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    Unofficial Histories (6)

    Twenty days prior, the moment she closed the main doors of the bedchambers, Zhen Wenjun had already prepared herself for a protracted battle.

    Since the Yulu Wan could have a delayed onset and its medicinal properties were so potent, the challenges ahead were likely to be even grimmer than she had imagined.

    She had anticipated grim, but the reality still exceeded her imagination.

    Wei Tingxu was entirely like a demonic beast[ awaiting its huaxing1, entangling her for a full day and night before there was any sign of easing. According to what Ah Liao had said, for conception to be successful, posture was most crucial; the spring sources needed to press against each other, grinding and turning like millstones2, for it to succeed.

    The posture was relatively easy for them both; they could lie on their sides, facing each other, and exert force with their waists.

    It was true that Wei Tingxu’s mind was somewhat muddled, controlled by the drug’s effects, making it difficult for her to think. But even the perfectly lucid Zhen Wenjun hadn’t expected this Yulu Wan to be so devastatingly potent. As their spring sources pressed together for an extended time, she too became increasingly aroused, feeling no fatigue whatsoever. She now understood how Wei Tingxu could be muddled yet simultaneously so full of vigor3.

    The Yulu Wan’s effects had already passed into Zhen Wenjun’s body during their shared journey to Mount Wu4.

    After a whole day, neither of them felt tired. The injuries and pain that had plagued Zhen Wenjun for years vanished without a trace in that moment.

    It was as if she had returned to her twenty-year-old self, possessing inexhaustible energy and strength, and even felt an embarrassing sense of a deep, hard-to-fill ravine in the depths of her body. Zhen Wenjun had always been proactive, and she was a General who led troops into battle; she was ashamed to speak of the desires in her heart.

    Even if she didn’t say it, Wei Tingxu could see it.

    She told Zhen Wenjun that there was nothing to be ashamed of; it was the most normal human feeling. Just because she was used to being a General didn’t mean she had to physically direct everything; she also had the right to lie back and enjoy.

    It wasn’t that Zhen Wenjun had never given to Wei Tingxu. When they first got together, Wei Tingxu hadn’t been the weaker one—when had she ever been weak? Back then, Zhen Wenjun was merely a servant working for her. How important it was for her to serve “Jiejie” well—how could she dare let Jiejie exert herself?

    As a child, Zhen Wenjun had participated in several major battles, but she didn’t have as many scars back then. Undressed, she was like a peeled egg, and beautiful too; how could Wei Tingxu have let her go?

    It was just that Wei Tingxu’s health was poor at the time, so most of the time Zhen Wenjun moved by herself. In the end, she was the one searching for the right position, and if she didn’t find it well, she would end up blushing beet-red, which was utterly mortifying.

    For several days afterwards, she didn’t dare to look Wei Tingxu in the eye. If they met in the corridor, Zhen Wenjun would immediately detour to the other side. The more Wei Tingxu looked at her, the cuter she found her. However, Zhen Wenjun was a bit more thin-skinned than her. After that, Zhen Wenjun never brought it up on her own, so Wei Tingxu stopped teasing her.

    Besides, Wei Tingxu’s health wasn’t good; an ordeal like that would cost her half her life.

    Later, the two experienced an earth-shattering5 period of separation. It was incredibly difficult for them to get back together. Now that they could be together, they both understood in their hearts that it was all because neither of them had ever truly been able to let the other go; they had always been striving, openly and secretly6, to reach each other.

    It was worth cherishing doubly.

    Wei Tingxu knew how much she owed Zhen Wenjun. So this time, upon obtaining the secret art of woman-woman childbirth, she had immediately snatched the possibility of childbearing for herself, not wanting Wenjun to continue to toil.

    After taking the Yulu Wan, Zhen Wenjun helped her find release for a long time. The burning sensation that initially made her delirious gradually subsided, replaced by an increasingly vigorous spirit.

    This was the most energetic day Wei Tingxu could remember, even giving her the illusion that she could pick up a Green Dragon Crescent Blade7 and ride into battle.

    It was at this moment that Zhen Wenjun began her first wave of hot arousal.

    It was time.

    This was conquest and also devotion, a reversal of Heaven and Earth8 in their own world, triggering intense friction, unexpectedly exhilarating.

    For three consecutive days, they ate very little food and water, only wanting to be buried in each other’s embrace, pleasing the other, unwilling to part even for a cun9.

