A short story inspired by an old Chinese poem A Song of Yue Person and a history record dated back from around 500 BC,

This story in the historical record only consisted of a few lines. But the romance between the Yue girl who sang the song and Lord Ejun has been immortalized for more than two thousand years because of her poem.

A chivalrous adventure fiction based on romanticized historical events in  the Spring and Autum and The Warring States Era of ancient China. The story is written from the perspective of the immortal peoples - Ying, Xuanye and Yue Maiden,  who lived, experienced, and recorded the history. 

Book 1 :
Yue Maiden saved a fugitive prince from Chu State who fled from a rebellion. The unlikely romance happened between them, and for thirteen years they lived happily.   Her love story and poem are immortalized forever in history. 

Book 2:
The story is about Ying the immortal who helped King Goujian of Yue to conquer the Wu State and wiped it off the map forever.  A  story of a beautiful young girl who turned into a sword forger who took a vow to be a sword of justice. 

Book 3:
Xuanye - the handsome and righteous immortal who became an immortal during the rebellion that toppled the Western Zhou Dynasty. He then helped the legitimate ruler and friends to found the Eastern Zhou Dynasty, and the Vassal State of Qin.

Compilation of poems reflecting the writer's actual emotion or feeling at the time the poem was written.

(All poems are mine and original. Pls. credit the quotes/lines/stanza/poem to me if you want it for reference. Thank you!)

Compilation of poems reflecting the writer's actual emotion or feeling at the time the poem was written.

(All poems are mine and original. Pls. credit the quotes/lines/stanza/poem to me if you want it for reference. Thank you!)

❤ fortimeneverwaits.blogspot.com ❤

NARRATIVE of WARD COURIER, Continued
June, 2009
SOUTH WALES, NY

Like a waif seeking shelter, Lys had fallen asleep with her head on my chest. I don't remember a tenderer moment. I was happy, looking forward to the progression of this affair, which it felt like it was destined to be. I was surprised at the way it had gone, after so many stops and starts and contradictions. I stayed awake another half hour, not moving so as to let her fall into a solid sleep.
She was gone when I woke. I don't know how or when she slipped out, but I think it was shortly before I came to. When I got to my first summer school class, I got a surprise.
The kids were grinning and making faces like they knew something was up. They usually don't laugh like that unless it involves something below the belt line. My fly wasn't down, so my mind went to other possibilities. It wasn't until I asked two counselors - members of the tennis team I coached - what was up that I got the answer.
Some of the counselors staying in the cottage on the hill were walking to breakfast about the time Lys pulled out in her top-down Beamer, probably in her mirror-lens Serengetis. They had seen her make the long, slow wind down my driveway to the road. At least ten campers had gotten a good look at her, and I know how she looked. The story of "Mr. Courier's Lucky Night" had made the rounds.
'Ah well,' I thought to myself. I don't like this sort of advertising around campus. I usually try to stay low-key. But you have to live your life.
****

NARRATIVE of WARD COURIER
July, 2009
The TOWN of ORCHARD PARK, NY

It was later in the summer, and Lys was off on another of her walkabouts. I had no clue when I would hear from her again except that it would be "a couple weeks." I'd had plenty of time to process things since our one dramatic conversation, and I needed it.
All Lys had told me about herself, her erratic button-pushing, her mood-swings from chilly to frenzied, her stymying behavior... The whole picture came together.
She was a stunningly attractive young woman driven to edgy act-outs. She had X-Games genes. She had been put off men by her overprotective - or possessive - father. She was driven to travel and pull up roots and push off entanglements everywhere she went. She left a trail of broken expectations wherever she touched down. Her only connection with Western New York was to her mother who wasn't going to live here long. She was like an autumn leaf, flying off a tree and drifting according to destiny. It was actually poetic. Based on what I knew of her and that one close conversation, I worked at and nearly completed a poem which I was trying to turn into a villanelle. It was just taking me some time to be sure it was proper even after it was outwardly finished. I meditated about it a lot.
I should tell you that I find the villanelle a damn hard thing to write. A villanelle is a very tightly structured poem of nineteen lines. It's got five three-line stanzas called tercets. It's got a four-line stanza at the end called a quatrain. That's the easy part, because there are prescribed repetitions of the same two lines.
Sylvia Plath ("Mad Girl's Love Song") and Dylan Thomas ("Do not go gentle...") wrote two wonderful twentieth-century villanelles. James Joyce put a good one into the work of his younger alter-ego, Stephen Dedalus, in "Portrait of the Artist..." I didn't think mine about Lys was anywhere near as good as theirs, though I do believe it held up as a poem and that it had some good lines and made some sense.
Because of the eight repetitions of the same two lines (they call that a dual refrain), the poem only has thirteen different lines in it. That might make it sound one line easier than a sonnet, which has fourteen. But then each of those repeating lines in the villanelle has to be even heavier.
There's no room for dead weight in a villanelle. There isn't in a sonnet, either, which feels like a tortuous form to some people. Sonnets are often rhymed, but a traditional sonnet has no fixed prescriptions but line number, and often line length. Pentameter - fundamentally, ten syllables per line - is customary in English, at least for poets who want to stay traditional. But the sonnet doesn't have to feature the repeating lines.
That, to me, is really the trick about the villanelle: those identically repeating lines. They not only have to appeal to the ear and the inner eye but they have to make condensed sense and be stitched so perfectly each time where they fall.
The villanelle is the Devil. I confess that I can't write a good one. I haven't yet, anyway.
I also thought about the relationship with Lys. I felt a sudden sense that I had let her down. If anyone ought to be wise and understanding, it should be someone who poses as wise and understanding. I realized that Lys' whole trip with me could have been an adult repetition of some of the discipline problems I had when I was a young teacher.
Not every act-out is a challenge that has to be met and conquered, though rookie teachers often see it that way. Sometimes act-outs are calls for attention, which is another way of calling for help. In an adult, amorous sense, this could have been the same thing with Lys. Compassion came over me, and admiration.
This girl may not have been sexually frozen, but she was amorously unusual. I got it. She didn't need a conquering hero, a canny 007, or a stern-lipped tough guy. She needed a man to be a bit of a big brother. Once I got that, my nurturing sense was touched.
It was during the period that I was working on that poem, that demon villanelle, and not knowing when I would see Lys again that I drove into a convenient in a nearby village to get some gas. I spotted Lys with a man and a woman about her age on their mountain bikes. They were getting air for the tires of one of the bikes and sipping on water bottles. There was no dirt on any of them, so I presume they were doing the roads.
"I just got in," Lys said, standing beside her Pete Fisher. "I was going to call you."
"No worries," I said, or something affable like that. It did take me by surprise to find her back and settled in. I would have counted on a little shout-out.
Lys looked OK. She actually was in a lot better emotional shape than I would have expected. She didn't introduce me to her friends, and I could tell by their lack of eye contact that they weren't interested in introductions. I did notice them. One was an athletic-looking, short-haired, middle-sized white guy. He looked like a clean-cut succeeder, good at anything he applied himself to. Same for the woman, who was sturdily built, short-haired, and attractive. I had the haunting sense that I had seen them both before, possibly with Lys in one of the pubs.
We made an arrangement to call each other and that was the end of it for awhile. I kept writing and playing tennis and enjoying the second half of my summer and otherwise living my life. People all grieve their own way, in their own time. I wouldn't want somebody asking me questions or passing judgements about what I had to do to work out the karma.




