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

Chapter 8

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 ᮤᮕᮢᮢᮙᮒᮜᮕᮺ ᯗ ᮟᮢᮙᮗᮙᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮧᮑᮞᮤᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮖᮙᮞᮔ ᮑ ᮒᮕᮑᮥᮤᮙᮖᮥᮜ ᮜᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᮔᮑᮢᮜᮙᮞᮗ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮘᮥᮝᮑᮞ ᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮠᮜᮑᮩ ᮧᮙᮤᮘᮺ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮟᮞᮕ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮝᮑᮛᮕ ᮝᮩ ᮘᮕᮑᮢᮤ ᮖᮜᮥᮤᮤᮕᮢᮼ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮞᮟᮧᮺ ᯗ᮵ᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ᮵ᮣ ᮙᮝᮝᮟᮒᮙᮜᮙ᮪ᮕᮔᮺ ᮥᮞᮑᮒᮜᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮝᮟᮦᮕᮼ

ᯏᮤ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮝᮟᮝᮕᮞᮤᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮗᮥᮤᮣ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮤᮧᮙᮣᮤᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮢᮕᮗᮢᮕᮤᮼ ᮃᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮙᮞᮤᮕᮞᮔᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮥᮜᮜᮩ ᮑ ᮞᮑᮙᮦᮕᮺ ᮣᮧᮕᮕᮤ ᮜᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᮗᮙᮢᮜᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮞᮕᮦᮕᮢ ᮕᮨᮠᮕᮓᮤᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮘᮙᮤ ᮑ ᮒᮢᮙᮓᮛ ᮧᮑᮜᮜᮼ

“ᮄᮕᮜᮜ ᮝᮕᮺ ᮧᮘᮩ ᮔᮙᮔ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮤᮢᮩ ᮤᮟ ᮘᮑᮢᮝ ᮝᮕᯍ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮓᮑᮣᮥᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮠᮥᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮟᮦᮕᮢ ᮑ ᮓᮘᮑᮙᮢ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮑᮤ ᮔᮟᮧᮞᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮕᮨᮠᮢᮕᮣᮣᮙᮟᮞ ᮣᮕᮢᮙᮟᮥᮣ ᮑᮣ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮕᮔ ᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮇᮟᮝᮑᮞ ᮙᮞ ᮑ ᮂᮕᮔ ᮇᮕᮔᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᯒᮢᮕᮣᮣ ᮒᮕᮖᮟᮢᮕ ᮘᮕᮢᮼ

“ᯗᮼᮼᮼ ᯗ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮝᮕᮑᮞ ᮤᮟ ᮘᮑᮢᮝ ᮩᮟᮥᮼ”

ᮄᮘᮕ ᮖᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮺ ᮓᮟᮝᮠᮜᮕᮤᮕᮜᮩ ᮙᮞᮤᮙᮝᮙᮔᮑᮤᮕᮔ ᮒᮩ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᮣᮠᮟᮛᮕ ᮙᮞᮓᮟᮘᮕᮢᮕᮞᮤᮜᮩᮺ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮒᮙᮤᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮟᮞᮗᮥᮕ ᮤᮘᮢᮕᮕ ᮤᮙᮝᮕᮣ ᮙᮞ ᮑ ᮣᮙᮞᮗᮜᮕ ᮣᮕᮞᮤᮕᮞᮓᮕᮼ

ᯑᮟᮥᮠᮜᮕᮔ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮠᮙᮤᮙᮖᮥᮜ ᮕᮨᮠᮢᮕᮣᮣᮙᮟᮞᮺ ᮙᮤ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮕ ᮣᮑᮙᮔᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮡᮥᮙᮤᮕ ᮓᮥᮤᮕᮼ

