Became a Virtuous Husband & Loving Father

🩸════════════════════🩸 CHAPTER 1 🩸════════════════════🩸

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Lin Yue was twenty-three years old when he died.

He died in a cold, dim room in Shen Village, surrounded by nothing but silence and the faint smell of medicinal herbs that had long since stopped working. His three children were in the next room, unaware that their mother was taking his final breath. His three husbands were away hunting, unaware that the wife they'd married five years ago was slipping away without a sound.

And Bai Lianhua—the protagonist of the novel—was hundreds of miles away, preparing for his grand wedding to the Imperial Prince, blissfully unaware that the man whose marriage he had orchestrated was dying alone.

Lin Yue's death was not dramatic.

It was not heroic.

It was not even mentioned in the original novel beyond a single, dismissive sentence:

"Lin Yue finally succumbed to the poison he had swallowed weeks ago, freeing the Shen brothers from their unwanted marriage. They mourned briefly, then moved on."

That was it.

Twenty-three years of life. Five years of marriage. Three children. And he was reduced to a footnote, a plot device to clear the way for Bai Lianhua's happy ending.

The original novel—The Jade Emperor's Beloved—was a massive hit. Millions of readers followed the story of Bai Lianhua, a beautiful Yin-born cultivator who captured the hearts of three powerful men: the missing Crown Prince, the heir to a legendary forging clan, and the last scion of a lost healer family.

His love story.

His happy ending.

His life.

And what of the man who was married to those three men first?

He was just an obstacle to be removed.

The original Lin Yue had been forced into a Three-Heart Marriage with the Shen brothers by his aunt, who wanted to curry favor with the Shen family's secret connections. The original Lin Yue had been in love with someone else. The original Lin Yue had been crushed by years of bullying, isolation, and the crushing weight of being called "the ugly rabbit wife."

He had stopped eating properly. Stopped caring for himself. Stopped holding his children. Stopped speaking to his husbands. He had retreated into himself, a ghost in his own home.

And then he swallowed poison.

The novel never explained why he did it.

Maybe he was tired.

Maybe he was broken.

Maybe he just wanted the pain to stop.

Whatever the reason, he died, and the novel continued on without him as if he had never mattered at all.

---

That was the story Lin Yue read.

That was the story that made him throw his phone across the room.

And that was the story he left a scathing review for before going to sleep.

---

Lin Yue sat cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by scattered blueprints, half-finished inventions, and empty takeout containers. His phone screen glowed in the dim lamplight, displaying the final chapter of The Jade Emperor's Beloved.

He had just finished reading it.

He was furious.

"Are you kidding me?" he muttered, scrolling back through the last few chapters. "He dies—dies—and the author just moves on? Like it's nothing? Like he was nothing?"

The Lin Yue in the novel had been a caricature. A miserable, bitter, incompetent wife who existed only to make Bai Lianhua look better by comparison. He was ugly. He was lazy. He didn't love his children. He was jealous of Bai Lianhua. He was everything the protagonist wasn't.

And Lin Yue—the real Lin Yue, sitting in his apartment at two in the morning—was not having it.

"He was depressed," he said out loud, as if the author could hear him. "He was forced into a marriage he didn't want, had children he wasn't ready for, was bullied by the entire village, and everyone just expected him to be grateful?!"

He grabbed his phone and opened the review section, fingers flying across the screen:

⭐☆☆☆☆ — Do Not Recommend

"I don't even know where to start with this. The world-building is decent, and the main romance is okay, but the way the author treated Lin Yue is absolutely disgusting. He was clearly suffering from severe depression, and instead of giving him a proper arc or any kind of healing, the author just kills him off to make room for the 'real' love story. He wasn't a villain. He wasn't even an antagonist. He was a victim, and the narrative treats his death like a convenience. Also, his 'ugliness' is literally just acne? A skin condition? And everyone acts like he's a monster? The body-shaming in this novel is off the charts. I'm so mad I wasted three days reading this garbage. 0/10. Would not recommend to anyone."

He hit submit, tossed his phone onto the couch, and flopped backward onto his pile of blankets, staring up at the ceiling.

The novel had consumed his entire weekend. He'd stayed up until dawn, skipped meals, ignored his latest project, and for what? To watch a man suffer for twenty chapters and then die off-screen?

"Useless," he muttered. "Absolutely useless."

The thing about Lin Yue was this: he was the kind of person who saw injustice and couldn't let it go.

It was what made him good at his job. It was what made him a good inventor. It was what made him spend years stockpiling supplies in his magical space "just in case."

He couldn't fix every problem in the world—he wasn't that naive. But if there was one person, one story, one situation that he could save?

He would do it.

That was just who he was.

His phone buzzed. A message from his mother, Su Lan:

"Sweetie, have you eaten today? You always forget when you're working. I made your favorite braised pork—come pick some up tomorrow, okay? Love you ❤️"

Lin Yue smiled despite himself.

