It’s not a lover’s spat

Chen Anyue coughed deeply with her chest heaving. Her hand pulled away with blood. She didn't know what time of day it was and when she tried to look around, everything simply felt muddied. 

Where was she? And what was she even doing? For some reason, those things were difficult to answer.

Her surroundings came back to her in splashes of awareness. She was sitting at a desk. Her desk. In her own room.

Why did she think this strange?

On her desk was her ink and brush. There were two distinct pieces of parchment lying there, one was a document detailing the effects of sacred peach tree wood and another announcing the news of marriage. Her own marriage.

Neither of these things were written in her own handwriting.

But her mind felt too thick and heavy to feel alarmed. Another wave of coughs assaulted her body. Chen Anyue caught sight of the wooden idol of a strange unnamed god watching her from the edge of her desk.