    On the morning of the fourth day, Zhen Wenjun woke up very early, awakened by hunger.

    Getting out of bed, she found the food left on the table by the door yesterday, saved half for Wei Tingxu, and devoured the rest like wind scattering clouds10, just enough to line her stomach. Then she found some wine and downed it, instantly feeling revitalized.

    Her lips were still a bit red and swollen; Wei Tingxu’s were probably no better. She found the melted ice in the corner of the room, tested it – the water was well-preserved and still cool – so she filled a small sheepskin waterskin and pressed it to her lips to reduce the swelling. After cooling them for a while and feeling much better, she filled another bag and returned to the bed to help Wei Tingxu ice hers as well.

    The effects of this Yulu Wan were still unstable. In fact, on the fourth day, they thought the effects had passed and planned to go out. Just as they were tidying their appearance, and Wei Tingxu had even asked someone to deliver her court robes, intending for Zhen Wenjun to personally help her put on the dragon robe and go directly to the morning court session, the Yulu Wan began to stir restlessly again.

    This time it came on even more fiercely. Wei Tingxu didn’t even have time to undo the crown she had just fastened, let alone her cumbersome court robes.

    The majestic dragon eyes embroidered on the court robes did not make Zhen Wenjun flinch; instead, they made her more excited. Lifting the heavy robe revealed a pair of legs that, though scarred, were long, slender, and fair.

    Another bout of clouds and rain11, another exploration of a secluded path12.

    Borrowing the boundless energy from the Yulu Wan, they ardently made up for the regrets of their many partings and few meetings in previous years.

    Also because of the Yulu Wan, Wei Tingxu had never felt so much deep affection and sweet tenderness welling up from her heart. At this moment, she couldn’t leave Zhen Wenjun, nor did she want to. Rather than reluctantly returning to the imperial court, she feared another scandal of the drug acting up during the morning session.

    It would be better to enjoy this rare holiday with Wenjun, just the two of them in their own world within the bedchambers. When the irregular effects of the drug truly subsided, and she could genuinely get off Zhen Wenjun, it wouldn’t be too late to return.

    Just as Ah Liao was anxiously guarding the palace gate, not daring to leave for even a moment, Wei Tingxu had already secretly sent out several secret memorials to Wei Jing’an and Wei Jingtai, and even sent a letter to Wei He. Everything was arranged in an orderly manner.

    If it weren’t for the fact that on the twentieth day, the drug’s effects were truly at their end, and the pain from Zhen Wenjun’s old injuries began to flare up all over her body, making her too restless to sit or stand, Wei Tingxu might not have been willing to come out.

    The main doors of the bedchambers finally opened. Imperial physicians were summoned inside.

    Upon taking her pulse, the old imperial physician immediately knelt and offered congratulations. Zhen Wenjun, sitting aside, completely forgot about her back, which felt like it was about to split, and instantly shot up, exclaiming, “Is this true?!”

    The old imperial physician said, “Replying to the Empress, how would This humble official13 dare to lie about a matter concerning the imperial lineage and the nation’s destiny14?”

    Zhen Wenjun still couldn’t quite believe it. She summoned several more imperial physicians, almost emptying out the Imperial Medical Bureau15. The answers she received were unprecedentedly unanimous. Only then did she truly confirm it, so happy she paced the room as if she had nails growing on her bottom16, making Wei Tingxu dizzy.

    “Zizhuo! Tell me, what name should we give the child?!” Zhen Wenjun wished she could immediately dig out all the ancient books and classics and pick out two thousand names for Wei Tingxu to choose from.

    Wei Tingxu, sipping tea, looked at her as if she were a silly child. “Whatever Wenjun says, that’s what we’ll call them.”

    After eating some light dishes, the two went to the Imperial Garden to bask in the sun and take a stroll.

    Although there were walkways and long corridors within the bedchambers where they could also get sunlight, it wasn’t as lively as the Imperial Garden. Just as they were counting the days and planning for the arrival of this special Little Imperial Prince, the “meritorious contributor,” Ah Liao, appeared.

    Wei Tingxu was an Emperor; there were many things she couldn’t discuss with others. But Ah Liao was different. Ah Liao was her childhood friend and didn’t hold a position in court, and the Yulu Wan had come from her. Seeing her now was like seeing her own family17—so incredibly heartwarming, she just wanted to tell her all about the wonderful experience for a whole day and night.