His mother. Always worrying about him. Always feeding him.

She was the reason he loved cooking. She was the reason he knew how to make a home feel warm. She was the reason he couldn't stand seeing someone like the original Lin Yue starving himself in that cold, miserable house.

No one had taught the original Lin Yue how to cook.

No one had shown him how to make food taste good.

No one had ever asked him what he wanted.

And then he died, and no one mourned him properly because the narrative had already decided he wasn't important enough.

Lin Yue sat up abruptly, grabbing his phone and re-reading his review.

"0/10," he typed under his breath. "And I mean that. Zero. I would give it negative stars if I could."

He posted it and tossed the phone aside.

---

Two days before the Heavenly Tribulation, Lin Yue was in his workshop, surrounded by gears, wires, and the faint hum of spiritual energy.

He was building a new prototype—a combination of modern engineering and ancient cultivation techniques that would allow ordinary people to heat their homes without wasting spirit stones. It was practical. It was useful. It was the kind of thing that would make a real difference in people's lives.

He worked until his eyes burned, then forced himself to stop.

His mother's voice echoed in his head: "You need to sleep, sweetie. You can't fix the world if you're too exhausted to stand."

He laughed softly.

"Fair point, Mom."

He stretched, cracked his neck, and walked over to the small kitchen in his apartment. He opened the fridge, grabbed some leftover ingredients, and started cooking—not because he was hungry, but because cooking helped him think.

He made himself a simple stir-fry: rice, vegetables, a bit of chicken, and a generous spoonful of chili oil that he'd made himself using peppers he'd grown in his magical space.

The space.

Lin Yue paused mid-stir, thinking about it.

His magical space was the single most valuable possession he had—a pocket dimension the size of a small world, accessible only to him, where time flowed differently and plants grew in abundance.

He had discovered it by accident years ago, during a cultivation breakthrough. At first, it had just been an empty void—a dark, endless nothing. But over time, as he fed it spiritual energy and used it to store things, the space had grown.

Now it was a small world of its own.

A spring that healed sickness.

Fields of herbs and vegetables.

A workshop where he kept his materials.

A library of books and blueprints.

A storage room with months' worth of supplies.

He had filled it with everything he might need—food, water, medicine, tools, fuel, seeds, clothes, weapons. It wasn't that he was paranoid. He just believed in being prepared.

"If the end of the world comes," he often told his friends, "I'm going to be the guy with the fully-stocked bunker."

His friends usually laughed at him.

But they also knew he was right.

---

Lin Yue finished cooking, sat down at his small table, and ate quietly.

His mind wandered back to the novel.

To Lin Yue.

To the man who had died alone, forgotten, unremembered.

"If I were him," he thought, "I'd want someone to notice. Someone to care. Someone to say, 'You deserved better.'"

He sighed, finishing his meal.

---

One day before the Heavenly Tribulation, Lin Yue visited his parents.

His father, Lin Guowei, was in the garage, tinkering with an old engine. His mother, Su Lan, was in the kitchen, preparing a feast.

"Mom, you didn't have to cook all this," Lin Yue said, stepping inside.

"Nonsense," Su Lan said, waving a wooden spoon at him. "You're about to undergo the Heavenly Tribulation. You need strength."

His father walked in, wiping grease off his hands. "Your mother's right. You're about to take the biggest step of your cultivation journey. We're proud of you, son."

Lin Yue felt warmth spread through his chest.

"Thanks, Dad."

The three of them sat down to eat together—his mother's braised pork, his father's favorite soup, and a new dish Lin Yue had brought: a spicy stir-fry made with peppers he'd grown in his space.

His mother took a bite and her eyes widened.

"What is this?" she asked, reaching for another piece. "It's incredible."

"Something new," Lin Yue said, smiling. "I'll teach you how to make it."

They talked late into the night—about the tribulation, about his work, about the future. His parents believed in him completely. They always had.

And Lin Yue carried that belief with him as he left their home, ready to face the tribulation that would either elevate him to godhood or destroy him.

He never expected it would be the latter.

---

The day of the Heavenly Tribulation arrived with skies dark as ink and thunder rumbling in the distance.

Lin Yue stood atop a mountain peak, surrounded by spiritual energy so dense it felt like breathing water. His cultivation robe, embroidered with silver threads, fluttered in the wind. His magical space hummed at the back of his mind, ready to aid him if needed.

He had prepared for this.

He had prepared for everything.

Except betrayal.

The tribulation began with a single bolt of lightning—pure white, blinding, carrying the weight of heaven itself. Lin Yue met it head-on, his cultivation surging to meet the challenge.

He was strong.

He was ready.

And then the tribulation changed.

The lightning twisted, darkened, became something wrong. Something that shouldn't exist. And Lin Yue realized—too late—that someone had interfered.

