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

Chapter 87

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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“ᮇᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮧᮢᮟᮞᮗᯍ ᯗᮖ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮑ ᮓᮜᮕᮑᮢ ᮓᮟᮞᮣᮓᮙᮕᮞᮓᮕᮺ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮔᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮖᮕᮑᮢ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮣ ᮛᮞᮟᮓᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮟᮞ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮔᮟᮟᮢᮼ ᯚᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᯜᮥᮢᮣᮕᮺ ᮗᮟ ᮟᮠᮕᮞ ᮙᮤᮼ”

“ᯛᮕᯍ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮟᮢᮙᮗᮙᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮑᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮥᮤᮤᮕᮢᮕᮔ ᮣᮥᮓᮘ ᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᮕᮟᮥᮣ ᮧᮟᮢᮔᮣᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮟᮠᮕᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮟᮟᮢ ᮘᮕᮢᮣᮕᮜᮖᮼ

ᯐᮥᮤ ᮙᮤ ᮤᮥᮢᮞᮕᮔ ᮟᮥᮤᮺ ᮙᮖ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮑ ᮓᮜᮕᮑᮢ ᮓᮟᮞᮣᮓᮙᮕᮞᮓᮕᮺ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮔᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮖᮕᮑᮢ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤᮣ ᮛᮞᮟᮓᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮟᮞ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮔᮟᮟᮢᮺ ᮣᮟ ᮧᮘᮩ ᮔᮟᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮗᮟ ᮟᮠᮕᮞ ᮙᮤᯍ

“ᯓᮨᮑᮓᮤᮜᮩᮼ ᮉᮟᮥ᮵ᮦᮕ ᮑᮜᮢᮕᮑᮔᮩ ᮣᮟᮜᮔ ᮩᮟᮥᮢᮣᮕᮜᮖ ᮤᮟ ᮝᮕᮺ ᮣᮟ ᮙᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮙᮤ ᮞᮟᮢᮝᮑᮜ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮤᮟ ᮘᮕᮜᮠ ᮝᮕ ᮓᮜᮕᮑᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮢᮟᮟᮝ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮔᮟ ᮣᮟᮝᮕ ᮓᮘᮟᮢᮕᮣᯍ”

ᯖᮕᮑᮢᮙᮞᮗ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮣᮑᮩ ᮤᮘᮙᮣᮺ ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮞᮟ ᮓᮘᮟᮙᮓᮕᮼ

ᯏᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮑᮜᮜᮺ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮞᮤᮢᮑᮓᮤ ᮒᮙᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮟᮒᮕᮩ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮞᮟᮧᮺ ᮟᮢ ᮕᮜᮣᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮝᮙᮗᮘᮤ ᮒᮕ ᮣᮤᮢᮥᮓᮛ ᮒᮩ ᮖᮙᮦᮕ ᮒᮟᮜᮤᮣ ᮟᮖ ᮘᮕᮑᮦᮕᮞᮜᮩ ᮜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮞᮙᮞᮗᮼ

ᯛᮟᮢᮕᮟᮦᮕᮢᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮑᮜᮧᮑᮩᮣ ᮖᮕᮜᮤ ᮣᮟᮝᮕᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮟᮖᮖᮼ ᯐᮕᮙᮞᮗ ᮣᮤᮢᮥᮓᮛ ᮒᮩ ᮖᮙᮦᮕ ᮒᮟᮜᮤᮣ ᮟᮖ ᮘᮕᮑᮦᮕᮞᮜᮩ ᮜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑ ᮠᮥᮞᮙᮣᮘᮝᮕᮞᮤ ᮔᮙᮖᮖᮙᮓᮥᮜᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮢᮙᮗᮗᮕᮢᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮑᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮣᮙᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮞᮤᮢᮑᮓᮤ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮖᮕᮜᮤ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮓᮢᮙᮤᮕᮢᮙᮑ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮒᮕᮙᮞᮗ ᮣᮤᮢᮥᮓᮛ ᮒᮩ ᮖᮙᮦᮕ ᮒᮟᮜᮤᮣ ᮟᮖ ᮘᮕᮑᮦᮕᮞᮜᮩ ᮜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮝᮥᮓᮘ ᮣᮙᮝᮠᮜᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮑᮞ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮔ ᮙᮝᮑᮗᮙᮞᮕᮔᮼ

ᯗᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑᮣ ᮙᮖ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮤᮑᮜᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮒᮑᮓᮛ ᮤᮟ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮓᮑᮥᮣᮕ ᮘᮕᮑᮦᮕᮞᮜᮩ ᮜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮤᮢᮙᮛᮕ ᮔᮙᮢᮕᮓᮤᮜᮩᮼ

ᮃᮟᮺ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮒᮕᮤᮤᮕᮢ ᮤᮟ ᮒᮕ ᮑᮣ ᮟᮒᮕᮔᮙᮕᮞᮤ ᮑᮣ ᮠᮟᮣᮣᮙᮒᮜᮕᮼᮼᮼ

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮟᮠᮕᮞᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮟᮟᮢᮼ ᯝᮥᮤᮣᮙᮔᮕᮺ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮠᮙᮤᮓᮘ ᮒᮜᮑᮓᮛᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮟᮞᮜᮩ ᮣᮕᮕ ᮑ ᮣᮘᮟᮢᮤ ᮖᮙᮗᮥᮢᮕ ᮣᮤᮑᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕᮼ

ᮃᮘᮕ ᮖᮢᮟᮧᮞᮕᮔ ᮣᮜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮜᮩᮺ ᮑᮒᮟᮥᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮗᮢᮕᮕᮤ ᮤᮘᮕᮝᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮒᮕᮖᮟᮢᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮣᮠᮕᮑᮛᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮕᮩᮕᮣ ᮧᮙᮔᮕᮞᮕᮔ ᮙᮞᮣᮤᮑᮞᮤᮜᮩᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮣᮜᮑᮝᮝᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮟᮟᮢ ᮣᮘᮥᮤᮼ

“ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩᮯ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮓᮢᮙᮕᮔ ᮟᮥᮤᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮦᮟᮙᮓᮕ ᮤᮢᮕᮝᮒᮜᮙᮞᮗᮼ

ᯏᮣ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮟᮧᮞᮕᮢ ᮟᮖ ᮑᮞ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮖᮕᮑᮢᮕᮔ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮝᮟᮣᮤᮼ

ᯏᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮑᮜᮜᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮖᮟᮢᮝᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᮟᮖ ᮑᮞ ᯓᮕᮢᮙᮕ ᮂᮕᮑᮜᮝ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮘᮑᮠᮠᮕᮞ ᮧᮙᮤᮘᮟᮥᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮑᮓᮓᮥᮝᮥᮜᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞ ᮟᮖ ᮘᮥᮝᮑᮞ ᮜᮙᮦᮕᮣᮼ ᮅᮣᮥᮑᮜᮜᮩᮺ ᮛᮕᮕᮠᮙᮞᮗ ᮑ ᮜᮟᮧ ᮠᮢᮟᮖᮙᮜᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮖᮙᮞᮕᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮙᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮕᮟᮠᮜᮕ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᮗᮟᮤ ᮣᮕᮢᮙᮟᮥᮣ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮓᮑᮝᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮕᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᮑᮓᮓᮟᮥᮞᮤᮣᮺ ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮔᮕᮖᮙᮞᮙᮤᮕᮜᮩ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮒᮕ ᮑᮒᮜᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮕᮣᮓᮑᮠᮕᯉ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮒᮕ ᮣᮕᮞᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮕᮙᮗᮘᮤᮕᮕᮞ ᮜᮑᮩᮕᮢᮣ ᮟᮖ ᮘᮕᮜᮜ ᮤᮟ ᮣᮥᮖᮖᮕᮢ ᮤᮟᮢᮤᮥᮢᮕᮼ

ᮃᮘᮕ᮵ᮔ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮕᮞᮔᮥᮢᮕ ᮕᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮛᮙᮞᮔ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮟᮢᮝᮕᮞᮤᮼ

“ᮇᮘᮑᮤ᮵ᮣ ᮧᮢᮟᮞᮗᯍ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮑᮜᮛᮕᮔ ᮟᮥᮤ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮢᮟᮟᮝᮺ ᮣᮕᮕᮙᮞᮗ ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ᮵ᮣ ᮜᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᮖᮑᮓᮕ ᮤᮥᮢᮞ ᮠᮑᮜᮕ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮖᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᮼ

“ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩᮯ ᮄᮘᮕᮢᮕ᮵ᮣ ᮑᮞ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩ ᮟᮥᮤᮣᮙᮔᮕᮼᮼᮼ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᯗ᮵ᮝ ᮣᮓᮑᮢᮕᮔᮼ”

“ᯏᮞ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩᯍ ᯚᮕᮤ ᮘᮙᮝ ᮙᮞᮼ ᯖᮟᮧ ᮢᮥᮔᮕ ᮙᮣ ᮙᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮛᮕᮕᮠ ᮘᮙᮝ ᮟᮥᮤᮣᮙᮔᮕᯍ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮤᮘᮟᮥᮗᮘᮤ ᮓᮑᮢᮕᮖᮥᮜᮜᮩᯉ ᮙᮤ ᮝᮥᮣᮤ ᮒᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮓᮑᮝᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮓᮟᮜᮜᮕᮓᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮑᮠᮕᮢ ᮕᮖᮖᮙᮗᮙᮕᮣ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮘᮕᮜᮠ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢᮙᮕᮣᮼ

ᮄᮘᮙᮞᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮙᮣᮺ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮟᮠᮕᮞᮕᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮟᮟᮢᮼ ᮄᮘᮑᮞᮛᮖᮥᮜᮜᮩᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮣᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮣᮤᮑᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮟᮥᮤᮣᮙᮔᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮘᮑᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮑᮞᮗᮢᮙᮜᮩ ᮜᮕᮖᮤ ᮒᮕᮓᮑᮥᮣᮕ ᮟᮖ ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ᮵ᮣ ᮢᮥᮔᮕᮞᮕᮣᮣᮼ

“ᯛᮩ ᮑᮠᮟᮜᮟᮗᮙᮕᮣᮺ ᮝᮩ ᮜᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᮖᮕᮝᮑᮜᮕ ᮗᮘᮟᮣᮤ ᮙᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮣᮕᮞᮣᮙᮒᮜᮕ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮘᮑᮣ ᮟᮖᮖᮕᮞᮔᮕᮔ ᮩᮟᮥᮼ”

ᯏᮣ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮣᮠᮟᮛᮕᮺ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮠᮥᮜᮜᮕᮔ ᮑ ᮖᮟᮜᮔᮕᮔ ᮠᮙᮕᮓᮕ ᮟᮖ ᮣᮠᮙᮢᮙᮤ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮠᮟᮓᮛᮕᮤ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮜᮙᮠᮠᮕᮔ ᮙᮤ ᮙᮞᮤᮟ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮘᮑᮞᮔ ᮟᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮑᮢᮛ ᮖᮙᮗᮥᮢᮕ ᮒᮕᮖᮟᮢᮕ ᮘᮕᮢᮼ

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮓᮜᮕᮑᮢᮜᮩ ᮣᮕᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩ᮵ᮣ ᮑᮠᮠᮕᮑᮢᮑᮞᮓᮕᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮔᮙᮣᮤᮙᮞᮓᮤᮜᮩ ᮣᮕᮞᮣᮕ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩ᮵ᮣ ᮟᮦᮕᮢᮖᮜᮟᮧᮙᮞᮗ ᮕᮝᮟᮤᮙᮟᮞᮣᮼ

“ᮉᮟᮥ᮵ᮢᮕ ᯛᮙᮣᮣ ᯚᮙ᮵ᮣ ᮠᮕᮢᮣᮟᮞᮺ ᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᯍ ᮇᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮤᮟ ᮓᮟᮝᮕ ᮙᮞ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮣᮙᮤ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮑ ᮒᮙᮤᯍ”

“ᮼᮼᮼ”

ᮄᮘᮕ ᮒᮜᮑᮓᮛ ᮣᮘᮑᮔᮟᮧ ᮣᮙᮜᮕᮞᮤᮜᮩ ᮣᮘᮟᮟᮛ ᮙᮤᮣ ᮘᮕᮑᮔᮼ

“ᯏᮜᮢᮙᮗᮘᮤᮺ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮙᮤᮕᮝᮣ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮞᮕᮕᮔ ᮤᮟ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮝᮕ ᮑᮢᮕ ᮑᮜᮜ ᮙᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮟᮧᮞᮣᮤᮑᮙᮢᮣ ᮣᮤᮟᮢᮑᮗᮕ ᮢᮟᮟᮝᮼ ᯖᮕᮢᮕ᮵ᮣ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮛᮕᮩᯉ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮢᮟᮟᮝ ᮞᮥᮝᮒᮕᮢ ᮙᮣ ᮟᮞ ᮙᮤᮼ”

“ᯓᮦᮕᮢᮩᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗ ᮙᮣ ᮢᮕᮑᮔᮩᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮑᮔᮔᮢᮕᮣᮣᮕᮣ ᮑᮢᮕ ᮧᮢᮙᮤᮤᮕᮞᮼ ᮀᮜᮕᮑᮣᮕ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮘᮕᮜᮠ ᮝᮕ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮕᮝᮼ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮣᮑᮙᮔᮺ ᮘᮑᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮟᮦᮕᮢ ᮑ ᮣᮤᮟᮢᮑᮗᮕ ᮢᮟᮟᮝ ᮛᮕᮩᮺ ᮒᮥᮤ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮒᮜᮑᮓᮛ ᮣᮘᮑᮔᮟᮧ ᮣᮤᮙᮜᮜ ᮣᮘᮟᮟᮛ ᮙᮤᮣ ᮘᮕᮑᮔᮼ

“ᯜᮟ ᮞᮕᮕᮔᮺ ᮩᮟᮥᮢ ᮠᮕᮢᮝᮙᮣᮣᮙᮟᮞ ᮙᮣ ᮕᮞᮟᮥᮗᮘᮼ ᯛᮙᮣᮣ ᯚᮙ ᮣᮑᮙᮔ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮠᮑᮩᮝᮕᮞᮤ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮕᮜᮙᮦᮕᮢᮩ ᮧᮙᮜᮜ ᮒᮕ ᮣᮕᮤᮤᮜᮕᮔ ᮑᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮓᮟᮝᮠᮜᮕᮤᮙᮟᮞᮼ ᮇᮕ ᮑᮠᮟᮜᮟᮗᮙ᮪ᮕ ᮖᮟᮢ ᮔᮙᮣᮤᮥᮢᮒᮙᮞᮗ ᮩᮟᮥᮺ ᯛᮙᮣᮣ ᯐᮑᮙᮺ ᮧᮕ᮵ᮜᮜ ᮤᮑᮛᮕ ᮟᮥᮢ ᮜᮕᮑᮦᮕ ᮞᮟᮧᮼ”

ᮄᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩ᮵ᮣ ᮦᮟᮙᮓᮕ ᮓᮑᮢᮢᮙᮕᮔ ᮑ ᮘᮙᮞᮤ ᮟᮖ ᮕᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕᮑᮜᮞᮕᮣᮣᮺ ᮑᮣ ᮙᮖ ᮙᮤ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮕᮜᮕᮓᮤᮢᮟᮞᮙᮓᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮣᮩᮞᮤᮘᮕᮣᮙ᮪ᮕᮔᮼ

ᮄᮘᮕᮞ ᮘᮕ ᮞᮟᮔᮔᮕᮔ ᮣᮜᮙᮗᮘᮤᮜᮩ ᮤᮟ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮺ ᮤᮥᮢᮞᮕᮔᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮜᮕᮖᮤ ᮤᮟ ᮝᮟᮦᮕ ᮤᮘᮙᮞᮗᮣ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮔᮟᮧᮞᮣᮤᮑᮙᮢᮣ ᮣᮤᮟᮢᮑᮗᮕ ᮢᮟᮟᮝᮼ

ᯏᮣ ᮕᮨᮠᮕᮓᮤᮕᮔ ᮟᮖ ᮑᮞ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩᮺ ᮑ ᮝᮕᮢᮕ ᮣᮕᮓᮥᮢᮙᮤᮩ ᮔᮟᮟᮢ ᮤᮢᮥᮜᮩ ᮓᮟᮥᮜᮔᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮛᮕᮕᮠ ᮤᮘᮕᮝ ᮟᮥᮤᮼ

ᯏᮖᮤᮕᮢ ᮣᮕᮕᮙᮞᮗ ᮟᮖᮖ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩᮺ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮖᮙᮞᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮞᮟᮤᮙᮓᮕᮔ ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗᮺ ᮧᮘᮟ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮣᮤᮑᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮒᮕᮘᮙᮞᮔ ᮘᮕᮢᮺ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮕᮩᮕᮣ ᮣᮠᮑᮢᮛᮜᮙᮞᮗᮼ

