The Cowardly Son-in-Law Was Forced to Sign the Divorce Agreement Through Tears

Everyone had dreams.

Ling Xingjian was Shen Xingye's dream.

But beyond Ling Xingjian, what had accompanied him for even longer was his dream of literature.

If discovering that he had poured his whole heart into a beast had once hurt Shen Xingye so badly he wanted to die, then having his literary dream challenged, scorned, and declared "not good enough" cut even deeper. Even if he died, he would crawl back up and use his parched vocal cords to roar, "Fuck you!"

Artists were all like that, really.

I could endure anything else—being ignored, loneliness, poverty, hardship, destitution. None of that mattered. But no one could question my art.

You thought you could instantly crush me just by casually writing a sentence or two?

That was the greatest insult to me!

Shen Xingye picked up his pen. The war was on, Shi Tiexin. It would be a fight to the death!

Then class ended. Shi Tiexin mixed his note together with Shen Xingye's without saying which was whose—though Shen Xingye's chicken-scratch and Shi Tiexin's calligraphy were obvious at a glance.

Then the two invited Ling Xingjian to serve as judge. She would read both notes and choose the one that interested her and made her want to know what came next.

This was a battle with his back to the river. There was no way to retreat now, and beads of sweat had already appeared on Shen Xingye's forehead.

Ling Xingjian's almond-shaped eyes shifted lightly. She read the first note without much reaction, then looked at the second and immediately opened her mouth in surprise. "Something like this happened? Who wrote this? What happened afterward?"

Shen Xingye snatched the note over in a panic. It was not his, and his heart sank. Then he read the contents: A war god,