Author:
Author, teacher, storyteller, and supernatural historian Mason Winfield studied English and Classics at Denison University, earned a master’s degree in British literature at Boston College, and studied poetry and fiction at SUNY Buffalo with professor emeritus and MacArthur grant recipient Irving Feldman. He has written or edited fourteen books, including the regional sensation “Shadows of the Western Door” (1997) and “Iroquois Supernatural,” co-authored with Michael Bastine, on the traditions of the Six Longhouse Nations (Inner Traditions International/Bear & Company, 2011). Several of his surveys of upstate folklore and paranormal tradition may be found at the website of Western New York Wares: www.buffalobooks.com. He may be reached at www.masonwinfield.com.

An anatomically perfect human jaw fashioned of diamond-hard quartz crystal is uncovered at an Ohio burial mound and sold on the underground antiquities market. Shortly after, three pothunters are found dead.

A mysterious new drug suspected of South American origin surfaces in Buffalo, NY. Its unprecedented psycho-tropic effects include the momentary activation of ESP. 

Blind, speechless, emaciated street people start appearing in many parts of the world. An urban legend-cycle forms around them, and the name of a murderous old cult, “the Whistlers” attaches to them.

An archaeological team at a Mayan site reports finding a bizarre artifact and vanishes. 

An upstate schoolteacher’s book of New York legends and folklore foreshadows these developments and more. 

   These are the threads – plus his affair with a maddening woman – that draw narrator Ward Courier into the international adventure of occultism, terror, Native American tradition and onrushing prophecy that is Mason Winfield’s anticipated new novel THE WHISTLERS. By the time the picture of THE WHISTLERS becomes clear, we are ready to believe in a sinister conspiracy that could predate Atlantis and even hail from another world.



"You have a poem for us, Prof. Dog?" I was surprised by his sudden mention of poetry. I didn't think he was into that.
"Why yes! I brought a book with me." Prof. Dog pulled out Flowers of Evil. "Poetry is good with tea, woof. I will read to you a poem as you drink."
"Charles Baudelaire?" Isuru said after glancing at the cover.
"Yes, woof. A fine poet he was." He opened the book to a random page, cleared his throat and began:
beds of subtle fragrance shall be ours,
soft divans far deeper than a tomb,
fairer climes shall yield mysterious flowers
- flowers which for us were made to bloom.
After the first few lines of the poem, I was drawn by it. I found it sweet and romantic.
lavishing our final amorous hours there,
our flaming hearts shall merge and loom
in the twin mirrors of these souls of ours
- torches vast which side by side consume.
My eyes began to widen.
then some evening, rose and mystic blue,
charged with the sobbing woe of our adieu,
Love shall links us in one lightning-spark;
I looked at Isuru and began thinking about the future. We were putting our lives on the line just to stop Mako. How will our story come to an end? Will it be as tragic as the death of the lovers in the poem?
Prof. Dog recited the last verse:
later, shall the faithful angel fling
all the portals wide, illumining
the flameless torches and the mirrors dark.
He then closed the book. "So, do you like it, woof? It's called 'The Death of Lovers'."
Isuru sighed while I looked down sullenly.
"You have no taste in poems, woof."
Isuru glanced at me then back at Prof. Dog. "You could have at least chosen a happier one, Dog."
"You won't find any happy poems in this book, except maybe the wine poems, woof."
Isuru sighed.
After having our meals, Isuru and I parted ways with Prof. Dog.
I was still down about the poem as we walked by the river towards the bookshop. When we were halfway there, I suddenly stopped walking.
Isuru followed and looked back at me. "What's wrong?"
"Isuru, do you get the feeling that..." I stopped midsentence.
"That the poem was made for us or something?"
I nodded.
Isuru's calm gaze fell on the crimson flowers, the ones I noticed earlier that day. "The poem did sound it."
He plucked out a flower. "Fairer climes shall yield mysterious flowers."
"... flowers which for us were made to bloom," I continued.



"Aqua Chrysalis houses the most bizarre tenants who call each other by their animal code names. In this jungle of a building.I hate humans.

One moment they say they like something. Then, the next moment they say they hate it.

One moment they get along. The next moment they fight.

They're hopeless, hypocritical beings who are proud and weak.

They continue to hurt people. To destroy what they have in their hands.

In an endless cycle.

That's why I decided not to make any friends.

My name is Butterfly.

Well actually, my name is really Cho. My name means 'Butterfly', so people started calling me that. Since when? I don't remember.

I think the name suits me. Butterflies silently flutter about from flower to flower, watching the world unfold as time moves forward. And keeping distance from interfering in the business of others.

That is the kind of person I am."

