Crossing Southward

Ling Anruo married at sixteen, became empress at twenty-three, and was buried in a mass grave at twenty-six.

Her life was hardly eventful, though she served diligently as a stepping stone. Unfortunately, her husband was an ungrateful wretch who, after just three years on the throne, ordered her entire family executed.

When she opened her eyes again, she had been given another chance and returned to the time before her wedding.

Of course, Ling Anruo ran!

If she didn't run now, when would she?

But could someone explain why, after being reborn, she had become a man?

And not just any man, but the famously sickly prince of Da'an, rumored to be on his deathbed?

Ling Anruo stared at the face in the mirror for three seconds, then suddenly saw things differently.

Being a prince was great! A prince had money, power, and a fief, and could even rebel and claim the throne. Wasn't that far more fun than fighting with the women in the inner courtyard?

But after she fled to Lizhou, she discovered that this supposedly dying prince had neither money nor power, and was looked down on at every turn. The whole city of Lizhou was waiting to see when she would die.

Ling Anruo fell silent for a long moment, then rolled up her sleeves and started cleaning up the dying prince's mess.

No money? Recognize some wealthy relatives and make foreign currency through overseas trade.

No power? Use others to do the dirty work, seize military authority, and make an example of corrupt officials.

Not long to live? Get up early, go to bed early, exercise, calm the mind, and find a famous doctor.

In less than a year, everyone in Lizhou knew not to mess with this supposedly dying prince. She was ruthless and filthy rich, and no one dared provoke her lightly.

And Ling Anruo, whom everyone regarded as a monster, was now holding a bowl of medicine and smiling tenderly at the prince who had come to take care of her period. "Come on, darling. Drink your medicine."

----Coming soon: After Many Years Dead, I Got Married----

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Qing Yan remembered that she had died, and had been dead for many years.

That was the only thing she could remember. Yet when she opened her eyes again, she was sitting in a bridal sedan chair.

Qing Yan stared speechlessly at her wedding dress. She had assumed she was being forced into a ghost marriage, but it turned out to be a sacrifice.

The god on the altar was refined and incomparably handsome, but his temperament was unpredictable. One moment, he was gently calling her "wife"; the next, he wanted to carve the flesh from her body.

Qing Yan calmly crushed his heart, inwardly lamenting what a waste it was to ruin such a handsome face.

They met again at a seaside city teeming with demons.

Through the crowds, she looked toward the god who should have died on the altar, listening to all the rumors around her.

"They say Venerable Beichen is immeasurably powerful, the most likely among the immortal sects to ascend."

"They say Venerable Beichen is aloof and impartial, and his sword leaves no one alive."

"They say Venerable Beichen has never married. Fortune-tellers say he brings misfortune to his wife and children, a star-crossed loner."

"They say..."

Qing Yan heard countless rumors, but not one explained why a red marriage thread connected her hand to that star-crossed Venerable's.

Nor did any rumor explain why, if he was supposed to bring misfortune to his wife and children, a little girl had suddenly appeared, calling him Father and her Mother.

And...

Wasn't he supposed to be impartial, his sword leaving no one alive? So who was this man before her, the one who showed mercy, held her hand on night walks, and hid her away in his room?

Qing Yan pondered it endlessly until one day she suddenly remembered: this man, revered by all and avoided by everyone, still owed her a wedding ceremony that had never taken place.

And she had once said, "Yan Guiwan, you won't get a good death. Whether you're alive or dead, whether your soul is scattered or you are reborn, I won't let you go."

Theme: If it benefits the nation, I will give my life; why should I avoid danger for fear of misfortune?