When fresh meat is delivered right to your mouth, who could possibly refuse to eat it?
But Lin Qing was a piece of fish: tender and delicious, yet covered in sharp bones. One bite, and your mouth would be full of blood.
No matter how tender such meat might be, surely no one would dare take a bite.
But the one he encountered was Yan Chen.
That was the variable.
A poor young man who only had to feed himself; a fallen prince whose ambitions reached the heavens, but whose fate was as thin as paper.
He achieved fame and success, but lost love.
History is a record of glory and decline, bearing the joys and sorrows of generation after generation. But what of the swan? And what of the sparrow? History is written by the words of the living and the pens of those who come after. As time's torrents rush by, beauty turns to bones in the blink of an eye. Those who once strove ceaselessly for fame and fortune are swept away in the passing years. Who will remember even the smallest trace of them?
They say that ink cannot hold them, and Jiangnan's gentle rain becomes a hero's grave.
Why do all the articles have "Readers who read this article usually also like the following articles", and it's still the same work, Jinjiang. I really want to slap it flat. .