The core principle of poetry was the usage of level and oblique tones.
As long as the same principle applied, Xu Qian's nine years of education from the future would give him an edge.
Xu Xinnian glanced at Xu Qian and raised his chin. "A bird in the sky, a worm on the ground, the bird swooped down, the worm flew up."
Xu Lingyue covered her mouth as she giggled. Xu Qian glared at her and she looked down, her cheeks pink.
'I want to punch him for spitting such poison…' Xu Qian gritted his teeth. The poem was written by the host when he was ten years old. That year, his aunt's father had come to teach the children the basics of literature.
The topic of poetry was touched upon and thus the ridiculous poem was born.
Li Ru said mockingly, "Ningyan, not that I want to look down on you but the Xu family only birthed one scholar and that is Little Nian. You and your uncle's penmanship can be equated to a squiggly worm. You want to craft a poem when you can't produce a legible writing?"
She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes as a noblewoman would.
Xu Pingzhi coughed awkwardly. "Ningyan, let's not interfere with the scholar's affairs. Today is an off day, let's train in the courtyard."
His words were a discouragement to Xu Qian, effectively telling him to stay out of the scholar's business lest he embarrassed his uncle.
Xu Qian said nonchalantly, "Thousand miles of yellow clouds darken the day."
His aunt rolled her eyes and ate her porridge.
His uncle wiped away the stains on his youngest daughter's lips.
Xu Xinnian frowned. A single sentence was not poetry but he was surprised Xu Qian could come up with such a proper seven-character sentence[1].
"The north wind stirs the geese and snow."
The line evoked a strong imagery in Xu Xinnian's mind. He was stunned.
Xu Lingyue raised her head. Her soulful eyes were transfixed on her cousin.
Xu Qian picked up his bowl of porridge and kept his lips sealed.
"What's the continuation?" Xu Xinnian asked. This was akin to a storyteller stopping at the climax of the story, a cliffhanger for everyone at the teahouse. Tune in for the next episode to know more.
It was incredibly frustrating.
"I don't know how to compose poems." Xu Qian threw a fleeting look at his aunt. She was a dignified woman with no intentions of apologizing.
Li Ru's animated eyes widened as she turned to Xu Xinnian and asked, "Is the poem good?"
Xu Lingyue replied softly, "It has an artistic flair to it." 
She had limited access to education but she could tell the poem was superb.
Xu Pingzhi was surprised by his children's responses. He turned to look at Xu Qian with a glint of hope and expectation in his eye.
Xu Qian chewed on his breadstick and effortlessly recited the last two lines of the poem. "Fear not a journey of loneliness, for you are not a stranger to the realm."
The chopsticks in Xu Xinnian's hand fell onto the table.
He repeated the lines and felt himself being enchanted by the poem's meaning.
Xu Lingyue shuddered as goosebumps appeared on the back of her hand.
Xu Pingzhi bit his lip and said, "Man, the poem gave me the chills."
Li Ru was in concordance with her husband but a part of her still disapproved of Xu Qian.
Poetry could elicit a reaction even in those outside the craft. One did not need to know about the level and oblique tones to appreciate the beauty of a poem that had been passed on for centuries.
Xu Qian understood their wonderment as he was once similarly taken aback by the rich poetry that filled his language textbook.
"Thousand miles of yellow clouds darken the day. The north wind stirs the geese and snow. Fear not a journey of loneliness, for you are not a stranger to the realm."
Xu Xinnian rose from his seat as a red blush colored his cheeks. The color made the handsome young man look charming.
The poem was exceptional!
Although poetry was not his strong suit, as a scholar, one was inclined to drink and wax poetic with other scholars. Good poetry would get them hammering a beat and rhythm as they sang passionately.
"Wh-When did you learn to compose poems?" Xu Xinnian stared at Xu Qian with bright, curious eyes.
Xu Qian chuckled and said, "I never said I couldn't. The poem from ten years ago cannot represent my skills today. I've always had talent for poetry but I never showcased it."
"So Ningyan was scholar material. If I had known, I would have sent you to study and Cijiu to martial arts lessons," Xu Pingzhi said with a grin.
His wife was unhappy with the situation but could not think of any smart retorts.
'No, if that had happened, none of us would have succeeded in life.' Xu Qian knew the host was a horrible student who would rather do hard labor.
Xu Xinnian also had no talent for martial arts. He was a delicate and frail boy who would not be able to handle the strenuous physical training that occasionally even involved weapons.
"Well, Ningyan wrote this poem. Cijiu, I'm sure you'll come up with your own. Copying is not a scholar's way," Xu Pingzhi said.
Xu Xinnian let out a huff, annoyed that his father thought he would plagiarize. He turned to Xu Qian and said, "Can I borrow your poem? I will name you as the poet."
'More like the plagiarizer.' Xu Qian nodded. "Go on, show it off."
A scholar's work had to be witnessed and acknowledged by others.
Xu Qian had intended for Xu Xinnian to use the poem to impress the Confucian elder. He cared not about who gets the writing credits.
Xu Qian was not a scholar so the poem was not useful to him. It was also why he did not use his literature knowledge for the past month.
His working environment was not suited for poetry.
He spent his day with a bunch of sword-wielding, gun-toting constables. Reciting poems to them was useless, he might as well teach them to sing 'The Lasso Boy'.
"The title of the poem?" Xu Xinnian asked.
Xu Qian froze. He had forgotten the title. "This poem is from my heart and has no name. Just speak it as such."
…
When breakfast was over, Xu Xinnian came out from the backyard with his father's favorite horse and rushed off for the farewell. Uncle and nephew engaged in sparring in the courtyard.
"Good. Your moves have improved. The next step would be Qi training. Qi requires the heavens and earth to interact for its birth." Xu Pingzhi took the towel offered by the servant and wiped his sweat. "Besides a herbal bath, you'll have to find someone with seventh-rank divinity to open Heaven's Gate. Else, you will never be able to unlock your Qi."
Divinity was the seventh rank in the path of a martial artist.
Xu Qian wiped his forehead and asked, "Uncle, what are you saying?"
"After the Battle of Shanhai Pass, my sacrifice and merit earned me a favor from the army's expert who opened the Heaven's Gate, allowing me to enter the realm of Qi. A year after the battle, I had Xinnian," Xu Pingzhi sighed. "The world today is peaceful, hence there'll be less chance for you to prove your worth. How will you achieve Qi training? Will you not marry and build a family? Ningyan, I'm getting old. My only wish is to see you married with children, only then will I be able to face your late father."
"One step at a time, uncle," Xu Qian replied half-heartedly.
Other than earning merit and proving his worth, money was also a viable option.
The herbs and the expert could be bought with money.
The imperial courts had strict control over the numbers of martial artists as they could use their skills for crime. The laws dictate the seventh-ranked divinity experts were not allowed to open the Heaven's Gate for any random person. They had to report to the courts even if they were doing it for their son.
However, the moral fabric of Dafeng was thin at that time. Corruption was rampant among the officials and the imperial courts' power wanes with each passing day. While no one dared to break the law in broad daylight, several experts offered their services in the black market.
Xu Qian just had to make enough money—the silvers would be equivalent to a meritorious deed.
Otherwise, he would forever be stuck in the refinement state while his penis wilted away.
His aunt brought her daughters over. They stood under the roof of the corridor. "The sun is out today, why don't you take Lingyin and Lingyue out to the markets?"
Xu Pingzhi frowned. "I have something on."
"Isn't today a rest day?"
"I'm meeting some colleagues soon. How about Ningyan take them out?"
The daughters of families with a literary reputation were closely guarded and not allowed to roam as they pleased.
The Xu family was a martial arts family, therefore the sisters' upbringing was not as strict.
Xu Qian turned around and met the clear and bright eyes of his teenage cousin. Appearance-wise, Xu Lingyue had surpassed her mother and more. She chewed her lip and looked away shyly.
He nodded and said, "I have nothing on anyways."
'I once brought a 16-year-old girl out shopping in my previous life. I was in my prime at the age of 18. Of course, the girl in my memories is not comparable to Xu Lingyue.'
[1] A seven-character quatrain is a form of poetry.


