"You read these rules before you decide," Mrs. Li texted, then sent a PDF. Lin Qing tapped the attachment without looking away from the kettle whistle. Her thumb opened the file and she scrolled. "Li Family Rules for Prospective Daughter-in-Law," the first page announced in all-caps and one crammed font. She snorted. "Seventy square feet is a 'manor,'" she muttered, reading aloud. The PDF lines came up like a bad script. "Rule 1: Daughter-in-law must keep kitchen open hours from 6:00 to 21:00, weekly temp checks recorded in the family ledger." "Rule 2: Personal outings require prior approval. Exceptions: medical, funeral, company events only after notifying mother-in-law." "Rule 3: Monthly 'face maintenance' budget to be jointly discussed with mother-in-law. Balance carries over to next fiscal quarter." She stared at "face maintenance." The font was small, the tone fancier than the content deserved. She typed, thumb hovering. "Is this a joke?" Three dots appeared. Mrs. Li sent another image. It was a photo of the rules printed and clipped to a clipboard with a ribbon. A sticky note read: "For your consideration, dear." Lin Qing replied, blunt. "I'm not interested. Please tell Ming no." The typing bubble disappeared. For a beat nothing else came. Then Mrs. Li: "We have standards." Lin Qing read the line aloud. "Standards?" She put the kettle down, the room suddenly narrower and brighter. She responded with a single-sentence message. "I have standards, too. I don't agree to rules that