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... azade were having the time of their lives as they walked through the populated streets of the capital of Lustburg.

"Ohhh. This is so tasty! Are those cakes really made by mortals?"

Sheherazade seemed to be in complete awe of everything as she looked ready to jump into the cake she was eating and just bathe in it if it was necessary for her to savor more of the cake's flavor.

Next to her, Isis chuckled as she also savored the vanilla cake she had received from the shop cle ...

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Married for three years without returning home? The charming '70s woman wants a divorce.[Cold and aloof pilot vs. stunning translator, period 1v1, husband-chasing drama]On the first day of their marriage, Jiang Zhixun applied for a transfer to the Northwest, rebelling against his arranged marriage with Shen Qingqing.In the three years that followed, they never saw each other again.When Shen Qingqing was diagnosed with amnesia, she made a decision within half an hour.She decided to go to the Northwest.To find Jiang Zhixun and get a divorce!An exceptional beauty arrived at the barracks, elegant, refined, and well-educated, yet married to a cold-faced tyrant.Jiang Zhixun was convinced Shen Qingqing had come to pester him.He avoided her.Evaded her.Yet, he couldn’t help being drawn to her.Jiang Zhixun decided to keep Shen Qingqing and live a good life with her.But Shen Qingqing proposed a divorce.Jiang Zhixun: “You came to the Northwest just for a divorce?”Shen Qingqing: “Yes, divorce.”After the divorce, Shen Qingqing returned to Beijing.Her memories of the time in the Northwest gradually faded, until eventually, she even forgot who Jiang Zhixun was.On a snowy, stormy night, the man stubbornly stood outside the door, his eyes tinged with crimson.“Mister Shen, I’m your new neighbor.”“My name is Jiang Zhixun.”

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The new book “Cultivation of Immortals Begins from Planting Sweet Potatoes” has been released, and new and old book lovers are welcome to come and read it!

A poor boy whose parents died accidentally found a mysterious space and set foot on the avenue of cultivating immortals. From then on, he planted spiritual herbs, refined elixir, opened shops, trained troops, and established a fairyland…

This article is about cultivating immortals and farming, not for mortals, not for stallions.

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Three rejections. Three shattered dreams. That was Layla’s reality, all because she was different—a half-shifter in a world obsessed with purity. Ostracized, shunned, and finally sold off like a pawn to the most feared ruler alive—the Lycan King. He was ruthless, a king with a graveyard of brides, each one a ghostly reminder of a fate worse than death.Layla loathed him. Hated the way his gaze cold and fathomless, held no warmth for her. Hated how his touch, both thrilling and terrifying, sent an uninvited chill down her spine.---“I hate you!” I screamed, hands clenched so tight my knuckles ached.He sighed, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips, his tone mocking as he closed his book with a deliberate snap. “Stressed, are we?” he asked, strolling toward me, each step reminding me exactly who held the power here.“Lucky for you,” he drawled, rolling up his sleeves as he stopped just inches away, “I know exactly 70 ways to ease those nerves.” His fingers brushed my cheek, a touch that seemed to burn into my skin. “The first… a hug.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper as he leaned in, breath hot against my ear. “And the rest... well, that's 69? what do you say about that?”I swallowed hard, my heart thudding wildly as he tilted his head, waiting for me to react, that insufferable smirk still in place.“What’s the matter, darling?” he murmured, a taunt lingering in his gaze.---A Dangerous ObsessionCan she resist the pull, or will she dance into the flames of her own destruction?A dark dive into obsession, raw need, and the razor’s edge between desire and devastation.---LYCAN KING CASSIANI will tear her apart piece by piece, feeding the wildfire that grips her with each shuddered breath. Like air to flame, I’ll claim every inch, drawing heat from her skin until it sinks into her bones.Her pulse will race under my hands, her breaths shallow, pleading. Her eyes may scream, but her lips will still murmur my name. That first taste of fear will only feed something deeper—a need that burns through her veins, molten and fierce.And just when she’s too far gone to turn back, I’ll twist the knife, giving her the pain she’s learned to crave.She’ll be the moth to my flame, helpless against the very thing that will consume her.

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