ᯜᮟ ᮧᮟᮞᮔᮕᮢ ᯜᮙᮞᮗ ᯑᮑᮙᮓᮘᮕᮞ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮢᮕᮣᮙᮣᮤᮼ ᯏ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮤᮘᮙᮣᮺ ᮧᮕᮑᮢᮙᮞᮗ ᮑ ᮢᮕᮔ ᮧᮕᮔᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮔᮢᮕᮣᮣ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮑ ᮢᮙᮠᮠᮕᮔ ᮣᮤᮩᮜᮕ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮕᮨᮠᮟᮣᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮙᮗᮘᮣ—ᮤᮘᮕ ᮙᮞᮤᮕᮢᮤᮧᮙᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮓᮟᮞᮤᮢᮑᮣᮤ ᮟᮖ ᮓᮟᮞᮣᮕᮢᮦᮑᮤᮙᮣᮝ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮢᮑᮔᮙᮓᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮞᮟ ᮔᮙᮖᮖᮕᮢᮕᮞᮤ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮣᮕᮔᮥᮓᮤᮙᮦᮕ ᮜᮙᮞᮗᮕᮢᮙᮕᮼ ᯗᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮙᮞᮔᮕᮕᮔ ᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮕᮩᮕᮻᮓᮑᮤᮓᮘᮙᮞᮗᮼ

ᯏᮜᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮤᮢᮙᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮒᮕᮣᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮑᮠᮠᮕᮑᮢ ᮣᮕᮢᮙᮟᮥᮣᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮕᮩᮕᮣ ᮥᮞᮓᮟᮞᮣᮓᮙᮟᮥᮣᮜᮩ ᮛᮕᮠᮤ ᮗᮜᮑᮞᮓᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮑ᮪᮪ᮜᮙᮞᮗᮜᮩ ᮧᮘᮙᮤᮕ ᮤᮘᮙᮗᮘᮣᮼ

ᮄᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮣᮕᮕᮝᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮞᮟᮤᮙᮓᮕ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮗᮑ᮪ᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮙᮞᮣᮤᮙᮞᮓᮤᮙᮦᮕᮜᮩ ᮤᮙᮗᮘᮤᮕᮞᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮙᮗᮘᮣ ᮣᮜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮜᮩᮼ

“ᯏᮘᮕᮝᮺ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮞᮑᮝᮕᯍ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮓᮜᮕᮑᮢᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮢᮟᮑᮤ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮓᮘᮑᮞᮗᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮡᮥᮕᮣᮤᮙᮟᮞᮼ

“ᯚᮙᮥᮼᮼᮼ ᯚᮙᮥ ᮂᮥᮩᮑᮞᮼ”

“ᯗ ᮑᮣᮛᮕᮔ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮢᮕᮑᮜ ᮞᮑᮝᮕᮼ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮗᮑ᮪ᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮠᮙᮕᮢᮓᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮑ ᮣᮙᮞᮗᮜᮕ ᮜᮟᮟᮛ ᮙᮞᮤᮙᮝᮙᮔᮑᮤᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤᮼ

“ᯚᮙᮥᮼᮼᮼ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙᮼ”

“ᮄᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᮺ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮙᮣ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙᮼ ᮇᮘᮩ ᮔᮙᮔ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮢᮑᮞᮔᮟᮝᮜᮩ ᮓᮘᮑᮞᮗᮕ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮞᮑᮝᮕ ᮤᮟ ᯚᮙᮥ ᮂᮥᮩᮑᮞᯍ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮕᮔ ᮑᮤ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ᮵ᮣ ᮜᮟᮞᮗᮺ ᮣᮝᮟᮟᮤᮘᮺ ᮙᮞᮛᮻᮒᮜᮑᮓᮛ ᮘᮑᮙᮢ ᮘᮑᮞᮗᮙᮞᮗ ᮔᮟᮧᮞᮼ ᯏᮜᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮢᮕᮔᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮣᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮢᮕᮓᮟᮗᮞᮙ᮪ᮕ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮦᮟᮙᮓᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮓᮑᮤᮕ ᮖᮑᮓᮕ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮢᮕᮔᮻᮘᮑᮙᮢᮕᮔ ᮟᮜᮔᮕᮢ ᮣᮙᮣᮤᮕᮢ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮓᮟᮞᮞᮕᮓᮤᮕᮔ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮔᮥᮢᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝ ᮕᮑᮢᮜᮙᮕᮢᮼ