    Zhen Wenjun wasn’t afraid Ah Liao would say other things; after all, giving feedback after taking an immortal medicine18 was to be expected. She was only afraid Wei Tingxu would let it slip that she, too, had been “contaminated” by the Yulu Wan. That would be truly mortifying19.

    She took two steps, about to join them, then suddenly stopped.

    Better not go. What if she went over and heard the very part she least wanted to hear? She’d have to face Ah Liao’s gossipy20 gaze on the spot.

    Forget it, forget it. She didn’t know. She knew nothing.

    As long as she didn’t know, nothing had happened.

    Eight months passed in a flash. When Xiao Xiao came to Da Cang for a visit, she saw Wei Tingxu.

    She had never imagined Wei Tingxu would become like this.

    Wei Tingxu’s belly was already very large. Compared to sitting with difficulty in a chair, she preferred to stand up and walk around. Occasionally, her lower back would ache, and Zhen Wenjun would help her massage it to relieve the discomfort, which always felt better than sitting.

    “Mother Emperor.” Out of consideration for Zhen Wenjun, Xiao Xiao still respected Wei Tingxu. Besides, the female emperor before her was already different from the treacherous Wei Tingxu in her memory. Perhaps because she was nurturing a wondrous new life in her womb, Wei Tingxu actually looked a bit kindly at this moment.

    Hearing Xiao Xiao call her that, Wei Tingxu beckoned her over quite happily, asking her to sit closer.

    “You’ve grown up. I almost didn’t recognize you at first glance.” Wei Tingxu even poured her wine personally. “I imagine you, like Wenjun, enjoy strong spirits. However, Mother Emperor doesn’t have anything too strong at the moment. My apologies for the inconvenience21.”

    Xiao Xiao shook her head, and as she accepted the wine with thanks, she sneaked a glance at Wei Tingxu. “You haven’t changed a bit. Except your belly is bigger.”

    A faint smile appeared on Wei Tingxu’s lips, very beautiful.

    “In two more months, Zhen22 and Wenjun’s imperial prince will be born. You must have thought about it too.”

    “What?”

    Wei Tingxu’s gaze suddenly fixed, her voice didn’t rise, but the atmosphere completely changed with her expression. “When Zhen is in labor, that will be your best opportunity to seize the throne.”

    Xiao Xiao’s heart suddenly tightened. There wasn’t much reaction on her face, but her momentary hesitation was still exposed to Wei Tingxu’s eyes.

    “Seize the throne? What throne?” Xiao Xiao laughed twice, then calmly drank her wine.

    “Zhen can see your ambition, understand your aspirations, and know your capabilities even better. Back then, you were just a half-grown child, yet you were already able to greatly defeat the prominence of the Nanya Yao family when they were then at the height of their prominence23. You, like Wenjun, and like Ruan Shi24, are born commander material25, even a candidate for a monarch. If not for this imperial prince, after Zhen’s passing26, you would be Da Cang’s most legitimate heir apparent. Who could challenge you in the slightest? Cang and Changge would be unified in your hands.”

    “So Mother Emperor was worried Your child27 would cause strife between siblings28,” Xiao Xiao said with a smile. “Although Changge is flourishing day by day29, in terms of military strength, it’s still a notch below Da Cang. Zilian is old now, but he’s still not one to be trifled with30. Besides, my Ah Mu is still alive; how could I do something to make her lose face? What Mother Emperor worries about is merely the balance between the two countries a hundred years from now. But Mother Emperor, it’s said you once said that Tianxia31 will see a golden age, but there will be no true peace. Mother Emperor can manage for ten years, a hundred years, but can you manage for a thousand, ten thousand years? Even if Your child promises Mother Emperor today that for the rest of my life, my troops will not cross the Wei River, who can guarantee what future generations will do? Mother Emperor, how can you worry about matters after your passing?”

    Back in Yu, the Lijiao32 was very strict. “Death” was a taboo for many, and the imperial family especially avoided it.

    During the Guangxing reign period, people still didn’t like to talk about “death.” But within Shuyuan, beside Wei Tingxu, it was a perfectly normal topic, something that needed to be discussed as she grew older day by day.

    The mistakes made by countless monarchs—she had once read about them one by one, even witnessed some firsthand. She constantly kept herself clear-headed, unwilling to tread the same old path.

    Wei Tingxu was like this, Zhen Wenjun was like this, so Xiao Xiao naturally spoke even more without reservation.

