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... d Jiang Yuan, who were discussing a family ethics drama, were taken aback for a moment, their eyes clouded briefly as they both turned to look at Jiang Ding.

“Oh my God!

Dingding!”

Lin Wanqiu cried out anxiously, “Shouldn’t you be at school by now?

Why are you still at home?

What if you miss the start of your postgraduate studies?”

“Don’t tell me the teacher will no longer accept you!”

“Right, brother.”

Jiang Yuan scratched his head ...

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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.

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According to a popular legend, the famous God of War of Great Liang, Huo Wujiu, was once captured by an enemy country. He had his meridians severed and both his legs broken before he was thrown into the prison. In order to humiliate him, that incapable ruler of the country gifted him to his cutsleeve brother as a concubine.

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A certain university’s history lecturer received a graduation thesis depicting the legend of Huo Wujiu, and he wrote a full page of criticism for the student.

Then he blinked, and he was transmigrated into the body of that cutsleeve prince.

There were lanterns and decorations everywhere. A man came, sending word that the disabled general of the enemy state had already entered the manor in his wedding sedan.

As he looked at the General Huo in front of him, taking in his malicious gaze, his tortured state, clad in a red wedding gown, Jiang Suizhou realised that even legends can come true.

This legend could even cause him to be beheaded in public in the future, with his head hung on the city walls for three years.

Jiang Suizhou’s only option was to take good care of General Huo.

In spite of the hidden arrows of the court’s political agendas and the incapable ruler’s endless attempts to humiliate him, he could only bite the bullet and bear the brunt of it; his only wish was that after three years, he could protect his own head.

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