Find Your Fortune At Rivalry – The Best Casino Site For Indian Players – For fans of Amy Tan, KJ Dell’Antonia, and Kevin Kwan, this “poignant, witty, and wonderful” debut (Nancy Jooyun Kim, Mina Lee’s final story) celebrates a family of women Distant Vietnamese as they encounter unexpected incidents and events. Joy after a psychic makes surprising predictions about their lives.

It started with their ancestor Oan, who dared to leave his marriage for true love—so a terrible Vietnamese witch forced Oan and his descendants to never find love and happiness, and the Duong women would bring daughters instead of sons. .

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Mai Nguyen, an actual descendant of Oan, knows this curse well. She was divorced and divorced ten years ago after an explosive fallout from her younger brothers Minh Pham (a broker and a middleman) and Huyen Lam (who swore that the younger Saigon ran low-key coffee shops and nail salons, not under the -land). ). Although Mai’s three grown daughters, Priscilla, Thuy, and Tao, are successful in their careers (one of them is John Cho’s dermatologist!), the same cannot be said for the life of their love. Mai believes it may lead him to an early grave.

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Desperate for guidance, she consults her trusted psychic, Aunt Hua in Hawaii, who makes an unexpected prediction: this year her family will witness a wedding, a funeral, and the birth of a son . This prophecy reunites distant mothers, daughters, aunts, and cousins—for better or for worse.

A multi-narrative novel of simplicity and clarity, The Wealth of Wives is about grief, connection, celebration and healing as a family. It shows how Vietnamese women triumphed even when the world was against them.

They had heard that the curse began in Vietnam when Oan Duong’s former mother, Lan Hoang, went north to a solitary witch who lived in Sa Pa, at the foot of the Hoang Lien Son Mountains. Traveling over unstable terrain was treacherous; Only the truly devilish souls who wanted others to be cursed for generations will survive. Like all Vietnamese women scorned, Lan Hoang wanted her daughter dirty and the kind of scar that would forever ostracize all her future relatives. He just didn’t know how it would turn out.

The night Lan arrived in the quiet village, he was tired. Troubled weather moved all four seasons in a matter of days, and he was not as prepared as he thought. The blowing wind was one day his enemy and another day his friend. Fortunately, his hired guide had enough fur to keep him warm on the last part of his journey. He asked her to take it to the witch immediately. The more time wasted, the closer Oan is to having a baby.

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The guide dropped Lan in front of a small white stone house at the foot of the mountain and wished him luck, although he wasn’t sure he wanted it. The old man took many desperate women—mothers, daughters, and sisters—all over the country to visit the witch, but he never set foot in the house. He knew better than to interrupt the flow of the universe. Only women were brave enough to tempt fate like this.

Like the other French colonial houses lining the dirt road, this one had stone pillars in front like Atlas bearing the weight of the world. Wild ivy wrapped around them, representing hands that held fast all the lost souls that entered. Although the outside looked inviting, it seemed that the inside never came out, no matter how hard she tried.

Lan shivered, suddenly nervous for the first time in his journey. He had been dreaming of this moment for months, and now that it was here, he was afraid. I fear what will happen if he goes through with it. Would he still have a soul after that? As she took care of her decision, the old wooden door opened, releasing sinister pheromones and drawing Lan inside. The witch’s face appeared from the shadows, and she pushed the door further and closed it. The woman was younger than he imagined, and there was something strange about her that Lan couldn’t tell. Although her facial structure is quite angular, which is rare for Vietnamese people, the witch’s beauty is enhanced by her black hair growing wildly on each side. Lan could not tell his age; every time he tried to drink, his eyes seemed to catch a jolt on him.

“You’re late.” There were traces of irritation in the witch’s voice, but her dirty eyes worried Lan more than anything else. He couldn’t read the intent behind them, but he could feel the greed, which made his nerves even sharper. “Hurry up, you’re giving off heat.” Lan didn’t ask how he knew she was coming. He didn’t want to know more because he was afraid of ghosts and spirits following his house. He was testing the patience of the universe by being there.

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Lan shyly entered the house and followed the woman into the back room. His nose wrinkled at the strong smell that filled the room. Around the corner, he saw a hooded man with his face hidden behind the shadows. His age was also amorphous. He was busy pounding the gelatinous substance in his mortar. Behind him, stacks of glass jars filled with dubious liquids and dried herbs rattled back and forth, trying to keep up with each other to keep from tipping over. He locked eyes with Lan as he walked past him. The veins on his hands came dangerously close to revealing his true age. He swallowed back the bile in his throat, and regurgitated it again with regret.

“Snakeheart,” the witch said, as if responding to Lan’s thought. “It makes men strong. To have more children.’

The Wizard hurried past Lan, overtook the man in the windowless back room, pulled him to sit on the floor cushions. He sat on the round wooden table, heated the water, and put the glasses. The only thing stopping Lang from opening the gates of hell was the flat table between them, and he asked that the table hold the barrier a little longer.

– Why did you come? asked the witch as she poured the tea leaves into the cup and slowly dripped the hot water over the leaves, letting out the first aromas.

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“My daughter,” said Lan. “He betrayed his duty. She left my eldest son and her husband for another man. A Cambodian man no less. He says he is in love. Stupid girl.” Lan let out a loud protest.

“Yes, the pain can kill you slowly,” said the witch. He closed his eyes and let the current take over his body, so he could see the past, the present, and everything to come. – Your daughter is pregnant.

“I knew him. That’s a whore. “No wonder he left so soon,” Lan said through gritted teeth. Suddenly, he could see that his nerves were gone and he wanted to see Oan’s blood spilled all over the world. He looked down at his hand, saw what it was capable of, and was no longer afraid. “I want him cursed, Aunt. Him and his naughty boy.’

“He must be my nephew,” Lan shouted. “That woman is not worthy of love and to have a first born son. Vietnamese women are not even allowed.”

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“Then tell me what you want,” said the witch thoughtfully, with malice in her voice. “Believe it or not, I can’t read minds.”

“Curse Oan Duong to travel the other world alone. He cannot visit his children when he passes. I curse all her children’s children and all those who follow her, to never know love, and to marry badly. As a result, their husbands do not invite Oan to visit her ancestral altar,” Lan said without hesitation.

The witch quickly opened her eyes and looked deeply into Lan’s eyes, absorbed in her own cruel desires. The ivy wrapped around the outer posts grew stronger. Both recognized the weight of the curse and its meaning: Their children could not invite their ancestors home without their husband’s permission. And the evil men only aimed to block the entry of the ancestors forever.

“Then I cursed Oan Duong to have only daughters,” said the witch in a controlled voice. “Those girls will grow up to be women, and those women will give birth to girls after they become mothers. Let every girl carry her mother’s guilt and never escape the cycle”.

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“Thank you, Aunt,” whispered Lan with trepidation but relief. He immediately felt powerful and seemed to surpass the Buddha. His vindication scared her, but now there was no turning back. “Now what will happen to the son growing inside him?”

A few months later, Oan Duong caught up. He cried at the loss of what was possible