Five years ago, Julian Chen asked me if I wanted to go with him, and I did. I've always been clear-headed about the fact that there was no love between us. He needed a wife, and I needed money. I played the role of a wife diligently, squandering his money recklessly, asking if it pained him. He was wealthy enough to just smile and say: ask him for more if it wasn't enough. Five years into our marriage, Julian Chen died. Great. No one to nag me about smoking and drinking anymore. I could take the money he left me and freely find young guys to enjoy life. Three days after Julian died, I received a letter from five years ago. The first sentence of the letter read: [To my wife.] 1 As soon as Julian died, I partied in the club for three days straight. Expensive bottles of wine worth tens or hundreds of thousands were opened on a whim, and male models lined up for me to choose. When I was tired of playing and went home, Julian's lawyer handed me a letter. "This is the letter Mr. Chen left for you. According to the will, you are the sole heir to all his property." My eyes widened in surprise. Oh my god. Was Julian crazy? I had only been married to him for five years, didn't even have a child, and he gave me all his money. "Are you sure you read it right?" The lawyer nodded: "President Chen drafted the will himself, there can be no mistake." Then Julian must have lost his mind. I couldn't suppress the corners of my mouth, overwhelmed by immense joy, momentarily forgetting the letter he left me. Regarding Julian leaving all his money to me, his relatives were the most dissatisfied. When Julian died, they lay by the hospital bed crying their hearts out. Didn't expect that after all that effort, they didn't get a penny in the end. Julian's parents died when he was young, and I was the only heir. The relatives came to make a scene, looking ferocious, trying to force me to split the money equally. Anyway, I used to mix in society, what kind of people haven't I seen? Could they be more rascally than me? I was Julian's wife for five years, this money is what I deserve. Trying to gouge money out of my hands is simply wishful thinking. I crossed my arms, leaned against the door, and watched them bark like dogs with a mocking smile. "Want money? Sure. Julian and I happened to have no children. Whoever kneels and calls me mom, I'll give the child's share to you." A group of people whose ages added up to hundreds of years. Every one of them an elder. They were red-faced with anger, pointing at my nose and cursing. "You cheap slut from the gutter! Julian just died and you're taking his money to find men, you'll get karma!" I smiled indifferently: "Uncle, do you understand 'seize the day'?" The dead are gone, shouldn't the living live well? Besides, Julian and I had no feelings for each other. I married him just for money. He died and I got so much money for nothing, I'd wake up laughing even in my sleep. In life, the most important thing is money, everything else is bullshit. 2 After cursing away the pestering relatives, the 6'2" male model I just added two days ago called me. "Sister, when are you coming to see me? I miss you so much I can't sleep." This coquettish tone made my heart flutter. "I have something to do these days, not coming for now." Transferred a 9999 red packet to him right away, coaxing him with a little money. Hanging up the phone, I sat on the leather sofa drinking red wine, thinking about how to spend this money. So many zeros, even trypophobia would be cured. This is the life I fantasized about before. Money, time, and freedom, no need to live that dark life anymore, eat what I want, buy what I want, with no one controlling me. Aside from other things, I'm quite grateful to Julian. Back then, he met me at a banquet where I sneaked in hoping to hook a sugar daddy, and asked if I wanted to go with him. I asked him why. He smiled and said he needed a wife. Coincidentally, I needed money. Each took what they needed, best of both worlds. Suddenly remembered the letter he left me, didn't know where I threw it. What could he say? A standard gentle, considerate gentleman without any sharpness, the letter would probably be full of literary stuff. I didn't care much, even annoyed that he wanted to preach to me in a letter after death. The red wine wasn't strong enough, and I've always been unhappy without alcohol. Got up and went downstairs to find the ice wine I froze. Opening the refrigerator, I saw a sticky note on the fridge wall. [Drink less ice wine, drink less alcohol.] I froze. Remembered, this was written by Julian. He didn't like me smoking and drinking, said it was bad for health, and accompanied me to quit several times. I always couldn't persist, telling him recklessly: "Habits formed long ago, can't change." Struggling in the murky society, suffered too much, alcohol and