Slow Romance

My mother taught me that a concubine could only live well by pleasing her husband until he cast aside his wife for her.

But I discovered that the lawful wife was beautiful, kind, and—most importantly—rich.

So I switched sides without hesitation and asked, “Madam, may I work for you instead?”

Gu Yuqing is the daughter of a fallen general and the most unlikely court historian in Great Chu: a woman who can fight an army but can barely read.

When a modern woman awakens in the body of Empress Pei Lingyi, the two of them turn Yuqing’s brutally honest records into a weapon against corrupt ministers, unfaithful men, and a kingdom built to erase women.

As reforms spread and the Chancellor moves to seize the throne, Yuqing must return to the battlefield while Lingyi risks being erased from history altogether.

Between broken brushes, unfinished chronicles, and birthday cakes from another world, two women fight to write their names—and their love—into the future.

A Little Spirit Mushroom has been reborn as a human-weak, pitiful, and recently orphaned with no home to call her own.

To get a bite to eat, a place to stay, and to settle her karmic debts, the Little Spirit Mushroom diligently (not really) became the personal maid of a powerful patron.

When her master worked, she slept. When her master had pastries, she stole them. When her master drank tea, she tasted it first. When her master was targeted by assassins, she was the first to run.

The Little Spirit Mushroom successfully annoyed her master and was punished with reflection against a wall.

But later, her master couldn’t bear to punish her anymore.

Finally, through her efforts, her patron helped her complete her revenge.

Her mission accomplished, the Little Mushroom prepared to retire, secretly asking her master to grant her a small territory where she could live out her days in peace.

However, once the Little Mushroom grew up, her master dragged her off to become the Empress.

The Little Mushroom sighed; being an Empress was even harder than being a mushroom.

Introduction: Ning Qiuyan participated in a Volunteer Medical Program, serving as a Humanoid Blood Bag for a certain powerful figure suffering from a blood disorder.

Guan Heng, the legendary mysterious tycoon, lives a reclusive and extremely low-profile life. When a photo of him was leaked, he quietly became popular online for his long hair and striking, androgynous beauty.

Ning Qiuyan discovered:

Guan Heng never appears in daylight; his house always has the curtains drawn, and they only meet at night.

Guan Heng has pale skin, a cold and eccentric personality, and every time Ning Qiuyan is asked to donate blood, he must first fast and bathe.

That house is cold and dark, with no sunlight.

Guan Heng’s heartbeat is slow, and his body temperature is icy.

The first time Ning Qiuyan fell asleep during the blood donation, he woke up to find a bite mark on the side of his neck.

And he, inexplicably, found himself wanting to submit to Guan Heng.

Before my fiancé, Cui Ning, left for his long journey, he gave me a harsh scolding.

It was because I wanted to borrow thirty-three taels of silver from him to buy back my mother’s keepsake, a paulownia qin.

He accepted my promissory note and recorded the debt in his ledger, yet he refused to give me the money.

“Xiaoyu, you don’t even know how to play the instrument. What’s the point of buying it?” He added, “Besides, thirty-three taels is enough to buy two of you.”

This winter, I had spent my days on the pleasure boats, combing the hair of the older sisters and doing their laundry, only to painstakingly save up a single tael.

But the instrument shop couldn’t wait any longer.

They said someone else had their eye on the instrument and it would be sold the day after tomorrow.

When I returned to the Cui Family home wiping away my tears, Matchmaker Liu saw my red eyes and tried to persuade me again with a kindly expression.

“The Shen family is sincere about their proposal. Don’t even mention mountains of gold or silver-you only need to ask.” She continued, “They said that even if you wanted the stars or the moon from the sky, they would pluck them down for you.”

I thought about what Cui Ning had said-that thirty-three taels was a massive sum of money, enough to buy two of me.

Afraid that the Shen family would be unwilling, I dried my tears and asked cautiously: “I don’t want the stars, and I don’t want the moon.”

“I want a paulownia qin. It costs thirty-three taels of silver.”

On my first day as the City Goddess, a half-grown boy came to offer me incense.

“Make my father meddle in my life less!”

So I kept his father busy with business, leaving him no time to press the boy to study.

Then his grandfather arrived, wielding an enormous sandalwood ruler.

After the beating, the boy limped back into my City God Temple.