    “Besides, I’ve also witnessed the devastation of lives33 caused by the unceasing beacon fires of war34 in the previous dynasty. It’s only been a few years of peaceful days, foreign enemies have been pacified, the Zhongyuan35 is in excellent shape, and the Path of Ten Thousand Directions is booming like wildfire36. Why fight? My Changge clan may seem brave and fierce, but we are not a martial people, and I don’t like more wars either. Let the common folk rest for a while… Your child has no opinion on who Mother Emperor wants to pass the throne to. Your child only wishes that in my lifetime, the Four Seas are pacified37, without wind or waves.”

    Xiao Xiao frankly stated her thoughts. Wei Tingxu actually saw in her eyes a compassion for the people of the world that surpassed her age.

    Wei Tingxu said, “Turbulent times produce ambitious heroes, while peaceful times have benevolent rulers.38 You will be a good emperor.”

    Xiao Xiao thought she had misheard.

    For so many years, this seemed to be the first time Wei Tingxu had praised her.

    So, that whole exchange earlier, was it a test?

    Xiao Xiao pouted slightly, somewhat displeased, and drank two cups of wine in a row.

    But seriously, this Wei Tingxu really seemed to have become gentler.

    Before Wei Tingxu left, she left behind a Heavenly Soldier Divine Box. Xiao Xiao pressed a button, and a map of mountains and wilderness unfolded.

    Xiao Xiao looked at her, puzzled.

    “Gong’er is in these mountains. She always thought Zhen was monitoring her, thought that being with you would inevitably implicate you, so she ran away. There seem to be fierce beasts in these mountains. Although she knows some gongfu39, if she encounters a tiger40, she probably won’t survive.”

    Hearing this, Xiao Xiao immediately jumped up, grabbed the Heavenly Soldier Divine Box, and headed out. After a few steps, she turned back:

    “You were indeed monitoring her!”

    Wei Tingxu smiled. “Monitoring her was just incidental.”

    “Actually, you wanted to monitor me.”

    Wei Tingxu didn’t deny it. “It’s Zhen’s habit. I’m afraid I won’t be able to change it in this lifetime. The mountain roads are difficult; you should be careful.”

    “Giving me such a big favor, what should I give in exchange?”

    “No exchange is needed.” Wei Tingxu quietly closed her eyes. “Zhen only hopes you can remember all the words you said to Zhen tonight.”

    After that day when Xiao Xiao had an audience with the Son of Heaven, the Son of Heaven went into seclusion41 for the next three months. Apart from Zhen Wenjun and a few personal handmaidens, she saw no one else.

    Some said she did give birth to a child, that the secret art of woman-woman childbirth had worked, and that Emperor Wen, who later ushered in the Jianxing Golden Age, was the biological daughter of Wei Tingxu and Zhen Wenjun.

    Others said this secret art was merely a lie and a tactic by Wei Tingxu to stabilize the country and maintain order; how could such a mysterious thing exist in the world? Emperor Wen was also a child she had adopted42 from her second elder brother’s side.

    Some even said that Emperor Wen of Da Cang and “Xiao,” the Monarch of Changge, were the same person, and it was only because she abided by the agreement made with Emperor Gaozu of Da Cang back then, guaranteeing peace along the borders.

    Official Histories still have many unverified matters, let alone unofficial accounts.

    The long summer night stretched on. The stories from a hundred years ago gradually melted into dreams.

    Third Miss Tang closed the book and sweetly fell asleep.


    The author has something to say:

    The extra chapters are also over. I left a little clue for the next story at the end~

    Thank you everyone for your support of 《I Am Fish Meat》43. The pre-sale for the physical copies of this novel will start tomorrow evening at 20:00. For the specific address, you can go to the author’s Weibo44 Ningyuan430 and check the pinned post.

    Thank you everyone! Please continue to support my new work too! (bows)


    LP: Last chapter~

    I really love this novel… my translation of it does not capture how really good this is (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

    I’ll re-translate this in the future and I’ll make sure to do it good!



