Sister, Please Have Some Self-Respect, I'm Your Sister-in-Law - Chapter 1

The bone-chilling cold, like countless tiny needles, pierced through Lin Yuehe’s muddled consciousness, jolting her awake.

Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring at a suffocatingly low ceiling, made of mud-plastered thatch.

A musty, earthy stench, tinged with the faint odor of livestock manure, flooded her nostrils, triggering a fit of coughing.

How had she, a recent agricultural graduate who had merely tripped in the experimental fields after her thesis defense, ended up here?

Beneath her lay a hard, uncomfortable wooden bed covered with coarse, worn-out cloth that chafed against her skin.

The burning hunger in her stomach, coupled with the fragmented memories of another “Lin Yuehe” that had inexplicably appeared in her mind, coldly confirmed the truth: she had transmigrated.

She had been transported to a historically nonexistent dynasty called Daye, a land gripped by a famine during the lean season between harvests.

In this desolate era, she had transmigrated into the body of a wretched girl.

The original Lin Yuehe was an orphaned girl whose parents had died. Her distant aunt and uncle resented her as a burden and were preparing to “dispose” of her.

“Lazy girl, wake up and get moving! Do you think you’re some precious Eldest Young Lady?”

The shrill voice cut through the air as the door slammed open. Aunt Wang, a stout woman with arms like tree trunks and a waist like a barrel, stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, spittle flying from her mouth as she spoke.

“Consider yourself lucky! Landlord Song’s family is arranging a marriage for their sickly youngest son to bring him good fortune. The dowry includes a whole sack of millet! Hurry up and get ready—the matchmaker will be here soon to take you for the viewing!”

Landlord Song’s family? A marriage for good fortune? A sickly youngest son?

Lin Yuehe’s heart sank.

This starting point was practically hell-level difficulty.

But she quickly suppressed her surging emotions, her survival instinct kicking in to restore her composure.

She was Lin Yuehe, and whether in the modern world or ancient times, her first priority was to survive.

“Aunt Wang, I… I’ll get up right away,” she croaked, feigning weakness as she struggled to sit up.

Her gaze, however, secretly swept toward the corner of the room, where a few shriveled, moldy wheat kernels lay—treasures the original owner had cherished but improperly stored.

As Aunt Wang half-pushed and half-dragged her out of the room and past the barren, almost rock-hard patch of land in the courtyard corner, Lin Yuehe seized her chance. She swiftly bent down and snatched the shriveled kernels, clenching them tightly in her palm.

Almost instinctively, she scattered the withered grains into the parched cracks in the soil, her fingertips unconsciously pressing them in.

Originally, she had only intended to spitefully waste a few grains before leaving this place.

Originally, she had turned to follow Aunt Wang out the door after planting them, but the transformation of the wheat kernels was simply too rapid.

So rapid that before she could even turn back, the change had already occurred.

In what seemed like an instant, a tender, vibrant green shoot pierced through the hardened earth, sprouting, unfurling leaves, and even bearing a small, unusually plump cluster of wheat ears—all at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The golden, heavy ears stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desolate, withered landscape.

Lin Yuehe’s heart pounded wildly as she forcibly suppressed the gasp that nearly escaped her lips.

Is this… my golden finger? A bonus from transmigrating?

Aunt Wang clearly noticed the incongruous patch of green as well. She rubbed her eyes and muttered, “What the hell? Something actually growing in this godforsaken place?”

But she was too eager for the bag of millet to investigate further, dismissing it as a trick of the light. She shoved Lin Yuehe roughly. “What are you dawdling for? Move it!”

******

In this impoverished rural area, the Song family’s brick-and-tile house stood out as remarkably grand.

Lin Yuehe lowered her head and followed the matchmaker through the modestly sized but meticulously clean front courtyard.

She could feel scrutinizing gazes from the main hall—some critical, others appraising, as if she were a piece of merchandise being evaluated.

She cooperated fully, answering every question with docile obedience, like a rabbit.

Landlord Song and Madam Song seemed unimpressed by her frail frame, but when they heard the matchmaker’s assurances of her “compatible birth chart” and “good childbearing prospects,” and after noting her pale yet undeniably delicate features, they finally nodded in agreement.

The marriage was hastily arranged, with the wedding set for three days later.

As the matchmaker bowed obsequiously, preparing to lead Lin Yuehe away, a cool, clear voice rang out from the veranda:

“Father, Mother, the new batch of hemp cloth from the estate has been inspected. The quality is acceptable; it’s just right for making a few new outfits for my younger brother.”

Lin Yuehe instinctively looked up.

A woman in simple, elegant blue robes glided toward them.

Tall and slender, with her jet-black hair neatly coiled and secured with a plain silver hairpin, she possessed a refined, scholarly air. Her features weren’t strikingly beautiful, but like distant mountain peaks shrouded in mist, they exuded a cool, aloof grace.

Her gaze, calm as still water, swept over Lin Yuehe without contempt or curiosity. She merely nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

In that instant, Lin Yuehe felt as if the surrounding clamor had receded into the distance.

All the fear, anxiety, and forced composure she had carried since transmigrating seemed to settle under the woman’s clear, spring-like gaze.

It had to be said, her infatuation problem couldn’t be cured simply by changing locations.

She noticed the woman’s slender fingers gently brushing the coarse linen she held, her nails neatly trimmed.

“Thank you for your trouble, Qingshuang,” Madam Song said, her tone softening slightly. “This is… the bride we’ve arranged for your younger brother, Mrs. Lin.”

The woman called “Qingshuang” glanced at Lin Yuehe again, this time with a hint of pity in her eyes. The expression vanished quickly, replaced by a detached remark: “Since she is my younger brother’s fate, I hope they can live peacefully together.”