Once a police academy graduate—Xu Qian, woke up and found himself in jail. He was to be banished to the borderlands in three days...
Stuck in this inhumane society, his initial goal was just to be a rich man and pass his days in relative safety.
…
Many years later, Xu Qian recalled the events of the past. His enemies and friends were dead, there was nothing of them left but bones.
The rolling Yangtze River flows east as the waves wash away the heroes. 
Success or failure, wrong or right; matters little, it might?
The lush mountains remain while the sun sets every night.


Hearing what she said, Lu Yunshuang's heart plummeted. 
No wonder Grandmother's attitude toward her had significantly dulled when she was back this time around. It turned out that this was the problem. 
"Grandmother, I..."
"Do not listen to Weiwei's nonsense. Although I'm at an elderly age, I still have the energy to walk to the Mansion Gate," the Dowager Duchess interrupted. 
Lu Yunshuang's face turned pallor. 
When the Dowager Duchess was young, she had traversed through the battlefields along with the Duke and was nothing short of prestigious. However, now that she was at an old age, she had to greet and pay respects to her granddaughter. She was sure to feel uncomfortable in her heart.
Now that she heard what the Dowager Duchess had to say, Lu Yunshuang felt immensely anxious and remorseful. 
Before she came over today, she had consigned someone to hand Aunt Zheng a letter. However, she had forgotten to remind her to keep their plans simple in order not to startle Grandmother. 
She only thought of it when she arrived before the gate of the Duke Mansion. However, it was already too late. 
The Dowager Duchess did not express her vexation then, so she never took this incident to heart. 
Nevertheless, being called out by Lu Liangwei like that highlighted her lack of understanding, making her seem unfilial as she appeared not to pay any heed to the Dowager Duchess. 
She attempted to save the situation by saying something, but the Dowager Duchess had already begun to speak.
"It's now March, the season of spring where the grasses are tall, the nightingales are high in the air and the willow trees are green while the flowers bloom a bright red. Both of you can use this as the main topic and compose a poem about it," she said. 
After a momentary pause, she sent a glance toward Lu Liangwei. "It does not have to be self-composed. If there are any good lines from the books you've read, you can write it down as well," she added. 
The instructions obviously benefitted Lu Liangwei. 
Due to Lu Liangwei's usual capricious behavior, she had never done well in her studies. 
Feeling extremely disdainful, Lu Yunshuang shot Lu Liangwei a condescending stare. 
The Dowager Duchess's good intentions might all go to waste.
Other than her face, which was still somewhat useful, Lu Liangwei was a lowly educated and unskilled dimwit. 
Even if she was assigned the task of copying lines of a poem word by word from a book, she might not know how to do so. 
Lu Yunshuang remained silent as she smiled subtly. Holding up her sleeve with one hand and using the other to raise the brush then dip it in the ink, she appeared to ponder on her thoughts momentarily, then raised her head and proceeded to write on the paper right away. 
Her finesse stunned Long Chi, whose eyes glimmered in fascination immediately. 
He could not help but leave the audience seat and make his way to stand behind Lu Yunshuang. 
As his gaze fell on the paper, he could not resist reciting the words aloud. "The prettiest scenery capable of arousing my poetic heart lies in the start of spring, where the willow leaves have just emerged in unevenly colored pale yellow buds. If we waited till the flowers in Shanglin came to full bloom, we'd see people admiring the flowers everywhere once we stepped out of our rooms."[1]
Long Chi recited each of the sentences word by word. Coupled with his clear, melodious voice, the poem was capable of touching the hearts of many. 
After reciting, Long Chi mused upon the imagery described in the poem. He could not hide the glint of admiration in his eyes. "Shuanger, what a good poem!" he exclaimed.
The Dowager Duchess also nodded. "Shuanger's poem is fascinating. The words she used emanates the dignified style of a noble person," she commented. 
Upon hearing her daughter receiving praises from the Crown Prince and the Dowager Duchess, Aunt Zheng felt delighted, even more so than being on the receiving end of praises. 
She was high-spirited and extremely pleased. 
Lu Liangwei was not the slightest bit affected. To begin with, she did not know how to compose poems, but she had read a few classical poem books back in the present. Therefore, it would not be difficult for her to copy down a few good poems. 
Anyway, the Dowager Duchess had told them that if they did not know how to compose poems, they could always copy lines from other poems. 　　
She noticed the cherry blossoms in full bloom in the courtyard and pondered for a while before writing down a poem on the paper. 
"On this very day, last year at this very gate, faces and cherry blossoms both bloomed red. The faces are now in places unknown, yet the cherry blossoms still beam in the spring wind."[2]
Her voice was soft. When she recited the poem, her intonation had the soft and tender hush used by those who came from Jiangnan.
Furthermore, her expression was exceptionally serious when writing the poem. As she raised her head, her hair slid off her shoulder to expose her graceful, fair neck under the sunlight. 
...
[1] Lines from a Tang Dynasty poem.
[2] Lines from a Tang Dynasty poem.