A figure emerged from the clouds. A cultivator he had trusted. A mentor he had called friend.

"Forgive me, Lin Yue," the figure said, voice cold. "But your position was needed elsewhere."

The lightning struck him down, and Lin Yue felt his body breaking, his soul shattering, his consciousness fading.

The last thing he heard was his mother's voice in his memories:

"You need to eat, sweetie. You can't fix the world if you're too exhausted."

And then everything went dark.

---

Lin Yue woke to pain.

Blinding, searing, agonizing pain that consumed his entire being. His throat burned, his stomach churned, and his head pounded as if someone had taken a hammer to his skull.

Where... where am I?

He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. He forced them open, and what he saw made no sense.

A ceiling.

But not his ceiling.

This ceiling was made of rough wooden beams, covered in cobwebs and dark patches of mold. The walls were uneven, the floor was hard and cold, and the air smelled of dust and decay and something else—something bitter and wrong.

What the hell?

He tried to sit up, and immediately regretted it. His body screamed in protest. His muscles felt weak, his limbs heavy, his stomach churning with nausea.

"W-Where...?" he croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

And then he heard it.

A small voice. Trembling. Scared.

"Mother...?"

Lin Yue froze.

Mother?

He turned his head slowly—so slowly—and saw two small figures huddled in the corner of the room. Two children. A boy, maybe six years old, and a girl, maybe four. Both of them were staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.

The boy stepped forward, shielding the girl behind him.

"Are you... are you better now?" he asked, voice shaking. "The doctor said you might not wake up. He said... he said you were dying."

Lin Yue stared at him.

Dying?

Doctor?

What the hell is happening?

And then the baby cried.

A tiny, wailing sound came from a wooden cradle in the corner of the room. An infant. No more than a few months old.

And Lin Yue realized with dawning horror that this wasn't his body.

This wasn't his life.

This wasn't his world.

His hands—these hands—were small and pale and covered in angry red blemishes. His hair—this hair—was tangled and matted and streaked with unusual colors. His body—this body—was weak and broken, poisoned and dying.

He had transmigrated.

He had become Lin Yue—the pitiful side character from the novel he had just finished reading.

The one who died by poison and was forgotten within a chapter.

The one who had three husbands who didn't love him and three children who were scared of him.

The one whose fate was supposed to be death.

No. Lin Yue thought, his mind racing. No, no, no, no, no.

This can't be happening.

This isn't real.

And then the children moved closer. The boy reached out a trembling hand. The girl clutched his sleeve.

"Mother...?" the girl whispered. "Are you... are you going to leave us again?"

The baby continued crying.

And Lin Yue, the inventor, the cultivator, the master craftsman, the man who had died mid-tribulation and been reborn in a body that was supposed to be dead, felt his heart shatter.

This wasn't just a story.

This was real.

These children were real.

Their fear was real.

The poison in his body was real.

And he had a choice—let fate play out as the novel intended, or fight to change it.

Lin Yue took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his throat.

"I'm not leaving," he said, his voice rough but steady. "I'm not going anywhere."

The boy stared at him, tears welling in his eyes.

"Promise?"

Lin Yue reached out—slowly, carefully—and took the boy's small hand in his.

"I promise."

---

The days that followed were the hardest of Lin Yue's life.

He was weak. So unbearably weak. The poison had done its damage, and his body was fighting to survive. Every movement hurt. Every breath was a struggle.

But he didn't stop.

He couldn't stop.

The children needed him.

They were scared, confused, wary of their mother who had suddenly changed. They had seen the old Lin Yue—the one who had neglected them, ignored them, pushed them away. They didn't trust this new version.

And Lin Yue didn't blame them.

So he started small.

He forced himself out of bed, though his legs shook beneath him. He found the kitchen—a tiny, dirty room with empty cabinets and a dead fire. He cleaned it. He found some rice, some vegetables, some herbs. He cooked.

The children watched him from the doorway, uncertain.

"What are you doing?" the boy—Shen An, he remembered from the novel—asked.

"Cooking," Lin Yue said. "Are you hungry?"

Shen An hesitated. Then he nodded.

Lin Yue served them small bowls of rice porridge, seasoned with salt and herbs. It wasn't much—he had so little to work with—but it was warm and filling.

The children ate like they hadn't eaten in days.

Lin Yue's heart ached.

---

The baby—Shen Xing—was the hardest.

Three months old. Still waiting for his soul beast to awaken. Still too young to understand why his mother hadn't held him in weeks.

Lin Yue picked him up carefully, cradling him against his chest. The baby stopped crying instantly, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes.

"Hey there, little one," Lin Yue murmured. "I've got you."

The baby gurgled, reaching up to grab his hair.

And Lin Yue felt something break inside him—the last wall he had built around his heart.

These children were his now.

He would protect them.

He would love them.