Splendid Shennong: the World in the Palm of the Princess's Hands

In the eighth year of Qianyuan's reign, spring was extremely cold. I, Su Wanqing, was in a drafty thatched house in Huaihua Village, staring blankly at a hazy halo in the palm of my hand that only I could see. Yesterday, I was Su Wan, a doctor of agriculture, recording data in the experimental field; today, I am the eldest daughter of the Su family who was abandoned and raised in the countryside for nine years. Mrs. Zhang next door was again criticizing Sang and Huai: "The broom star who denies relatives, no matter how good-looking he is, he still has mud legs!" I looked down at my hands, which were white and shiny due to the nourishment of the spiritual spring, and smiled. Mud legs? Wait, my "legs of clay" are going to make a bright road. On the way to Beijing to find my father, I would also pick up a little beggar covered in blood and with eyes like a wolf cub. Many years later, Lu Huaijin, the powerful King of Rui, pressed me against the door of the palace's study room, breathing hotly: "Wanwan, that steamed bun back then was the sweetest thing I have ever eaten."