Lu Liangwei wakes up to find herself transmigrated as a supporting character in the novel she had been reading a few days ago. According to the novel, this character has everything—beauty, wealth, status—except brains. Before Liangwei had taken over, she even went as far as to hang herself for the male protagonist that she loved: the Crown Prince as well as her sister's lover. Now that she has become a "brand new" person, it is time for her to turn her life around with charm and wit! She will get everyone to fall in love with her, even the Crown Prince's uncle—the Emperor! Who needs a prince when you can become the Empress herself?

It was already the afternoon and Angeal, Arlo, Arvid, Frey, and Dharvey were already having their classes. Usually in the afternoon, each of them would be having their major classes of their degree so they don't usually meet each other unless they plan to go home together.
Angeal was in her Stylistics class, listening to Professor Leon. He was already telling the class what tasks they would be doing for the week, already giving them what they would have to do today.
It was also known to the class that Professor Leon is Angeal's father. When they knew about it through rumors that spread ironically from the faculty room, the people who knew were surprised and now understood why their resemblance is uncanny.
Angeal looked like the female version of Professor Leon. Other than that, they both share the same interest in writing—the difference is that Professor Leon lived to teach how to write, and Angeal learned to make stories.
"Now," Professor Leon said as he wrote two titles of a poems on the board, the eyes of the students focused on it. "We would be doing The Passionate Shepherd and The Nymph's Reply."
When the students read the two titles on the board, most of them weren't familiar of the titles. They stared at Professor Leon expectantly, waiting for him to explain further what they are about to do for today's class.
Since this is Stylistics class, the students already expected what they were about to do.
Stylistics is a branch of applied linguistics concerned with the study of style in texts, especially, but not exclusively, in literary works.
Also called literary linguistics, stylistics focuses on figures, tropes, and other rhetorical devices used to provide variety and a distinctness to someone's writing.
If not a short story or a novel to study, sometimes, poems can be used for literary studies in Stylistics.
"We will be studying two poems today namely, 'The Passionate Shepherd To His Love' by Christopher Marlowe, and "The Nymph's Reply To The Shepherd' by Sir Walter Raleigh. For further information, Christopher made his poem in the year 1599, and Walter's, in the year 1600."
As everyone was about to reach out to their phones for them to do a research, Professor Leon called out their attention by clapping his hands thrice, surprising most of his students to stop them from using their smartphones.
"Hey, if you search everything on the net, what will you learn?" he reprimanded, everyone's eyes on him as he leaned on his desk, continuing to speak. "You are to study two poems, correct? We have discussed about ways on how to study poems the other day, now I want you to do just that."
With what Professor Leon had instructed, everyone got their notebook instead, getting a piece of paper at the same time to jot down what they have observed from the two poems.
"Since you are given two poems, you are going to do comparing and contrasting. Once you start, you would find it interesting—the connection of the two poems," he said further as he flashed on the white board the two poems, beside each other.
The moment the two poems flashed before the students, most of them smiled, seeing how each stanza of the different poems came out to be replying to each other.
"Now with what I told you, you are given the whole period to do your study about the poems. Five minutes before the bell rings, submit your papers then you are free to go."
With the instructions now finalized, everyone went silent as they read the poem, the students already making notes before doing an in-depth analysis of each.
Angeal, however, read each poem at the same time, reading one stanza for the other, and another stanza for the second. In this way, she would see how the two poems were connected.
***
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE
First:
Come live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield,
THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD
First:
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
***
From the first stanzas of the two poems, Angeal wrote on her notes the two characters namely the shepherd and the nymph. Since the poem was made in 1599, obviously, the poem by Sir Walter Raleigh was made to reply to the poem Christopher Marlowe had done.
***
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE
Second:
There will we sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD
Second:
Time drives the flocks from field to fold.
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complain of cares to come.
***
From what Angeal has read from the first poem, she deduced that it was a pastoral lyric—a poetry that expresses emotions in an idyllic setting. It is associated with Shepherds writing music to their flocks. The tradition goes back to David in the bible and Hesiod, the Greek poet.
As for the Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd, Angeal has yet to read more in order for her to deduce what else she would find out.
"Hmm…" 
Angeal tapped the tip of her pen on the table as she blankly stared at the poem by Sir Walter Raleigh, mumbling to herself at the same time. 
"This is more than just a reply."
"That's right."
When Professor Leon spoke, Angeal was startled for a bit as she did not notice that the professor was actually behind her, getting everyone's attention as each student looked at their instructor.
"The poem by Sir Walter Raleigh is more than just a reply to the shepherd. Look closely—read between the lines. Look at its theme—look at the words used. Do not only skim above the surface."
With his reminder said, he continued walking about in the room, the students continuing their task at hand. 
Angeal then continued reading the following stanzas of the poems, in hopes that she would understand what she was missing.


"Devin, do you love me?"

Hearing her question that had snapped him out of his thoughts, the Soul Eater opened his eyes slowly to meet her blue eyes once more. He smiled foolishly as his right hand reached out to her face, his thumb caressing her bottom lip.

"Is that a question you dare ask your husband?"

Angeal pouted like a child. 

"Tell me you love me... or I’ll cry."

Devin chuckled, making Angeal pout more as she narrowed her eyes at him. When Devin ceased his jovial laughter, he didn’t answer her question. Instead, he bent down as he pulled her closer to him, his lips smoothly landing on hers to give her a loving kiss. 

’I love you, Angeal. Before I even knew it, my heart yearned for you.’

~

Punished by the Almighty Seraphim, Devin was branded a fallen angel and was given a curse to become a Soul Eater—a being who is hungry for souls and feeds on them for sustenance.

Devin was bound on earth, looking for clues on how to cure his irrevocable curse until a desperate old man saw the Soul Eater and begged him to save his newborn granddaughter’s life.

However... it comes with the price of selling both of their souls. 

With the old man giving both of their lives to the Soul Eater, what path lies ahead for Angeal as she grows in a house full of magical immortals?

~

The Almighty Seraphim sighed, shaking herself from her thoughts. She then spoke, planting more curiosity in the mind of the Dominion who was watching over the Soul Eater. 

"Continue watching over them. She is his cure, but it will lead her to oblivion.”

~

With the Soul Eater cursed and with them eventually knowing that the sweet innocent girl he saved is the cure, will their relationship be a boon or a bane?

Will they perhaps have sweet love, forbidden love... or maybe even both?

With the given thoughts at hand, will fate bless their lives... or curse them even more?

