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... vast, fertile land where two medicinal plants had been locked in a struggle. That struggle had just ended.

One plant stood tall and in a full state of bloom, its leaves rustling, and the entire plant glittering like starlight. In contrast, the other plant had withered up. Its leaves had dried up, its flowers wilted, and it looked like it was about to fall to the ground.

And yet... Poison Monarch was still observing the situation closely. He was not looking at the plant that was ...

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Tang Qiu was a substitute bride–forced to take her half-sister’s place and marry the young master of the Jiang family, a deformed cripple with less than 6 months left to live.

“Who would have thought that even a sickly whelp like Jiang Shaocheng would find himself a bride?”

“I hear that he’s practically on his deathbed and he’s only marrying the Fengs’ daughter to improve his lifespan.”

Tang Qiu ignored the whispers around her and focused on her husband-to-be, who coughed violently in his wheelchair. At the altar, after they had said their vows, she lifted her veil and knelt in front of Jiang Shaocheng, pressing a hesitant kiss to his lips.

The marriage contract was signed. No matter his physical deformities, he was now her husband.

She wasn’t afraid of the scars that marked his face, nor was she repulsed by him being confined to a wheelchair. Every morning, she made him breakfast, attended to his needs, and thought of little else beyond her duties as a wife.

“Young Master Jiang is a cripple who can’t get it up,” her best friend argued. “When he dies, you’ll still be untouched. You should set your sights higher.”

“A sickly invalid like Jiang Shaocheng can’t give you happiness,” her ex-boyfriend insisted. “I’ll wait for you.”

But Young Master Jiang only scoffed. “I have plenty of time left to be with her.”

Later in their marriage, Jiang Shaocheng wanted to enjoy his little wife in all ways–the press of her lips against his, the brush of skin on skin; the way a husband and wife were supposed to. But Tang Qiu refused him, blushing. “No, we can’t. The doctor says you can’t exert yourself.”

Jiang Shaocheng’s desire was surging through him, a heat in his core that demanded to be satiated. He cursed, I should have gotten rid of that doctor and the wheelchair long ago.

But he yearned to make love to his little wife, and so he revealed his true identity. In the blink of an eye, the deformed cripple transformed into a powerful businessman–tall, dark, and handsome. He quieted Tang Qiu’s protests, his body positioned over hers, his arms caging her as she lay on the bed. His voice was low when he asked, “What about now?”

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“If someone has to become the strongest, why can't it be me?”

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I just want to create a fantastical world that doesn't seem too unreal.

Pre-reading Reminder 1: If you think human nature can simply be divided into good or bad, proceed with caution.

Pre-reading Reminder 2: If you believe a sect is just a crowd of people flattering the protagonist, proceed with caution.

Pre-reading Reminder 3: If you think the whole world is a stage for the protagonist to show off, and all people are merely stepping stones for the protagonist, proceed with caution.

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