I quietly poked my head out and saw him baring his teeth as he complained, “What a lousy deity!”

I could not stop myself from muttering, “I am not lousy.”

While everyone else was fighting for the Emperor’s favor, I built an intelligence station in the cold palace.

Until the day he died, the Emperor never knew that the woman stirring up the hidden currents of his harem was someone whose name he could not even remember.

I died in Yongxiang Alley during my third winter there.

Not truly died-only the kind of death where your name is crossed out in vermilion ink on the registry.

They said Noble Lady Li, who had once worked in the imperial garden and was later favored by His Majesty for her beauty, had gone mad.

Because on the late Empress’s memorial day, I let my hair hang loose, went barefoot, and sang a rousing rendition of “Liangzhou Ci.”

In truth, I was not mad. I had simply calculated that the Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial would pass through the imperial garden that day.

Madness was the best pass in the cold palace, and the best armor.

On the day I moved into the West Third Institute, only one lame old eunuch came to lead the way.

The weeds in the courtyard rose past my knees, and the moss on the well curb was as thick as a velvet blanket.

My roommate, Attendant Li, had been thrown in here three years ago after offending the Imperial Consort.

When she saw me arrive, she did not even lift her eyelids. She only kept rubbing a length of hemp rope in her hands, its edges worn fuzzy.

I set my only bundle down on the crumbling earthen kang.

Inside were two sets of worn palace clothes, a bald writing brush, and half a ream of yellow paper.

The paper pasted over the window lattice had a hole in it the size of a fist. The north wind poured in with a howl, carrying the faint sound of pipes and flutes from far away.

I stared at that hole, but in my heart, a sliver of light slipped through.

In a madwoman’s world, there were the fewest rules.

Here, perhaps, I could live.

My husband Chen Jing and I lived in harmony as a married couple, raising a son and a daughter.

Everyone said that for a merchant’s daughter like me to marry Chen Jing was a stroke of divine luck.

I deeply believed that too.

Reborn back to the year I turned sixteen, I held up the embroidered ball, waiting quietly for the new top scholar as he made his triumphant ride through the streets.

But Chen Jing waved the embroidered ball away.

He didn’t even care who the ball hit. It was as if, in this life, whoever I married had nothing to do with him.

I suddenly realized with a start- In this life, Chen Jing wanted a different wife.

Later, the good man I married was the very one he had caused the embroidered ball to strike.

Ever since I was little, I had been slow and lacking in wit, while Elder Sister was extraordinarily gifted.

At a poetry gathering held at Marquis Manor, she was afraid I would embarrass myself, so in private, she composed a poem for me.

None of us expected that the true purpose of the gathering was to choose a wife for the Second Young Master of Marquis Manor. And the poem she wrote for me was the very one that caught the Second Young Master’s eye.

Later, I married into Marquis Manor.

After the wedding, Pei You discovered just how dull and ignorant I truly was.

Only then did he realize I was not the person who had written that poem that day.

Pei You resented me, blamed me, despised me.

He said his wife should not be someone like me, a woman with nothing but a pretty face and not a drop of learning inside her.

Whenever we were intimate, he would lean close to my ear and mock me, saying I had none of the dignified bearing of a proper main wife, only a body full of vixenish allure that was of some small use in bed.

I was terrified.

So when I returned to the day of that poetry gathering, I stopped Elder Sister before she could write a poem for me. My voice trembled as I said,

“Thank you, Elder Sister, but there is no need.”

On our wedding day, my husband suddenly ascended to godhood.

Just like in my previous life, he offered me a mountain of heavenly treasures out of guilt.

Back then, I refused to take them, stubbornly insisting on following him.

Later, in the boundless, lonely Immortal Realm, I endured endless suffering.

It ended when the goddess who loved him tricked me into jumping off Reincarnation Cliff.

As my body perished and my soul flickered out, Xie Yunji didn’t even spare me a single glance.

When I opened my eyes again, my husband had become a god once more.

He still feared I would cling to him, his brow furrowed with impatience. “I carry a divine mandate; I cannot be tethered by the private feelings of one person.”

“You are a mortal. How could you possibly enter the Immortal Realm?” I stared at him for a long time before finally speaking.

“I’m not going to the Immortal Realm anymore. You can go.”