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Every Fanqie book we index, searchable by title, author or tag.
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The Return of the Legitimate Daughter: the Prince's Favored Favor
When it was getting dark, the sound of soft footsteps came from the bluestone road. Lin Xia held the sweaty hand of her adopted daughter Xiaotao and looked up at the pair of stone lions in front of the Hou Mansion. The lion's eyes are stained with ink stains that cannot be washed away by old rainwater. These are the marks made when she stole her father's inkstone when she was eight years old. "Aniang, your hands are so cold." Xiao Tao stood on tiptoe to reach for the faded purse at her waist. In
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Reverse Scale: the Rebirth of the Prisoner of Destiny
When rotten grass mixed with the smell of blood entered his nose, Lin Mengxiao was kneeling in the rubble of the Han Iron Mine. The ankles worn by the iron chains were soaked in muddy water, and his back suddenly received a heavy whip. "Prison slaves should look like prison slaves." The soles of Su Yin's boots crushed her fingers on the ground, and the black iron wristbands glowed coldly in the moonlight. "I heard that you collected blood Ganoderma lucidum yesterday?"
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The Counterattack of the Mind-Reading Master: I Was a Punchline in Ancient Times
When Su Qingyao stood at the door of the pawn shop holding the last gilt bracelet, the rainwater leaking from the eaves happened to hit the toe of her embroidered shoes. This pair of apricot red soft satin shoes was given to her by her mother during the Lantern Festival. Now that the uppers were splashed with mud, they looked very much like her Su family, which was now full of stigma. "Three taels of silver, love is not worth it." The shopkeeper's protracted voice came from behind the counter. S
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The Counterattack of the Super-Powerful Cook: I Cook Hotpot in the Fairy World
Chef Lin squatted at the door of the thatched house, sharpening a kitchen knife. The sound of the blade scraping against the bluestone and the sound of grandma coughing came one after another. She glanced at the wild vegetable soup tumbling in the pot. There were three oil stars floating on the surface of the soup, reflecting her face stained with pot ashes. Three days ago, she was a food blogger with millions of fans on a certain website, but now she has to worry about half a cent of styptic gr
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