮟᮞ ᮢᮟᮔ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᯐᮙ ᯛᮑ ᮇᮕᮞ ᮠᮟᮣᮣᮕᮣᮣᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢᮼ

“ᯖᮙᮣᮣᮺ ᮣᮤᮢᮑᮞᮗᮕᮼᮼᮼ ᮧᮘᮩ ᮔᮟ ᯗ ᮣᮥᮔᮔᮕᮞᮜᮩ ᮖᮕᮕᮜ ᮑ ᮓᮘᮙᮜᮜ ᮔᮟᮧᮞ ᮝᮩ ᮣᮠᮙᮞᮕᯍ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮖᮢᮟᮧᮞᮕᮔ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮓᮑᮤᮕᮜᮩ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮔᮙᮣᮠᮜᮕᮑᮣᮥᮢᮕᮼ ᯗᮤ ᮣᮕᮕᮝᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮧᮟᮢᮔᮣ ᮵ᯐᮙ ᯛᮑ ᮇᮕᮞ᮵ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮞᮟᮧᮺ ᮑᮞ ᮙᮞᮕᮨᮠᮜᮙᮓᮑᮒᮜᮕ ᮒᮟᮞᮕᮻᮓᮘᮙᮜᮜᮙᮞᮗ ᮓᮟᮜᮔᮞᮕᮣᮣ ᮑᮠᮠᮕᮑᮢᮕᮔ ᮟᮞ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮒᮑᮓᮛᮼ

“ᯗ ᮣᮕᮜᮜ ᮖᮥᮞᮕᮢᮑᮜ ᮣᮥᮠᮠᮜᮙᮕᮣᮼ ᯜᮟᮢᮝᮑᮜᮜᮩᮺ ᯗ ᮣᮕᮜᮜ ᮤᮘᮕᮝ ᮤᮘᮢᮟᮥᮗᮘ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝᮙᮞᮗᮼ ᯗ ᮔᮟ ᮒᮥᮣᮙᮞᮕᮣᮣ ᮙᮞ ᮒᮟᮤᮘ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮉᮙᮞ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮉᮑᮞᮗ ᮢᮕᮑᮜᮝᮣᮼ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮛᮞᮕᮧ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮖᮟᮟᮜ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕᮺ ᮣᮟ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮣᮙᮝᮠᮜᮩ ᮤᮟᮜᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮤᮢᮥᮤᮘᮼ

ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮧᮑᮩᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮑᮜᮣᮟ ᮕᮨᮤᮢᮑᮓᮤ ᮙᮞᮖᮟᮢᮝᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮘᮕᮢᮼ

“ᮄᮘᮑᮤ ᮑᮝᮑ᮪ᮙᮞᮗᯍ ᯏᮢᮕ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮣᮘᮟᮢᮤ ᮟᮞ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩᯍ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮕᮔ ᮑᮤ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮼ ᮃᮟ ᮓᮑᮠᮑᮒᮜᮕᮺ ᮩᮕᮤ ᮣᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮔᮟᮙᮞᮗ ᮖᮥᮞᮕᮢᮑᮜ ᮣᮥᮠᮠᮜᮩ ᮒᮥᮣᮙᮞᮕᮣᮣᮼᮼᮼ

“ᮉᮕᮣᮺ ᯗ ᮟᮧᮕ ᮤᮘᮢᮕᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮝᮙᮜᮜᮙᮟᮞᮼ”

“ᮄᮘᮢᮕᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮝᮙᮜᮜᮙᮟᮞᮯ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮗᮢᮕᮑᮤᮜᮩ ᮑᮣᮤᮟᮞᮙᮣᮘᮕᮔᮼ ᯗᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮕᮢᮑ ᮧᮘᮕᮞ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑᮜᮙᮦᮕᮺ ᮤᮘᮢᮕᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮝᮙᮜᮜᮙᮟᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮞᮟ ᮣᮝᮑᮜᮜ ᮣᮥᮝᯉ ᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮤᮙᮝᮕᮺ ᮑ ᮝᮟᮞᮤᮘᮜᮩ ᮣᮑᮜᮑᮢᮩ ᮟᮖ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮩᮥᮑᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮓᮟᮞᮣᮙᮔᮕᮢᮕᮔ ᮘᮙᮗᮘᮼ

“ᯖᮟᮧ ᮔᮙᮔ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮗᮕᮤ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮣᮟ ᮝᮥᮓᮘ ᮔᮕᮒᮤᯍ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮡᮥᮙᮤᮕ ᮥᮞᮔᮕᮢᮣᮤᮑᮞᮔ ᮘᮟᮧ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᮒᮕᮙᮞᮗ ᮣᮟ ᮩᮟᮥᮞᮗᮺ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮟᮧᮕ ᮣᮟ ᮝᮥᮓᮘ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩᮼ

ᯒᮙᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮠᮜᮑᮩ ᮄᮘᮢᮕᮕ ᯙᮙᮞᮗᮔᮟᮝᮣ ᯙᮙᮜᮜᯍ

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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