General, the Prince Is Sick Again

Ruan Chaoqing, Prince of the Southern Campaign, was a founding general of the Great Ping dynasty. He had won countless battles and was decisive and ruthless, yet he was a small brother.

Prince Qi, Zhao Lian, was the emperor's younger brother by the same mother. Frail and sickly, he kept his sharp edges hidden.

With their status and position, they should have been two people with absolutely nothing to do with each other, at least in the eyes of outsiders.

Recently, rumors had been circulating that the emperor meant to arrange a marriage for Prince Qi, and someone could no longer sit still.

On a dark, windy night, a lithe shadow slipped into Prince Qi's residence and headed straight for his bedroom.

Unexpectedly, the window, usually left wide open, was locked.

Gazing at the elegant silhouette on the window paper, Ruan Chaoqing silently ground his teeth and “quietly” pried at the window.

Just as it was about to open, a calm voice came from inside:

“It's late. Prince of the Southern Campaign, please go back. If someone else sees you, it may damage your reputation.”

The person outside darkened his expression. “I raised you. Who dares gossip?”

The window broke, and the intruder vaulted inside. Fuming, he hoisted the person by the window onto the bed.

Reader's guide:

Read the comments first.

Completed farming novel:

"Farming and Raising a Scholar in Ancient Times"

Coming soon:

"After Marrying a Bandit Chief's Husband, I Built a Fortune Through Farming"

Shen Chuan was a wood-type ability user in the apocalypse. After farming for eight years, he transmigrated into the body of a bandit chief.

Being the boss? That had potential.

But the first job the bandits of Laoya Mountain pulled off left Shen Chuan speechless.

A servant of a wealthy landowner swung his arms and landed two solid punches, knocking the “ruthless” bandit underlings flat on the ground. They couldn't get up for ages.

Shen Chuan: ...What potential? I'm out of here.

I'll just go back to farming like a sensible person.

That very night, Shen Chuan grabbed his bundle and ran.

But just as he reached the foot of the mountain, after more than twenty years as a widower, he met a young widower with a child in tow.

The third-in-command pushed the young widower into Shen Chuan's arms. “Big Brother, what are you doing? Did you hear your third brother kidnapped you a husband for the stronghold, so you came down the mountain in the middle of the night to bring your sister-in-law back?”

The young widower watched him warily. His long, phoenix-shaped eyes were distant and proud, coolly beautiful and dignified. He was exactly the kind of Oriental beauty Shen Chuan had dreamed of.

Shen Chuan: Alkyl octanitrogen, how am I any different from Cao Cao?

He angrily dropped his bundle on the spot. “Third Brother is right!”

Besides, no one said bandits had to rob and pillage. His weakling underlings were frail to boot, so he would be a breath of fresh air among bandits: opening up the mountain, farming, and doing business.

He was determined to marry this husband for the stronghold!

No land? Impossible. Shen Chuan led his underlings to reclaim land across the nearby mountains, using Laoya Mountain as their base. They swung their hoes until they smoked.

The newly reclaimed land couldn't produce enough? Not a chance. He had an incredible wood-type ability, after all. He was born to farm!

Rice, corn, potatoes, sugarcane, tea, rapeseed, grapes, bayberries, red-fleshed pomelos... Not only did native crops flourish, he also cultivated countless new varieties, keeping his underlings so busy their heels were practically on fire.

They had to get a business going, too: making popcorn, frying potato chips, shaking milk tea, baking little cakes, pressing rapeseed oil, brewing fruit wine and vinegar... Within a hundred li, there wasn't a single city without one of his restaurants or workshops.

Ruthless rival merchants were green-eyed with envy. They hired people to spread slander, stole recipes, and threatened to monopolize the market... Their malicious tactics came in every variety imaginable. Like toads pretending to be frogs: ugly as sin and full of tricks.

Shen Chuan: If a bandit doesn't use force, do you really think I'm a pushover?

The underlings: Exactly! Do you think our boss is a pushover?

The husband for the stronghold, who loved to sulk: Aren't you?

Shen Chuan (grabbing him and kissing him hard): I only put up with your sulking. Who does he think he is?

*No favoritism toward either partner, and no trying to appease both sides. Fans who insist on taking sides, beware.

*The author is a stubborn, old-fashioned person from the last century. I do not accept unsolicited tutoring or writing advice of any kind.

Theme: You were born while I was still young; by the time I was born, you were already old.