    Footnotes

    1. 化形 | huàxíng | Lit. “transforming shape/form.” A process, often for beasts or spirits in fantasy settings, of taking on a human or more powerful form after reaching a certain level of cultivation or power.
    2. 泉源相抵推磨碾轉 | quányuán xiāngdǐ tuīmó niǎnzhuǎn | Lit. “spring sources pressing against each other, pushing a millstone, grinding and turning”.
    3. 精神矍铄 | jīngshén juéshuò | An idiom meaning “hale and hearty,” “full of vigor,” “in high spirits,” often used to describe energetic elderly people, but here emphasizing an unnatural level of energy due to the drug.
    4. 共赴巫山 | gòng fù Wūshān | Lit. “to go together to Mount Wu.” A classical literary allusion to a poem by Song Yu (宋玉) describing a king’s dream encounter with the goddess of Mount Wu; it has become a common euphemism for sexual intercourse.
    5. 惊天动地 | jīngtiāndòngdì | Lit. “startle heaven and move earth.” An idiom meaning world-shaking, earth-shattering, or momentous.
    6. 明面上暗地里 | míngmiàn shàng àndì lǐ | Lit. “on the bright side and in the dark place.” An idiom meaning openly and secretly, or both publicly and privately.
    7. 青龙偃月刀 | Qīnglóng Yǎnyuè Dāo | The legendary guandao (polearm) wielded by General Guan Yu in the classic novel 《Romance of the Three Kingdoms》. It symbolizes immense martial prowess.
    8. 乾坤逆转 | qiánkūn nìzhuǎn | Lit. “Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth, the two primary trigrams in the I Ching, representing male and female, active and receptive principles) reversed.” Signifies a fundamental upheaval or reversal of the established order, roles, or dynamics, especially in their relationship.
    9. 寸 | cùn | A traditional Chinese unit of length, approximately 3.33 cm or 1.31 inches. Here, “not even one cun” means not even the slightest bit.
    10. 风卷残云 | fēngjuǎncányún | Lit. “wind scattering remnant clouds.” An idiom describing making a clean sweep of something, especially eating food quickly and completely.
    11. 云雨 | yúnyǔ | Lit. “clouds and rain.” Another classical and common euphemism for sexual intercourse, similar to “共赴巫山” (gòng fù Wūshān).
    12. 幽径 | yōujìng | Lit. “secluded path” or “hidden trail.” In this context, a poetic euphemism for the vagina.
    13. 微臣 | wēichén | Lit. “minute/insignificant subject/official.” A self-referential term used by officials when addressing the Emperor or Empress, expressing humility.
    14. 龙脉国运 | lóngmài guóyùn | Longmai (龙脉 – dragon’s veins/lineage) refers to the imperial bloodline and succession, crucial for the dynasty’s continuity. Guoyun (国运 – nation’s destiny) refers to the fate and fortune of the country.
    15. 太医院 | Tàiyīyuàn | The Imperial Academy of Medicine or Imperial Medical Bureau, responsible for the health of the imperial family and court officials.
    16. 屁股上长了钉子 | pìgu shàng zhǎng le dīngzi | Lit. “to have nails growing on one’s buttocks.” A colloquial idiom describing someone who is restless and unable to sit still, fidgeting constantly.
    17. 娘家人 | niángjiarén | Lit. “mother’s family people.” Refers to a married woman’s natal family. Figuratively, it means people one feels extremely close to and can confide in, like one’s own family.
    18. 仙药 | xiānyào | Lit. “immortal/celestial medicine.” A magical or divine elixir, often with extraordinary properties like granting longevity, power, or, in this case, enabling unique conception.
    19. 羞死个人 | xiūsǐgèrén | Lit. “shame to death a person.” A common hyperbole meaning extremely embarrassing or mortifying.
    20. 八卦 | bāguà | Lit. “eight trigrams.” In modern slang, it means “gossip” or “to be gossipy.”
    21. 委屈你了 | wěiqu nǐ le | A polite expression conveying apology for causing someone slight trouble, inconvenience, or a less-than-ideal situation. Lit. “(I have) wronged you.”
    22. 朕 | zhèn | The royal “I,” used exclusively by the Emperor (or ruling Empress). Its use immediately establishes supreme authority.
    23. 风头正劲 | fēngtóuzhèngjìng | Lit. “wind-head just strong.” An idiom meaning to be very popular, prominent, or influential at a particular time; to be in the limelight.
    24. 阮氏 | Ruǎn Shì | Could refer to a prominent individual from the Ruan clan, or “Lady Ruan” if referring to a woman by her maiden surname. 氏 (shì) can denote a clan or be a suffix for women’s names.