Her voice was soft yet each word rang clear.

Lin Yuehe’s heart skipped a beat for no apparent reason. She hastily lowered her head, her voice barely audible: “Yes, Eldest Young Lady.”

Even after being led away from the Song family, Lin Yuehe’s mind remained unsettled.

Eldest Young Lady Song Qingshuang had unexpectedly shone a light into her chaotic transmigrated world.

The future remained uncertain, and her never-before-seen “husband” was the greatest variable.

But at least she had her golden finger skill.

It should be enough to ensure her survival in this war-torn era and allow her to live a simple life with enough to eat, right?

******

Three days passed in a flash.

Without the traditional six rites and three matchmakers, without the boisterous music and fanfare, a simple sedan chair, its paint barely vibrant, carried Lin Yuehe from her dilapidated thatched hut to the Song family’s relatively clean and orderly side courtyard chamber.

The wedding ceremony had been stripped to its bare essentials.

Like a puppet on strings, she was guided through the rituals, the faces of Landlord Song and his wife blurred in the distance.

Only Song Qingshuang, seated to the side in her pale blue dress, left a clear, cool shadow in her downcast vision.

Throughout the entire ceremony, her nominal “husband,” Song Zhiyuan, the Song family’s youngest son, never made an appearance.

He claimed to be unwell, fearing he might spread his illness.

The few guests whispered among themselves, and Lin Yuehe could piece together their unspoken words:

A bride for good luck? She’s nothing more than an object.

She gripped her sleeve tightly, where a small pouch of wild chrysanthemum petals, secretly dried over the past two days, lay hidden. Their faint, bitter fragrance helped her stay alert.

As night fell, she was finally alone in the chamber.

The red candles flickered, casting an ambiguous yet false glow across the room, illuminating the perfunctorily pasted “囍”(which means double happiness) character on the window lattice.

Lin Yuehe sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, covered with a bright red mandarin duck quilt, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum.

She had already tossed aside her bridal veil, unwilling to bother with such formalities or feign shyness.

She was waiting… waiting for the man who would decide her fate tonight and for the rest of her life.

Footsteps approached from afar, growing closer with a faint, unsteady rhythm, until they stopped just outside the door.

Lin Yuehe’s entire body tensed instantly, like a small animal poised to strike.

She quietly reached under her pillow, where she had hidden a sharpened wooden hairpin; her final line of defense.

Creak— The door swung open.

A tall, slender young man entered.

He wore crimson wedding robes that made his complexion appear unnaturally pale. His features were strikingly handsome, but his eyes held a weariness and… a distinct melancholy.

This was Song Zhiyuan.

It seemed he, too, was unwilling to marry.

Lin Yuehe relaxed slightly.

Song Zhiyuan glanced up and froze momentarily, meeting Lin Yuehe’s wary gaze as she sat on the edge of the bed.

He clearly hadn’t expected his “illness-curing bride” to be like this—no tears, no timidity. Her clear, bright eyes held undisguised scrutiny and wariness.

Song Zhiyuan closed the door behind him but didn’t approach immediately. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, clearing his throat to break the silence. “You… are Mrs. Lin?”

His voice was clear and bright, with a hint of illness-induced hoarseness that wasn’t unpleasant.

“Yes,” Lin Yuehe replied crisply, her gaze remaining fixed on him, scrutinizing every subtle movement.

Song Zhiyuan seemed slightly unnerved by her direct stare. He raised a hand to rub his temples, a bitter smile flickering across his face.

He suddenly straightened his posture and bowed deeply to Lin Yuehe with utmost solemnity.

“Miss Lin,” he said, his tone earnest, “today’s events stem from my parents’ excessive concern for their son, and I apologize for their abruptness.

This marriage is unwanted by both of us. I… I have someone else in my heart, but circumstances force me to ask you to temporarily reside here.”

Lin Yuehe froze, stunned.

This opening statement was completely unexpected.

Seeing her silence, Song Zhiyuan seemed to steel his resolve. He took a deep breath, lowered his voice further, and spoke with the blunt honesty of someone who had nothing left to lose:

“To be frank, Miss Lin, I… I cannot fulfill the marital duties expected of a husband.

I… I have always been attracted to men.”

!!!!

Lin Yuehe’s eyes widened in shock. She had imagined countless possibilities, but this…

She had imagined her “husband” might be sickly and lecherous, or crude and ill-mannered, even preparing to fight him to the death. But she never, ever expected… this!

Gay?

Her “husband” was actually… naturally gay?!

Heavens, who could understand this? She had traveled all this way across time and space, only to end up in a sham marriage?!

A colossal sense of absurdity mingled with the relief of narrowly escaping disaster, leaving her momentarily speechless.

She stared intently at Song Zhiyuan, searching his face for any trace of deception.

Lin Yuehe’s tense body suddenly relaxed. The hand that had been clutching the wooden hairpin beneath her pillow now withdrew and rested casually on her knee.

“So that’s how it is…” she murmured softly.

Under Song Zhiyuan’s astonished gaze, she lifted her head, met his eyes, and offered the first genuine smile she had shown since her arrival.

“What a coincidence,” she said, her tone as light as if discussing the weather. “I don’t like men either.”

This time, it was Song Zhiyuan who froze completely.

He opened his mouth, his handsome face etched with disbelief. His usually weary eyes widened instantly, as if he had just heard the most unbelievable thing in the world.

A red candle crackled softly, its flickering light illuminating the newly minted “couple”: one sat on the edge of the bed, a subtle smile playing on her lips; the other leaned against the doorframe, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Their wedding night had taken an utterly unpredictable turn, veering into a direction both absurd and brimming with possibilities.

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