Mrs. Huo is a Crybaby Chapter 1: This Novel Is Headed Toward A Bad Ending
Translator: Yunyi
The city of Feng was shrouded in the darkness of late night.
A pool party was in full swing within the walls of a brilliantly lit resort.
Thumping beats and thunderous electronic music vibrated through the air as youths in extravagant attire danced with reckless abandon. Surrounded by flowing Champagne and beautiful faces, they were lost in a world of pure indulgence.
Splash—
At that precise moment, a petite figure tumbled into the water unnoticed. She struggled briefly before gradually sinking toward the bottom, yet not a single soul spared her a glance of concern.
A significant amount of time passed before a panicked shriek finally erupted.
“Help! Someone is drowning! Hurry!
“She... she doesn't seem to be breathing!
“Is that Song Yaoyao? It’s Song Yaoyao...”
Song Yaoyao’s stomach felt bloated and painful, while a torrent of foreign information began to flood her consciousness.
“Oh my God! Yaoyao! Please wake up, Yaoyao! Don’t frighten me like this. Sob... huff...”
Her body was being shaken violently by someone whose loud wailing made her head throb with agony.
“Cough, cough...” A mouthful of pool water was expelled as Song Yaoyao coughed, her mind slowly regaining clarity.
Upon seeing her recover, some people let out sighs of relief, while others merely sneered and grumbled internally: this jinx truly has the luck of the devil!
Sharp, needle-like pains pierced Song Yaoyao’s temples, hurting so intensely that she felt as though she might perish. Tears began to roll down her cheeks involuntarily.
Observing her pathetic state, the man standing nearby rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Look at her, she’s crying yet again. I truly don't understand how she has a never-ending supply of tears!”
At the same time, tears also shimmered on the sophisticated face of Song Jingwan, her grief seemingly impossible to restrain. “How can you speak such words? Yaoyao is my own younger sister!”
Her delicate sorrow earned her instant sympathy, prompting the man to argue back, “You regard her as a sister, but she clearly doesn't see you as an elder sister! If she did, why would she try to steal the man you love?”
Had this been the past, Song Yaoyao would have struck him without a second thought. However, her mind was currently a chaotic mess of fragmented memories, making her oblivious to their mockery.
Lying by the poolside in the middle of autumn, the biting wind chilled her to the bone as her soaked dress clung to her skin. Song Yaoyao’s frame shivered slightly, her ink-black hair draping over her face and concealing a gaze that had turned icy cold.
In her previous life, Song Yaoyao had already passed away. Her journey had ended on her nineteenth birthday due to heart failure.
Yet here she was, alive once more. The rhythmic throbbing in her head served as proof that this was no delusion.
Not only was she breathing again, but she had also transmigrated into a mindless novel she had once skimmed through. In that story, there was a supporting female character who bore her name—a weak-willed girl with crippling self-esteem issues who was constantly overshadowed by her sister and treated like a curse by her own parents.
After being bullied, ignored, and having her fiancé snatched away, she attempted to retaliate, only to be cast out by her family and meet a wretched end.
It was fair to say that within the pages of ‘The Young Master’s Delicate Wife’, the name Song Yaoyao was a synonym for misery!
“Ha...”
The girl's vacant eyes suddenly sharpened with a spark of life. Licking her lips, she slowly raised her head. Beneath the glow of the moon, her exquisite, perfect face bloomed like a magnificent begonia. With damp, curly hair framing her pale skin, she appeared radiant but not cheap, alluring but not wicked.
Song Yaoyao scanned the crowd, recording every face in her memory as a cryptic smile played on her lips.
She was issuing a silent decree: from the moment she arrived in this world, this novel was destined for a tragic conclusion.
Actors, take your places; the curtains are rising.
Tell me, have you all decided how you wish to meet your end?