Linda Zhang was 24 years old, seven years older than me. She was stunningly beautiful—tall, nearly 1.7 meters, with an oval face, willow-leaf eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes, a slender waist, long legs, and skin so fair and smooth it could rival that of the celebrity Fan Bing. As a high school teacher at No. 2 Middle School, she often wore professional attire like white blouses, black pencil skirts, paired with black stockings and high heels, exuding both elegance and allure. Any man who saw her would feel an irresistible urge to conquer her.
People who knew me said I must have burned incense in my past life to have such a breathtaking beauty as my wife. Some even secretly asked me what it was like to sleep with Linda—whether it was as amazing as they imagined.
What they didn't know was that even though we'd been married for over a month and shared the same room, I hadn't even gotten the chance to touch her breasts, let alone do what married couples were supposed to do.
The reason I was able to marry her was because Guangxi was a relatively backward place, where many locals held traditional, feudal beliefs about carrying on the family line. Families without sons would either adopt a child or, if they only had daughters, take in a live-in son-in-law.
My family was poor. Though I had excelled in the high school entrance exam and been admitted to a top-tier city high school, my parents told me they couldn't afford my education. The only way I could continue studying was if I agreed to "marry" Linda, the only daughter of Zhang Dagui, and become the Zhang family's live-in son-in-law.
I still remember our wedding night. When I entered the bridal chamber, Linda was sitting on the edge of the bed in a red vintage-style qipao. Her silky hair was elegantly pinned up, revealing her snow-white neck. The form-fitting bridal qipao perfectly outlined her alluring curves, and the high slit teased glimpses of her long, shapely legs. She was breathtakingly beautiful.
I was mesmerized and walked toward her. Before the wedding, my older cousins and relatives had secretly filled me in on what to expect on the wedding night. Plus, during my all-night internet café sessions, I'd occasionally stumble upon certain kinds of videos. So even at seventeen, I had a vague idea of what was supposed to happen.
But the moment I got close to Linda, she suddenly stood up and slapped me twice across the face without a word. Then, with a look of utter disgust, she said, "It was my father's idea to take you in as a live-in son-in-law. Don't think for a second that I actually like you. From now on, you'd better behave. If you dare lay a finger on me, I'll have people from the streets deal with you."
Stunned, I held my stinging cheek and finally understood—Linda didn't want me at all. She had only agreed to this arrangement because her father forced her. And the reason she had chosen me out of all the candidates was because she saw how weak and cowardly I was.
She told me that in front of her family, we would pretend to be a couple. But once we were alone in our room, I was to sleep on the floor without complaint—or else.
I was terrified of Linda. Not just because she was so beautiful, but because I was just a poor, introverted loser who felt completely unworthy of her. So for over a month after our wedding, I obediently slept on the floor without daring to utter a single word of protest.
In fact, I even felt a little happy—after all, I was sharing a room with a stunning beauty. It's embarrassing to admit, but sometimes when she wasn't home, I'd sneak onto our marital bed, inhaling the lingering fragrance she left behind, using it to satisfy my urges.
But it didn't take long for Linda to discover what I'd been doing. The reason? I had left one of her black stockings in a… questionable state. In my haste to clean up afterward, I'd forgotten to hide the evidence.
Holding the incriminating stocking, Linda glared at me in disgust. "Andrew, I thought you were just weak-willed. But now I see you're nothing but a filthy pervert. You make me sick. If you ever use my things like this again, I won't let you off easy."
I hung my head in shame, unable to speak. From that moment on, I felt even more worthless in her eyes, and her contempt for me only grew.
This miserable routine lasted about a month until the school year began, and I had to report to No. 2 Middle School as a new student.
Coincidentally, Linda was assigned as the homeroom teacher for Class 3, Grade 10—my class. Today, she drove me to school.
On the way, she warned me coldly, "My colleagues don't know about our arrangement. At school, you are not to tell anyone about our relationship. As far as they're concerned, we're just teacher and student. Also, from now on, you'll live in the dorms. Don't come home unless it's a holiday. Understood?"
"Mm."
Ever since the stocking incident, I couldn't bear to face her. So I had no objections to living on campus—if anything, I felt relieved. At least in the dorms, I'd have a proper bed instead of sleeping on the floor.
Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly heard Linda snap, "Andrew, we're here. What are you spacing out for? Do I need to carry your things for you?"
I realized we had already arrived at the school. Flustered, I stammered, "N-no, I'll get them myself," and hurriedly opened the car door—only to bang my head against the frame.
"Useless. Can't even do the simplest thing right."
Linda stood with her arms crossed, glaring at me with her usual disdain.
Ignoring her words, I went to the trunk to grab my suitcase when I heard a sleazy male voice call out, "Haha, good morning, Ms. Zhang!"
Instantly, Linda's icy tone melted into something sickeningly sweet. "Oh! Director David!"
I turned to see a middle-aged man with a beer belly and a receding hairline standing nearby. He looked friendly enough, but his beady eyes were shamelessly glued to Linda's chest.
Today, Linda was wearing a white printed blouse and a black pencil skirt. The buttons on her blouse strained against her curves, and though her outfit was modest, the way it clung to her body was enough to make any man drool.
It was obvious this "Director David" had impure intentions, but Linda acted oblivious, even flirting back. "You look well, Director David. Seems like you had a great summer."
Director David chuckled. "Not bad. The only downside was you turning down all my invites to Sanya. Swimming, sunbathing… When are you finally free to go on a trip with me?"
My blood boiled. This old creep was openly hitting on a female teacher—my wife, no less!
Linda had always struck me as aloof and untouchable, the kind of woman who would coldly reject such advances. But to my shock, she giggled and said, "All you think about is fun, Director David. What about helping me with my professional title application?"
Director David smirked. "That's a small matter. Get your documents ready and fill out the forms. I'll submit them for you later. It shouldn't be a problem… but you'll have to thank me properly, you know."
Linda beamed. "Thank you so much, Director David!"
"Don't thank me yet, you little minx," he said with a leer, raising his hairy hand to pat her butt.