    25. 天生的将帅之器 | tiānshēng de jiàngshuài zhī qì | Lit. “natural-born vessel/instrument of a general/commander.” Meaning someone with innate talent and aptitude to be a great military leader.
    26. 百年之后 | bǎinián zhī hòu | Lit. “after a hundred years.” A common euphemism for “after one’s death.”
    27. 儿臣 | érchén | Lit. “child-subject.” A self-referential term used by imperial sons and daughters (and sometimes by very high-ranking ministers who are considered like family) when addressing the Emperor or Empress.
    28. 兄弟阋墙 | xiōngdìxìqiáng | Lit. “brothers quarreling within the walls (of their home).” An idiom referring to internal discord or strife among relatives or within a group.
    29. 蒸蒸日上 | zhēngzhēngrìshàng | Lit. “steam rising daily.” An idiom meaning to become more prosperous, thriving, or flourishing with each passing day.
    30. 不是省油的灯 | bùshì shěngyóudelēng | Lit. “not an oil-saving lamp.” An idiom meaning someone is not simple, easy to deal with, or someone to be trifled with; they are shrewd or formidable.
    31. 天下 | Tiānxià | Lit. “under Heaven.” A term referring to the (Chinese) world or empire; the realm.
    32. 礼教 | lǐjiào | The Confucian code of ethics and propriety; traditional moral teachings and rules of etiquette that governed social conduct.
    33. 生灵涂炭 | shēnglíngtútàn | Lit. “living creatures smeared with mud and charcoal.” An idiom describing extreme suffering and devastation of the people, usually caused by war or disaster.
    34. 烽火不断 | fēnghuǒ bùduàn | Lit. “beacon fires (used to signal enemy attacks) unceasing.” A metaphor for continuous warfare and turmoil.
    35. 中原 | Zhōngyuán | The Central Plains of China, considered the cradle of Chinese civilization and often referring to the core territory of historical Chinese states.
    36. 如火如荼 | rúhuǒrútú | Lit. “like fire and white grass flowers.” An idiom describing something that is flourishing vigorously, spreading like wildfire, or in full swing.
    37. 四海平定 | sìhǎi píngdìng | Lit. “the Four Seas pacified/stabilized.” “Four Seas” is a traditional Chinese concept representing the entire world or all lands within the borders. The idiom means peace and stability throughout the realm.
    38. 乱世出枭雄,平遂有仁君 | Luànshì chū xiāoxióng, píngsuì yǒu rénjūn | A saying meaning that periods of chaos and war give rise to formidable, ambitious leaders (枭雄 – xiāoxióng, often with a connotation of ruthlessness alongside heroism), whereas times of peace and stability foster benevolent and humane rulers (仁君 – rénjūn).
    39. 功夫 | gōngfu | Martial arts; skill; effort. Here refers to martial arts abilities.
    40. 大虫 | dàchóng | Lit. “big insect/worm.” An old colloquial term for a tiger. In this context, it refers to a large, dangerous wild animal like a tiger.
    41. 闭关 | bìguān | Lit. “close the pass/gate.” To go into reclusion or retreat, often for intensive meditation, cultivation, study, or to handle sensitive matters away from public view.
    42. 过继 | guòjì | To adopt a child, typically a kinsman’s son (or in this case, child), to continue one’s family line, especially if one has no heir.
    43. 我为鱼肉 | Wǒ Wéi Yúròu | Lit. “I Am Fish Meat.” This is part of a famous idiom, 人为刀俎,我为鱼肉 (rén wéi dāozǔ, wǒ wéi yú ròu), meaning “Others are the knife and chopping block, I am the fish and meat,” signifying being at someone else’s mercy or in a helpless position.
    44. 微博 | Wēibó | A Chinese microblogging website and social media platform, similar to Twitter.

    3 Comments

    1. Dawn
      Jul 28, '25 at 9:43 AM

      Hi, LP👋 saw it on jjwxc that there’s an extra for Ah Xin and Li Yanyi, chapter 264. I hope you can translate it as well because I’m dying to know what happened to them😭 They’re lowkey my fav couple of the novel, so I’d really appreciate if you could translate it also. Thank you!

      1. @DawnJul 28, '25 at 9:54 AM

        I’ll translate it in the future but I’m not planning to currently. Maybe when I re-translated this one.

        But I’m glad you enjoyed it~

    2. Dietrich
      Dec 30, '25 at 1:24 PM

      Joder, que gran historia. Otra rareza de novela. Me encantó, la ame mucho.😭💜💜💜💜

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