Let us know the answers to these questions as we unravel the story of Angeal being the Soul Eater’s Possession.

~

[WARNING: Some chapters may contain mature R-18 content.]

[FYI: This book is also a SLOW BURN romance. If you don’t appreciate slow burns, feel free to take a chance on this book if you want to. *wink*]

Volume 1: Nunc Domum
When the Soul Eater, Devin, and his personal servant, Ivar, found no clues about the curse, they finally went home after 18 years. However, when the two arrived in the mansion, Devin's curse suddenly went amok when he met the human girl, Angeal. What could be the girl's involvement in his curse?

Volume 2: Est Ignotum
As the immortals and the mortals spent their days with each other, they are more confused than ever with not only with the feelings they have for a certain person, but also with their background, with their loyalty, and with what lies ahead. To them, there are a lot of things that are unknown...

Volume 3: Actio Culmen Cadentia
The peak of their lives had finally arrived as secrets and revelations, stirring their judgments and what they believe in. As they all go on with their lives, what will they decide for others, and of course, for themselves?

Volume 4: Et Requiem
With all the events that had transpired, each one of them had started to question one's judgment and decisions. Now that these actions had been falling, what will Devin, Angeal, and everyone do to face what's ahead of them?

Volume 5: Insidiamini Torquet
Everyone's lives are now practically caught in series of unexpected twists and turns. As they are to face the challenges that are thrown at them, what would everyone do as everyone is in it for a shocking revelation about their fate? Will they fight for friendship, freedom, or for love?

~

Update Schedule:
Every first day of the month, story ends on December 2021.

Cover commissioned to: Chainslock

Entry for Webnovel Spirity Awards Spring 2020

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The next day, Yujia ran across Yu Zixu. She found him in Lingxin's private library when she went there in the morning to study. There were three days left before her deadline of a week to please her master with her artistic improvement, so studying always helped. 
Normally, she liked to wake up early to go to the library because it meant that no other disciples were there. Though they were all her senior brothers, she wasn't close with most of them and only talked to a few individuals like Jiang Muyun. Also, it seemed like the pestering Rong Yuan, who also, sadly, happened to be a fellow disciple, heard that Yujia frequented the library. So now, on a few occasions, she ran into him. 
That was why Yujia always went in the morning now. She figured out Rong Yuan and her master were both pretty similar in terms of their schedule: neither of the two liked to wake up early. 
When she opened the door and walked in, noticing the presence of someone else, Yujia was a little disappointed. She liked studying alone, but now there was another person here. She could only pray that it wasn't Rong Yuan, who she was now trying to avoid like the plague after her past few encounters with him. 
Stepping a little closer, however, she recognized this individual's face between the spacing of the shelves— and thank the heavens, it wasn't Rong Yuan. 
The person was Zixu, all focused on a book that he had pulled off the shelf. His attention was completely absorbed in the book— his eyebrows knitted, head tilted down, and lips pressed together.
Now that she knew who it was, she didn't quite mind his presence. A mischievous smile surfaced on her lips, and Yujia crouched and crept over silently to Zixu's shelf, on the other side of where he was standing. Then, she leapt up, fitting her face in the open space that showed Zixu's, exclaiming, "Surprise!" 
Zixu didn't even flinch. He slowly looked up after finishing the sentence he had been reading, blinking when he saw her face. "Oh. Junior Sister. I didn't expect to see you here."
"Aw, you're no fun," Yujia complained with a sigh, dropping her hands and walking over to Zixu's side. "You didn't get scared by me at all? Or surprised?"
"I heard you the moment you opened the door. There was no surprise factor," he answered straightforwardly. 
Rolling her eyes, Yujia hummed, "I'm going to catch you unaware someday. Just you wait."
At this, Zixu closed his book, looking over. His gaze seemed perfectly serious, but Yujia noticed that his lips were curled up in amusement. "I'll look forward to that day, if it ever arrives."
"What are you reading?" Yujia inclined her head over, trying to read the title, which was half covered by Zixu's sleeve.
Zixu moved his sleeve aside. "Just studying some poetry. I need to improve more for the imperial examination."
Yujia nodded thoughtfully. In one of her discussions with Ye Yunhe, she found out that they were holding an irregular palace examination that would come up soon. Contrary to the normal examinations, usually held in the first month of the year, this irregular examination occured because the Emperor wanted to find new talents. Unlike normal tests, which covered more specific fields, the irregular examination would be very diverse in topics. Thus, though it made it more challenging to score better results for these tests, the rewards were greater. Many were interested in earning themselves a first or second-rank graduate title. 
She also found out from Yunhe that despite the fact that Lingxin Academy seemed like a very specialized school for art, there were many esteemed scholars as teachers and resources for all students too. The focus of Lingxin was on art and calligraphy, but each year, they submitted plenty of successful students to the examinations. Hence, this allowed the school to stand at the same level as other renowned schools, such as Taixue, Guojian, and the Four Gates School.
Lingxin also stood out not only as a result of its success, but also because of its method of acceptance. Students who wanted to enroll in Taixue, Guojian, and Four Gates must come from families with officials above rank eight. Meanwhile, Lingxin did not discriminate between ranks, letting talent, not family background, dictate an individual's ability to enroll. This complemented the beliefs of the Emperor, so Lingxin was widely known as the Emperor's favorite academy. 
When examination season came along, Lingxin always provided any students who were interested in taking exams plenty of resources and teachers. For people like Zixu, who became disciples of the masters at Lingxin, they would be allowed to use even more resources to study, such as Lingxin's private library, which had more materials than the public one. 
Yujia looked at the current shelf Zixu was looking at books from. Judging from the titles, they all had something to do with poetry. She didn't know if they would test an individual's poetry skills in the examination, but since Zixu was studying for it, they probably would. 
"You were paying a lot of attention to this book when I walked in," she noted. 
"Yes," Zixu agreed, "I do like poetry quite a bit. These," he glanced down at his book, "are poems from Tao Yuanming. His work focuses on the plain simplicity of the natural world's beauty. I think that the things he writes might resonate with you more than me, actually. He talks about wine quite a bit."
Zixu gave her a wry smile that she returned with a laugh.
Wine. Of course that would resonate with her. 
Yujia recognized Tao Yuanming, however. In the future, many centuries later, he would be recorded as one of the great poets. She had read quite a few of his poems in her past life. He also wrote an influential piece about an utopia, Peach Blossom Spring. This piece of prose would be renowned as well. 
"There's one particular poem that I was focused on," Zixu said, flipping to the page he was just at. They were the five poems of Returning to Gardens and Fields. Then he read them out loud. 
"At the gate and courtyard—no murmur of the World's dust:
In the empty rooms—leisure and deep stillness.
Long I lived checked by the bars of a cage:
Now I have turned again to nature and freedom."
"This entire poem resonates with me, but these lines conclude it all very well," Zixu considered, thinking his thoughts out loud. "It adds onto the layers and depth of the entire work. If I were to write a poem for the examination, I would like to write something similar to this, though of course— it wouldn't be quite at this level. Tao Yuanming's work is truly great." 
Yujia smiled. "I trust that you have the capability to." 
As she said so, she couldn't help thinking back to the full poem set. She read it before and even memorized it for class. Those lines just read aloud may resonate with Zixu, but what Yujia thought back to upon seeing the poem were its previous lines, unspoken:
"The migrant bird longs for the old wood:
The fish in the tank thinks of its native pool."


At 24 years old, Yang Yujia is an unemployed art major, living off heavy debt and instant noodles. During a high-school reunion, Yujia gets drunk, does stupid things, and when she wakes up again, Yujia is no longer in the correct world, time-period, or body. 

Unfortunately, as a transmigrator, Yujia does not seem to have much luck either— instead of transmigrating with a set of stunning martial arts skills, knowledge that would aid her in troubling situations, or a position of royalty that would make her life much easier, Yujia is the fourth (illegitimate) daughter of a small merchant. And what skills does she have to help her survive this world?

A pretty face, witty mouth, and useless artistic talent?

Good enough. 

...

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"Student Li Xiao Bai greets both teachers." Li Xiao Bai walked up the stage and said politely.
Great Scholar Shen smiled at him, nodding.
Meanwhile, Teacher Jiang of this school asked: "Xiao Bai, do you have any poems?"
Teacher Jiang had a bit of worry shown between his brows. This Xiao Bai was very ordinary in talent, hopefully he had some sort of preparation before this, otherwise with his current standards, this would be a disappointing show.
It was okay if he was the only person disappointed, but right now with Great Scholar Shen here… Especially when the first half of this competition was very interesting and would become renowned in the world, if the later half was disappointing, everyone in the world would know that Teacher Jiang was a talented person but could not teach young talents himself.
"Teacher, I have a poem prepared." Li Xiao Bai immediately answered, he was quite confident.
"Then let us hear it." Teacher Jiang was slightly more assured now.
This Profound Literature grotto-heaven was not like any other place, it had a flourishing literary culture.
If anyone could make a good poem, even if nobody rewards them, heaven and earth would provide them benefits!
Thus, the art of creating poems was an important task, it directly affected the person's livelihood, status, reputation, and future.
Normally speaking, most scholars would accumulate their foundation and save some good poem lines as secrets, even if they could not compose a poem with those lines, they would save it for the future.
Thus, even though many scholars could create great poems, they would not publish them. They would conceal their strength and use them to deal with difficult poem competitions.
Because of this, it was not strange or surprising that Li Xiao Bai had a poem prepared.
Li Xiao Bai had his considerations.
"I have read countless poems in my life, most are world shocking creations, they are famous on Earth even after thousands of years, and after such a long time, the literature on Earth flourished greatly."
"But if I try to use these poems, it will be a problem!"
"This grotto-heaven world has an information path environment, it most excels at collecting information. Especially the method to observe literary qi and talent qi, almost everybody has such methods, they only vary in the depth of abilities."
"I lack literary qi and talent qi, before I used soul replacement, this was just an ordinary student. By creating a world shocking poem now, not only would people not believe me, they would also be suspicious and start investigating me."
"Even if I try to explain that it is not my work afterwards, it would be too late. I'd be seen as dishonest, in this world, everyone will despise and loathe me."
Fang Yuan had planned many things before infiltrating Profound Literature grotto-heaven to deal with all sorts of situations.
The clone Li Xiao Bai lacked literary qi and talent qi to begin with, it was not that Fang Yuan's own talents were lacking.
However, Li Xiao Bai had a large number of famous poems in his memories, other than those from Earth, there were also Fang Yuan's own creations.
Thus, Li Xiao Bai chose one of them and started to recite.
Teacher Jiang let out a breath of air, this poem was quite well constructed, it was barely living up to the standards of today's competition.
"What, it is nothing impressive."
"I sat beside Li Xiao Bai for three years in class, this is way beyond his usual standards, hahaha."
"Isn't that great? With his poem as the anchor, the next two winners will be very lucky."
The students below the stage became increasingly lively.
Even though Li Xiao Bai's poem was quite compatible with his known abilities, he still had many more talented classmates around.
Especially when some students had many precious poems that they prepared already in advance.
These poems were composed meticulously by them, using a lot of time and effort to create, they were too good for other situations, but this was an appropriate setting to use them.
When the drums started rolling and the red flower got passed around, these elite students became very excited, their eyes were shining.
The drums stopped.
Most of the students were disappointed, why were they not chosen?
Next, their eyes turned red, it was him again!
The red flower stopped at Li Xiao Bai's table.
"Oh?" Li Xiao Bai was also quite surprised.
"The rules are the rules, you can come up again." Great Scholar Shen laughed as he shook his head.
Teacher Jiang got worried again, according to Li Xiao Bai's nature and foundation, he had already performed above standard last time, this time…
But Li Xiao Bai started to recite his poem again.
This poem was on the same level as the previous one.
Teacher Jiang finally relaxed as he looked at Li Xiao Bai with a gentler expression: "It seems that even though this student is not as talented, he is very hardworking, he stored up two poems as backup. These two should be his own creation, it was not easy that he managed to compose them."
Li Xiao Bai did not put up a shameful performance, Teacher Jiang was very glad about it.
"The final person."
"Both chances went to Li Xiao Bai, sigh, that was truly bad luck!"
"If I had gone on stage, the two great scholars would definitely be pleasantly surprised. But I was not given a chance."
"I wonder who will get the third chance? If it is not me, I hope it is not them either."
The students were unable to sit still, they had their own thoughts as they lost their cool.
The drums rolled as the students looked at the red flower with bloodshot eyes.
"Pass it to me! Pass it to me!"
"Sigh, it has passed me… I hope the drumming continues and it makes its way to me again."
"Bang!"
The drums stopped abruptly with a loud sound.
Great Scholar Shen opened his eyes as he smiled: "Who is it this time, ugh."
He was dazed, a strange expression was shown on his face as he pointed at the final lucky star, he did not know whether to cry or laugh: "Why is it you again?"
Li Xiao Bai held the flower as he walked up the stage with a grim expression.