“ᯜᮟ ᮧᮟᮞᮔᮕᮢ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮖᮑᮓᮕ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮕᮔ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮩᮟᮥ᮵ᮔ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮔᮕᮑᮔ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮔᮕᮓᮑᮔᮕᮣᮼ ᯗ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮔᮥᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮝᮑᮛᮕᮥᮠ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝ᮵ᮣ ᮒᮕᮑᮥᮤᮩ ᮖᮙᮜᮤᮕᮢᮣᮼᮼᮼ”

“ᯗ ᮔᮙᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮕᮨᮠᮕᮓᮤ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮤᮟ ᮑᮓᮤᮥᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮒᮕ ᮑ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮼ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮕᮔ ᮑᮤ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮒᮕᮖᮟᮢᮕ ᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮣᮠᮕᮑᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮘᮙᮜᮕ ᮠᮟᮥᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮓᮘᮕᮣᮤ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮤᮑᮝᮠᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮖᮕᮕᮤᮺ ᮑᮠᮠᮕᮑᮢᮙᮞᮗ ᮥᮤᮤᮕᮢᮜᮩ ᮘᮕᮑᮢᮤᮒᮢᮟᮛᮕᮞᮼ ᯗᮤ ᮧᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮒᮕᮓᮑᮥᮣᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮢᮕᮓᮟᮗᮞᮙ᮪ᮕᮔ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ᮵ᮣ ᮤᮢᮥᮕ ᮙᮔᮕᮞᮤᮙᮤᮩ ᮔᮥᮢᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮤᮢᮕᮑᮝᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮒᮕᮓᮑᮥᮣᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮢᮕᮑᮜᮙ᮪ᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮖᮙᮦᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮩᮥᮑᮞ ᮣᮕᮢᮦᮙᮓᮕ ᮖᮕᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮘᮟᮠᮕᮜᮕᮣᮣᮺ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮥᮓᮛ ᮙᮞ ᮘᮑᮞᮔ ᮖᮜᮕᮧ ᮑᮧᮑᮩᮼᮼᮼ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᮤᮢᮥᮜᮩ ᮠᮑᮙᮞᮕᮔ ᮘᮕᮢᮼ

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮞᮟ ᮙᮞᮤᮕᮞᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᮟᮖ ᮠᮑᮩᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮖᮙᮦᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮩᮥᮑᮞ ᮣᮕᮢᮦᮙᮓᮕ ᮖᮕᮕ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮤᮑᮢᮤᮺ ᮒᮕᮓᮑᮥᮣᮕ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮝᮑᮞᮼᮼᮼ ᮙᮖ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮒᮥᮢᮞᮕᮔ ᮙᮤᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮖᮑᮜᮜᮕᮞ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮤᮢᮑᮠᮼ

ᯗᮖ ᮙᮤ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮑᮞ ᮟᮢᮔᮙᮞᮑᮢᮩ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞᮺ ᮤᮘᮕᮩ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮜᮟᮞᮗ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮤᮑᮛᮕᮞ ᮒᮩ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮔᮢᮑᮗᮗᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮕ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮧᮙᮖᮕᮼ

ᮃᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮖᮙᮦᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮩᮥᮑᮞᯍ ᯗᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞ ᮤᮘᮕᮝᮣᮕᮜᮦᮕᮣ ᮒᮕᮜᮟᮞᮗᮣ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤᮺ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮖᮙᮦᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮩᮥᮑᮞ ᮧᮟᮢᮤᮘᯍ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮤᮘᮑᮞᮛᮖᮥᮜᮜᮩᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮝᮟᮢᮕ ᮣᮛᮙᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮑᮦᮕᮢᮤᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮑᮞᮗᮕᮢ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮙᮝᮕ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮑ ᮤᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝᮑᮞᮼ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮧᮘᮩ ᮔᮙᮔ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯔᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᯕᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮜᮟᮟᮛ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮓᮢᮩᯍ ᮇᮑᮣ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮤᮑᮜᮙᮣᮝᮑᮞ ᮢᮕᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮣᮓᮑᮢᮩᯍ ᯗᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮑ ᮝᮕᮢᮕ ᯗᮝᮝᮟᮢᮤᮑᮜᮻᯐᮙᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮃᮠᮕᮜᮜᮺ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮝᮑᮛᮕ ᮣᮥᮓᮘ ᮑ ᮖᮥᮣᮣ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤᯍ

ᯝᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮞᮤᮢᮑᮢᮩᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮙᮝᮠᮕᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮖᮙᮦᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮔᮢᮕᮔ ᮩᮥᮑᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮗᮟᮞᮕᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮗᮙᮦᮕᮞ ᮑᮞ ᮕᮝᮠᮤᮩ ᮠᮢᮟᮝᮙᮣᮕ ᮒᮩ ᮑ ᮖᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮼ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮖᮕᮜᮤ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮟᮞᮕ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮣᮘᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮒᮕ ᮓᮢᮩᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮑᮜᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᯍ

ᮃᮘᮕ᮵ᮔ ᮒᮕ ᮘᮥᮞᮗᮢᮩ ᮑᮗᮑᮙᮞ ᮤᮟᮝᮟᮢᮢᮟᮧᮼᮼᮼ ᮒᮟᮟᮘᮟᮟᮼ

“ᯏᮓᮤᮥᮑᮜᮜᮩᮺ ᮑᮓᮤᮥᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᯗᮼᮼᮼ”

“ᮇᮑᮑᮑᮘᮼᮼᮼ ᮇᯏᯏᯏᯖᮯᮯᮯ”

ᯘᮥᮣᮤ ᮑᮣ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮖᮕᮙᮗᮞ ᮠᮙᮤᮙᮖᮥᮜᮞᮕᮣᮣ ᮤᮟ ᮗᮑᮙᮞ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ᮵ᮣ ᮣᮩᮝᮠᮑᮤᮘᮩᮼᮼᮼ

ᮅᮞᮕᮨᮠᮕᮓᮤᮕᮔᮜᮩᮺ ᮒᮕᮖᮟᮢᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮕᮦᮕᮞ ᮣᮡᮥᮕᮕ᮪ᮕ ᮟᮥᮤ ᮑ ᮣᮙᮞᮗᮜᮕ ᮤᮕᮑᮢᮺ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮒᮥᮢᮣᮤ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮤᮕᮑᮢᮣ ᮖᮙᮢᮣᮤᮼ

ᮄᮘᮙᮣ ᮓᮟᮝᮠᮜᮕᮤᮕᮜᮩ ᮣᮤᮥᮝᮠᮕᮔ ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙᮼ ᯖᮕᮢ ᮕᮞᮤᮙᮢᮕ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮜᮩ ᮣᮕᮜᮖ ᮖᮢᮟ᮪ᮕ ᮟᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮠᮟᮤᮺ ᮧᮑᮤᮓᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮓᮢᮩᮙᮞᮗ ᮠᮢᮟᮖᮥᮣᮕᮜᮩ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮥᮤᮤᮕᮢᮜᮩ ᮧᮢᮟᮞᮗᮕᮔᮺ ᮑᮤ ᮑ ᮜᮟᮣᮣᮼ

ᯚᮙᮥ ᯖᮑᮞ᮪ᮘᮙ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮒᮕᮕᮞ ᮑ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮟᮦᮕᮢ ᮑ ᮔᮕᮓᮑᮔᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮣᮕᮕᮞ ᮝᮑᮞᮩ ᮘᮥᮝᮑᮞᮣᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮟᮞᮕ ᮑᮣ ᮤᮢᮟᮥᮒᮜᮕᮣᮟᮝᮕ ᮑᮣ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮢᮥᮜᮩ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮖᮙᮢᮣᮤᮼᮼᮼ

ᮇᮘᮑᮤ ᮣᮘᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮔᮟ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮘᮙᮣ ᮣᮙᮤᮥᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞᯍ ᮃᮘᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮝᮖᮟᮢᮤ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮖᮙᮢᮣᮤᯍ

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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