nicotine could numb the pain, naturally creating dependency. Even after marrying Julian and becoming a rich wife, I couldn't change, not elegant enough, not decent enough, not gentle enough. Julian wouldn't scold me, no contempt in his eyes, gentle as a quilt sunned under the sun. "Good habits can also be formed, I'll accompany you." He didn't drink, didn't smoke, had no bad habits, interests were gardening, calligraphy, reading, mild and calm, seemed never to get angry. To me, it was boring to the extreme. I like flashy excitement, like all new things, high-profile enough to let everyone know I have money, a life attitude diametrically opposite to Julian. I dressed exaggeratedly, after having money I liked to wear valuable things on me, regardless of whether it looked good or suitable. Some mocked me as a nouveau riche who hadn't seen the world. I didn't care, asked Julian if I embarrassed him. He just smiled gently and said: "You are very beautiful." Just like that, we lived peacefully under one roof for five whole years. 3 Seeing the words on the sticky note, I tutted irritably and slammed the refrigerator door. Trying to control me even after death, so annoying. Lost the mood to drink, I turned and went back upstairs. The room was quiet. The book he used to read every night was still on the bedside table. A thick and heavy book. I said it could be used to press instant noodles, he smiled and said let me try after he finished reading. The letter I didn't know where I put was pressing on that book. I opened the letter, inside were two thin sheets of paper. Powerful and beautiful handwriting, his handwriting. I'm uneducated, came out to society before finishing high school. To me, writing letters is old-fashioned and outdated, very rustic. But his letter had a faint fragrance, making me less resistant. The lawyer said this letter was written five years ago. Julian instructed him to give it to me when he died. That is to say, he knew he was going to die long ago. Julian prepared this letter right after we got married. What would the letter say? Saying marrying me was just to make do, or asking me to divorce him after he died, not entering his family genealogy in the future, a woman like me would tarnish his reputation. If he was really afraid I would tarnish him, why marry me in the first place? Just thinking about it made me angry. I sneered mockingly, wanting to see what bullshit this dead man wanted to explain. The first sentence of the letter: [To my wife.] 4 When I was young, my family favored boys over girls. My parents' incompetence created my pain. To support the little prince at home, I was kicked out of the house at fourteen to work illegally. From a young age, I realized no one loved me. To get my parents' approval, I sent all the money I earned home, leaving only enough for food and clothing. Returning home for the New Year, parents were unusually enthusiastic and gentle. I was secretly happy, as happy as a child getting a desired toy. New Year's Eve, after dinner, they told me not to go out to work this year, found me a good family, giving a betrothal gift of 100,000. That man was twenty years older than me, had two dead wives, and was disabled. No parents would push their child into a fire pit. So I packed my things in the middle of the night, admitted the fact that my parents didn't love me, took my few luggage, stole money from home and ran away. I did many jobs, decent and indecent. As long as I could earn money to live, it didn't matter what I did. At twenty, I met a man. He was considerate, bought me flowers, cakes, and dresses, took me for rides by the river on his electric scooter. The river wind was wet and cold, but my heart was warm. A man working on construction sites also had a warm and gentle heart. He didn't disdain my background, felt sorry for my experiences. He was different from everyone else. I fell into his love lies unable to extricate myself. Until he gambled and drank, beat me black and blue, then robbed my money and ran away. Only then did I clearly realize that no one in this world would love me. I was abandoned garbage, a fly. Love meant nothing to me. I didn't want love anymore, I wanted lots and lots of money. I was kept as a mistress, worked as a bar hostess, chat streamer, did everything except being a homewrecker and breaking the law. Saved quite a bit of money those years. Later met a kid, couldn't afford school begging on the street. I softened and gave him a hundred bucks. Then that night I was targeted by his accomplices, home invasion robbery, almost died. I asked him why. The kid said others gave one or five, only I gave a hundred, must be rich. When the cold knife was against my neck, I swore, as long as I could live, I would be a bad woman, mean, vicious, selfish, low, cold.
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