The Romantic Trials Of A Transmigrated Empress - Chapter 300: Roland was given bad advice.

On the day I went to the hospital for an abortion, I met my husband holding his ex-girlfriend. That woman was just suffering from menstrual pain, but he was taking great care of her and being very gentle.He said, “I never thought of marrying you, so please behave yourself.”He said, “You are just a scheming and fickle woman. How could you bear my child?”I sneered and decided to abandon him!After the divorce, that woman showed off their engagement ring to me. Then, I pointed at the man who had just walked into the hotel and said, “Let me introduce. This is my new boyfriend.”Since then, this tycoon, who was only temporarily working as a doctor out of boredom, somehow got a girlfriend who had come to him for an abortion.

Have you ever wondered what a character in a novel or in a game should be?

Do they eat? Sleep? Do they have their own life when you are not reading or playing?

They do not.

When you are not doing anything, we stay still.

To be fair, think about your own life. Is it different from a game without a system? You can not see behind your back, similar to how a character has to render it in a game.

But at least, you have your own life.

While I have to watch the protagonist of the novel find his way into the pants of the female leads.

This is my destiny.

I'm not jealous. Not at all.

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?”

To be a good mistress:

Lesson 1: The location does not matter; all that matter is whether he wishes to.

“This is an exchange for money and not a game of love.”

Yet, he is eventually addicted to spoiling her and sending her to cloud nine, giving her whatever she wishes for.

—

“Young Master Huo, Ms. An said that she wants to be the world’s top supermodel.”

As a result, news of the Huo Conglomerate entering the entertainment industry shocks the entire world.

“Young Master Huo, Ms. An said that she wants to get married at the age of 28.” The man’s gaze deepened as he replied, “That’s too late.”

The little bun behind him secretly hands him a household registration book and declares with a nasal and innocent-sounding voice, “Daddy, I will pay for your nine-dollar marriage registration fee!”