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... o need to chop your hands."

Secret service man: "We heard the voice of the president's illness. There is no living president, and no one can open the suitcase. If you force it, the suitcase will self-destruct."

"Leave this problem to us." Xie Zhi walked over, stretched out his hand to pinch the specially shaped handcuffs, squeezed hard...it didn't break.

Xie Zhi was depressed: "Damn, what material is it made of? It's so strong!"

Someone nearby sneered: "The handcuffs ...

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Tang Qiu was a substitute bride–forced to take her half-sister’s place and marry the young master of the Jiang family, a deformed cripple with less than 6 months left to live.

“Who would have thought that even a sickly whelp like Jiang Shaocheng would find himself a bride?”

“I hear that he’s practically on his deathbed and he’s only marrying the Fengs’ daughter to improve his lifespan.”

Tang Qiu ignored the whispers around her and focused on her husband-to-be, who coughed violently in his wheelchair. At the altar, after they had said their vows, she lifted her veil and knelt in front of Jiang Shaocheng, pressing a hesitant kiss to his lips.

The marriage contract was signed. No matter his physical deformities, he was now her husband.

She wasn’t afraid of the scars that marked his face, nor was she repulsed by him being confined to a wheelchair. Every morning, she made him breakfast, attended to his needs, and thought of little else beyond her duties as a wife.

“Young Master Jiang is a cripple who can’t get it up,” her best friend argued. “When he dies, you’ll still be untouched. You should set your sights higher.”

“A sickly invalid like Jiang Shaocheng can’t give you happiness,” her ex-boyfriend insisted. “I’ll wait for you.”

But Young Master Jiang only scoffed. “I have plenty of time left to be with her.”

Later in their marriage, Jiang Shaocheng wanted to enjoy his little wife in all ways–the press of her lips against his, the brush of skin on skin; the way a husband and wife were supposed to. But Tang Qiu refused him, blushing. “No, we can’t. The doctor says you can’t exert yourself.”

Jiang Shaocheng’s desire was surging through him, a heat in his core that demanded to be satiated. He cursed, I should have gotten rid of that doctor and the wheelchair long ago.

But he yearned to make love to his little wife, and so he revealed his true identity. In the blink of an eye, the deformed cripple transformed into a powerful businessman–tall, dark, and handsome. He quieted Tang Qiu’s protests, his body positioned over hers, his arms caging her as she lay on the bed. His voice was low when he asked, “What about now?”

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Go back to Central America 700 years ago, when the Aztecs were very prosperous.

The priests stood at the top of the pyramid of the sun. One hundred thousand warriors covered the entire wilderness. fluttering. The high priest held his hands high, and the obsidian dagger gleamed in the sun, drawing a cruel and gorgeous arc, bringing the cycle of life back to the earth. Tens of thousands of cheers sounded, with the reverence of the ignorant era.

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Doomsday, as legend has it, or the end of the Fifth Era?

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