[Book Transmigration] Ancient Poems of Falling Flowers and Storms

Overnight, I transmigrated into a third-rate wuxia novel and inexplicably became a major cannon-fodder character. Yan Chuo refused to accept his fate. He couldn't accept it! Otherwise, he'd end up just like the cannon fodder in the original story! After thinking it over, the best way to stay alive was to avoid those peerless martial arts masters who thought the world of themselves. Secret techniques, the greatest fighter under heaven, whatever! I wasn't going to hang out with a bunch of lunatics like you! But Yan Chuo never imagined that after he escaped the bloodshed and danger of the martial world, fate would push him onto another thorny path. From then on, faced with mountains of corpses and seas of blood, he would charge ahead even against a million foes. A battle-hardened, overbearing young noble as the bottom x a notorious young master of the Demonic Cult as the top ~﹡~﹡~﹡~﹡~ [.Content Warnings.]~﹡~﹡~﹡~﹡~ 1. This story involves transmigrating into a book, but it's a partly fictionalized fantasy with absolutely no connection to authentic history. It doesn't follow the wuxia genre. 2. The main pairing is Jiang Ye x Yan Chuo. The pairing cannot be split up or reversed, so choose your side in advance to avoid getting the wrong idea. 3. This story is the product of the author's wild imagination, and differs considerably from authentic history. Treat it as entertainment for your leisure time, and please don't take it too seriously. If you insist on an explanation, you can think of Yan Chuo's various acts of self-destruction as causing a chain of butterfly effects that will rewrite history. 4. Finally, here's a doggerel poem by the author, "South Country Song," dedicated to the Prince Rong's heir, Yan Chuo, "a jade-like gentleman on the road, a peerless young lord in the world." 5. "South Country Song": The moon is round like the one back home; singers and dancers sway in shadow. I have long lamented that there is no road home. What joy is there? Better to sleep through this fleeting life. The mountain town's ancient stele lies broken; the lights of Xunyang flicker in the night. I still remember the places where we roamed as youths. I send this word: may we grow old together, with the fires of war finally fading. ~﹡~﹡~﹡~﹡~﹡~﹡~﹡~~﹡~﹡~﹡~﹡~﹡~ Please support the author's upcoming story: The Merman Must Hide His Tail Please support the author's upcoming story: A Guide to Keeping Earthlings Come check out the author's completed story: [Otherworld] The Weapon Maker Theme: