Time is a silent river.
It washes over the urban village in Anhe County.
It etches deeper the wrinkles on Ye Sanqi’s face.
And it carries the infant in swaddling clothes, shaping her into a healthy, resilient girl.
Ye Ruoxi.
She is seven years old.
This household holds two worlds.
One belongs to Ye Sanqi.
The other belongs to Zhang Cuilan.
Ye Ruoxi lives in the crevice between them.
Ye Sanqi’s world is warm.
He leaves for the construction site before dawn.
Returns long after dark.
His clothes always carry the grit of labor and the scent of sweat.
But he brings things back for Ye Ruoxi.
Sometimes, an apple from the worksite—one he couldn’t bear to eat himself.
Sometimes, a crushed biscuit.
Sometimes, nothing at all.
Only his calloused, yet tender hands.
He uses them to ruffle Ye Ruoxi’s hair.
To clumsily tie her uneven pigtails.
His pockets hold little money.
But he gives her every ounce of his gentleness.
Zhang Cuilan’s world is cold.
She speaks sparingly.
Her gaze is like the moss-covered well in the courtyard—
bottomless.
The chill is most palpable at the dinner table.
Zhang Cuilan picks the largest piece of meat from the pot and places it in Ye Sanqi’s bowl.
"Eat more. Your work is hard."
She meticulously gathers the remaining scraps into her own bowl.
Then slides the dish of vegetable broth toward Ye Ruoxi.
Ye Ruoxi’s bowl is always filled with rice.
Sometimes, a few wilted greens.
Never meat.
Ye Sanqi notices.
He splits his portion in half and gives it to Ye Ruoxi.
"Eat, Xixi. You’re growing," he says with a smile.
Zhang Cuilan stays silent.
But she sets down her chopsticks.
The air in the room freezes.
Ye Ruoxi learned early to read moods.
She devours the meat in haste.
Then bows her head, shoveling plain rice into her mouth.
Pretending nothing happened.
Ye Ruoxi is quiet.
Unlike the village children who run wild, she prefers crouching by the wall, watching ants march.
For hours.
She collects pebbles too.
Arranges them in rows by size and color.
Ye Sanqi doesn’t understand.
But he thinks his daughter is special—bright.
Zhang Cuilan calls her a freak.
Once, Aunt Wang visits.
She and Zhang Cuilan sit in the yard, snapping beans.
"Cuilan, you’re blessed," Aunt Wang says enviously.
"Your girl’s sharp. My brat just plays in the mud all day."
Zhang Cuilan snorts.
"Blessed? More like cursed. What’s the use of brains? She’s not a son. Once grown, she’ll belong to another family."
"Don’t say that," Aunt Wang murmurs.
"Rumor has it your own mother rushed your marriage for your brother’s dowry. Barely took any bride price. Weren’t you bitter then?"
Zhang Cuilan’s face pales.
She hurls the beans into the basin.
"Shut your mouth! None of your business!"
Her venomous eyes land on the small, silent figure by the wall.
Ye Sanqi knows none of this.
He only knows his daughter must go to school.
Using a month’s overtime pay, he enrolls her.
Buys her a brand-new backpack printed with bunnies.
Zhang Cuilan erupts.
"Twenty yuan for a bag! Madness!"
"She’s studying, not parading!"
"That money could buy meat for five days!"
Ye Sanqi stays mute.
Just polishes the backpack over and over.
Then presents it solemnly to Ye Ruoxi.
"Study hard, Xixi. Aim for Jingzhou University."
He doesn’t truly grasp what that means.
Only overheard at the worksite that Jingzhou University exists.
If Xixi gets in, she won’t toil like him.
She’ll sit in bright rooms, live well.
Ye Ruoxi starts school.
A new window opens in her world.
Beyond it, sights she’s never seen:
Strange symbols on the blackboard.
Neat characters in textbooks.
She memorizes them at a glance.
Sings songs after one listen.
Solves arithmetic before others count fingers.
Her first midterms:
Full marks in Chinese.
Full marks in math.
The only perfect scores in her grade.
Ye Sanqi attends the parent-teacher meeting.
In his faded blue jacket, he perches on a tiny stool, uneasy.
The teacher calls Ye Ruoxi’s name.
"Ye Ruoxi is our grade’s most gifted student."
"Her memory and comprehension surpass her peers."
"Mr. Ye, you’ve raised an exceptional daughter. She’ll go far."
Ye Sanqi freezes.
Half a lifetime, and this is his first "Mr."
First public praise.
Because of his girl.
His sun-darkened face flushes.
He nods and grins, speechless.
That night, he buys pork head and cheap liquor.
Drunk, he clutches Ye Ruoxi’s hand, repeating:
"My good girl… my good girl…"
Tears drip into his cup.
He wraps the test papers in plastic.
Next day, he shows them at the worksite.
"Look! My daughter’s perfect scores!"
His voice booms with pride, as if holding the world’s rarest treasure.
Workers crowd around.
Most illiterate, but they recognize the red "100"s.
"Old Ye, your girl’s born for books!"
"Future top scholar!"
Ye Sanqi beams.
The backbreaking labor feels weightless.
But home smothers his joy.
Zhang Cuilan stares blankly.
"First place won’t fill her stomach or pay bills."
She tosses the papers aside like trash.
"Aunt Wang mentioned her nephew’s diner needs a child bride. Eight thousand in dowry."
She scrubs dishes, casual.
"With that money, we could rebuild the house."

d intelligence to keep the plot moving, and sometimes even the protagonists are forced into absurdly dumb decisions. Why does the A-list celebrity heroine in urban romance novels ditch the top-tier movie star and become a lovestruck fool for a pockmarked male lead? Why do the leads in historical tragedy novels keep dancing between love and death, only for the blind healer to end up suffering the most? And Gu Wei never expected that after finally landing a villain role to stir up trouble, she’d pick the wrong gender! No choice now—she’ll just have to crush the protagonists as a girl!

ver to a world of cultivation and returned invincible. Modern medicine is child's play compared to elixirs; technological might crumbles before true cultivation. My name is Qin Ning, Earth's sole cultivator!

transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”

rowess are unmatched, commanding a million-strong army! Yet, the Emperor wants to depose him for the sake of a false prince? Hold on, are you throwing me into some female-oriented romance plot? How can I tolerate this? With a grand wave of his hand—the Nine Clan Extraction Technique! Slander the Emperor? Very well, all of you shall die! ... The False Prince: "Although I am not the biological son, Father and Mother love me more. The throne should be mine!" The Female Lead: "Qin Xiao, you are the Emperor, and I am a commoner. If you wish to marry me, you must abdicate. Otherwise, you will never have me!" The Empress: "After we divorce, you must give me half the empire!" The Transmigrator Consort: "You worthless Emperor, why should I kneel to you? All men are equal—I advise you to be kind!" The Great General: "The enemy general is my childhood sweetheart. For her sake, I willingly abandon the frontier defenses!" The Retired Emperor: "Although Yu'er was adopted, I prefer him. Qin Xiao, you should abdicate and let him become Emperor!" ... Very well! So this is how you want to play? Facing this twisted world of female-oriented tropes, Qin Xiao grins and raises his hand to unleash—the Nine Clan Extraction Technique! I am the Emperor. Why would I bother reasoning with you? Seal the gates! Leave none alive!