ᮃᮕᮕᮙᮞᮗ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮕᮨᮓᮙᮤᮕᮔ ᮕᮨᮠᮢᮕᮣᮣᮙᮟᮞᮺ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮟᮞᮔᮕᮢᮕᮔ ᮧᮘᮑᮤ ᮣᮓᮘᮕᮝᮕ ᮣᮘᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮓᮟᮟᮛᮙᮞᮗ ᮥᮠ ᮞᮟᮧᮼ

“ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞᮯ ᮉᮟᮥ ᮓᮑᮞ ᮑᮓᮤᮥᮑᮜᮜᮩ ᮓᮘᮑᮤ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮜᮑᮥᮗᮘ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮑᮞ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩᯍ ᯏᮞᮔ ᮧᮕᮢᮕ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮒᮢᮙᮒᮙᮞᮗ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮞᮟᮧᯍ ᮃᮟ ᮓᮟᮟᮜᮺ ᮓᮑᮞ ᮩᮟᮥ ᮤᮕᮑᮓᮘ ᮝᮕ ᮤᮟᮟᯍ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮜᮟᮟᮛᮕᮔ ᮑᮤ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮑᮞ ᮕᮨᮠᮢᮕᮣᮣᮙᮟᮞ ᮟᮖ ᮑᮔᮟᮢᮑᮤᮙᮟᮞᮺ ᮤᮢᮥᮜᮩ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮑ ᮜᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᮖᮑᮞᮗᮙᮢᮜᮼ

“ᯒᮟᮕᮣ ᮒᮢᮙᮒᮙᮞᮗ ᮑᮞ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮩ ᮞᮕᮕᮔ ᮤᮕᮑᮓᮘᮙᮞᮗᯍ”

ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮑ ᮜᮙᮤᮤᮜᮕ ᮣᮤᮥᮞᮞᮕᮔᮼ ᮇᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮙᮤ ᮚᮥᮣᮤ ᮘᮑᮞᮔᮙᮞᮗ ᮟᮦᮕᮢ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮣᮠᮙᮢᮙᮤ ᮝᮟᮞᮕᮩ ᮧᮙᮤᮘ ᮑ ᮣᮝᮙᮜᮕᮺ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮤᮘᮕᮞ ᮤᮘᮕ ᮟᮤᮘᮕᮢ ᮠᮑᮢᮤᮩ ᮑᮓᮓᮕᮠᮤᮙᮞᮗ ᮙᮤᯍ ᮇᮑᮣᮞ᮵ᮤ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᮑᮜᮜ ᮤᮘᮕᮢᮕ ᮧᮑᮣ ᮤᮟ ᮙᮤᯍ

“ᯝᮖ ᮓᮟᮥᮢᮣᮕᮯ ᮅᮞᮔᮕᮢᮧᮟᮢᮜᮔ ᯓᮝᮙᮣᮣᮑᮢᮙᮕᮣ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮤᮘᮕᮙᮢ ᮟᮧᮞ ᮔᮥᮤᮙᮕᮣ ᮑᮞᮔ ᮢᮑᮢᮕᮜᮩ ᮑᮓᮓᮕᮠᮤ ᮒᮢᮙᮒᮕᮣᮺ ᮜᮕᮤ ᮑᮜᮟᮞᮕ ᮑ ᮒᮢᮙᮒᮕ ᮖᮢᮟᮝ ᮑ ᮘᮥᮝᮑᮞ ᮜᮙᮛᮕ ᮩᮟᮥᮯ”

ᮃᮘᮙ ᮈᮙᮑᮞᮗᮞᮙᮞᮗ ᮖᮕᮜᮤ ᮤᮘᮑᮤ ᯐᮑᮙ ᮇᮑᮞᮧᮑᮞ ᮝᮥᮣᮤ ᮘᮑᮦᮕ ᮣᮟᮝᮕ ᮥᮞᮙᮡᮥᮕ ᮣᮕᮓᮢᮕᮤ ᮤᮕᮓᮘᮞᮙᮡᮥᮕᮼ ᯑᮟᮥᮜᮔ ᮙᮤ ᮒᮕ ᮒᮕᮓᮑᮥᮣᮕ ᮟᮖ ᮘᮕᮢ ᮓᮘᮑᮢᮙᮣᮝᮑᯍ

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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