He first cupped his fists at the two scholars before turning to the students below the stage: "Fellow classmates, I really did not do this intentionally, getting up the stage thrice is less of a surprise and more of a shock to me. I know that most of you are more talented than me, but I have to recite three times, I sincerely apologize."
Originally, his classmates were shocked and furious, but after hearing Li Xiao Bai's words and expression, the anger in their hearts dissipated.
In fact, a portion of the people started to feel pity for Li Xiao Bai.
After all, Li Xiao Bai's talent and literary skills were inferior to them, wasn't he suffering by going up the stage?
"Your luck is too incredible. Forget it, start reciting." Teacher Jiang laughed as he spoke.
Li Xiao Bai started his recital again, the standard was ordinary but the final line was quite impressive.
Even though it was just a minor point, it elevated the entire poem to a new level.
Not only did Great Scholar Shen laugh and praise it, even Teacher Jiang was a little surprised: "The final line of your poem is quite interesting. How did you conceptualize it?"
Li Xiao Bai smiled bitterly: "Teacher, I don't dare to lie, this poem had only three lines originally, I thought of and added the final line earlier when I was anxious, to think that both sirs would enjoy it, I was also quite surprised!"
Teacher Jiang was stunned before laughing loudly.
Great Scholar Shen shook his head: "Li Xiao Bai, you are very honest."
It turned out that he had used a method secretly to inspect Li Xiao Bai's literary qi and talent qi, he obtained information that this person had quite an ordinary talent.
"But it is not something rare that he can have a flash of inspiration and perform better than normal." Great Scholar Shen had no suspicions.
Teacher Jiang reassessed Li Xiao Bai in a new light.
He looked at Li Xiao Bai inconspicuously as he thought: "Even though Li Xiao Bai is very ordinary in talent, he is very hardworking normally, that is how he had three poems prepared. Being able to gain inspiration and make up the verse on the spot shows that he has potential. But the best thing about him is that he said those words earlier before the third round, he apologized to his classmates, that was his good interpersonal skills. Being able to articulate as well as his writing, and sophisticated in human interaction, he is not bad."
"Wait." Teacher Jiang suddenly thought: "This competition is going to be famous in the world, my reputation has already spread throughout the world before this, that is not key. But Li Xiao Bai is going to become famous from this, if there were three students who performed, it would be less impactful, but he actually took all three chances, this way, he will be the center of attention."
"After ending in a draw against Brother Shen, nobody will find me for a duel in the short period. But there might be some devious people who would target my student in order to affect me!"
And the problem was, Li Xiao Bai was a common and ordinary student.
Teacher Jiang frowned as he made up his mind: "After this, I need to nurture Li Xiao Bai and secretly give him tuition! After this competition, everyone will know that Li Xiao Bai is my student. Even though I have many students, he is the only famous one."
"In the future, if anyone mentions Li Xiao Bai, my name will also come up. Our reputation is already tied together, I need to nurture him well, otherwise…"
Teacher Jiang felt very pressured, he decided to make sure Li Xiao Bai was a proper scholar even if he had to spend a huge amount of effort and resources. Even if he was a cheap piece of wood, he needed to be carved into jade in appearance!
Central Continent, Fei He mountain.
Gu Liu Ru stopped his killer move as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, he let out a breath of air: "It is done, his immortal aperture time has been shifted to its limit, he will face calamities and tribulations very often."
"Thank you for the hard work." Qin Ding Ling smiled as she looked at the sleeping Gu Yue Fang Zheng, suddenly, she gasped.
"What is it?" Gu Liu Ru asked in confusion.
Qin Ding Ling said: "I was using a killer move to inspect luck, I found that after your killer move was activated, Fang Zheng's luck changed again. His original luck was like a hill, lush and squarish, but now it has turned into… hmm… it looks like a pot lid."
Gu Liu Ru was very perplexed: "What premonition is this?"
Qin Ding Ling shook her head, she was troubled too: "In the short term, I cannot understand it."
Two months later.
A certain news made Fang Yuan's main body stop his cultivation.
"I finally found out the location of Dragon Palace."
"Good, I have basically learned all the qi path methods there are, I should act in advance and steal this Immortal Gu House in secret before Heavenly Court does!"


With his Three Fundamental Views* unrighteous, the demon is reborn.
An old dream in the ancient days, a new author with an identical name.
An old story about a time traveler who was constantly being reborn.
An eccentric world that grows, cultivates, and uses Gu. 
The Spring Autumn Cicada, Moonlight Gu, Liquor worm, Comprehensive Golden Light Worm, Fine Black Hair Gu, Hope Gu. . . . . .
And a peerless great demon that freely acts to his heart’s content.
Translator's Synopsis: 
A story of a villain, Fang Yuan who was reborn 500 years into the past with the Spring Autumn Cicada he painstakingly refined. With his profound wisdom, battle and life experiences, he seeks to overcome his foes with skill and wit! Ruthless and amoral, he has no need to hold back as he pursues his ultimate goals. In a world of cruelty where one cultivates using Gu - magical creatures of the world - Fang Yuan must rise up above all with his own power.
--------------------------------
Gu is a legendary venomous insect, often used in black magic practices. It can take on the form of several insects, usually snakes, crickets, worms etc.
* = one's world view, values of worth and philosophy on life 


To pick is to choose. This is a story about choices. Three thousand worlds full of gods and demons, with a daoist scroll in your hand, you are able to control the entire universe…

At the beginning of time, a mystical meteor came crashing down from outer space and scattered all over the world. A piece of it landed in the Eastern Continent, with mysterious totems carved upon it. Through the observation of these totems, humankind comprehended the Dao and established the Orthodoxy.

Several thousand years later, the fourteen years old orphan Chen Changsheng left his master to cure his illness and change his fate. He brought a piece of marriage vow with him to the capital, thus began the journey of a rising hero.

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