Tempest of the Battlefield - Chapter 599: Space Aid

Everyone said that Yi Qing was the number one Sword Cultivator in the world, with a swordsmanship and cultivation that no one could surpass. Whether it was when he was cultivating in the Lower Realm, or when he was in the Ten Heavens of the Upper Realm, he has always been undefeated.

He is the strongest soldier of the Chinese Special Forces, and the ultimate demon in the eyes of the enemy. Now he is disarmed and returned to the fields, returning to agriculture and forestry, hiding in remote mountain villages and enjoying a peaceful life.

However, gold always shines, pure white and rich beauty wants to marry him, the president of Meiyan wants him to be his lover, and the hot police flower always wants to take him as his own, which makes the village chief very headache.

This is the life story of a young village chief with a stunt, soaking in the most beautiful beauties, drinking the strongest wine, and vigouring Niucha’s life.

- Description from novelbuddy

“Did you think healing me would make me love you more?” He scoffed grabbing my hair as he pulled me towards the door.“You're hurting me, Xavier,” I cried beating against him weakly. There was not much I could do.“If I ever see you an inch close to me,” He threw me against the wall “I'll damn the consequences and kill you,”.***My mate and I were destined to hate each other, only an act of true love or selflessness from the stronger mate could set our destines on the right path but for seven years, I had to put up with my mate's abuse and his supposed love of his life until one day I decided to leave.I left, determined to stay hidden from him forever... but I found out I was pregnant few weeks later.

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.