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In the dead of night, the room was shrouded in darkness, but behind the curtains lurked a suspicious shadow. Zhang Jilin gripped her badminton racket tightly, her heart racing. That deadbeat Zhu Boyun must be sleeping soundly, completely unaware that a thief had entered the house.
Suddenly, the curtain swayed, and moonlight revealed a grim male face. She felt a surge of fear and swung her racket fiercely at him. Since she had been discovered, she could only fight back with all her might.
The shadow dodged swiftly, and before she knew it, her wrist was seized by someone. Startled, her pupils dilated; in the blink of an eye, her struggles were subdued, and she was pressed against the floor.
“Who are you? Are you the one who hit me with a flower pot?” she squinted, trying to appear defiant despite her fear. “If you dare to mess with me, my husband won’t let you off easily.” That was the only leverage she had at this moment.
“Ha ha—” A low chuckle broke the tension in the room. Zhang Wenwen cursed softly, “Damn it, Zhu Boyun, is it fun to scare me?”
Angrily, she flipped over and sat on his stomach, gripping his neck tightly with both hands. A bead of sweat trickled down her hand and disappeared into his collar as she felt an overwhelming urge to strangle him.
In the moonlight, their eyes met—Zhang Wenwen’s dark eyes glimmered against his. Her heart tightened for a moment before all her aggression dissipated. With a sharp smack, she struck his chest to vent her earlier fear.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, relishing this rare opportunity that had come to him: “Didn’t I tell you that your accident was just that—an accident? Why are you jumping to murder?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” She shot him an exasperated glare. “I’ve reflected on myself; I’m a good person with simple friendships and no wealth or power to conflict with anyone.” Leaning closer, she tugged at his collar. “If we’re really married, then all your past lovers are suspicious. If that marriage certificate is fake… then their real target must be you; I just happened to be the unlucky one.”
A glint flashed in Zhu Boyun’s eyes as he placed his hands behind his head and smiled back at her bright gaze: “That makes sense. I’ll report it tomorrow.”
“You haven’t reported it yet?” Zhang Wenwen stared at him incredulously. “Are you an idiot? How long has it been? The prime time for solving cases has passed; what’s the point of reporting now?! We’ll investigate ourselves.”
He suddenly changed the subject, saying, "Honey, I don't think I've told you yet, but you are—an Express Courier."
"An Express Courier?" She blinked, "So what?"
"Could you help me deliver something tomorrow?" he replied.
She paused for a moment, "I'm definitely not your wife. What husband would want his wife to be burdened?"
He shrugged, "Tomorrow I'm going to get a frame and hang the Little Red Book on the wall, so you won't forget your identity as a married woman." He reached out and lifted her chin, grinning mischievously.
She glared at him; such a dull move—he actually did it!
The next day, staring at the enlarged photo on the white wall, framed in gold with red floral embellishments, Zhang Wenwen felt that the package she should send out was herself.
But… why did she always feel that her smile in this wedding photo looked forced? And he looked like a sly fox? Was she being coerced?
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