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... s still standing and even those weren't left intact. The residents had all gathered in front of the chiefs mansion after spending some time in what remained of their burnt down houses, salvaging any personal items they could find.

The chief then announced their next destination, it had been exactly five years today since they moved here, they survived all the monster raids that happened in that time frame with little to no casualties, after spending their entire lives in Blzaberg, the re ...

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Song Xuanhe transmigrated into a book called “The President’s Seven Boyfriends”. He became the President’s cannon fodder ex-boyfriend, Song Xuanhe.

The Song Xuanhe in the book: 180 cm tall, so attractive he would trump over even the hottest celebrities, three generations of family in business–a very appropriate rich third generation.

It wasn’t a loss to transmigrate into this kind of person. It was just that this was a rebirth story.

The Song Xuanhe in the book abused the male lead 800 times and had even indirectly caused the male lead’s death. Faced with the reborn blackened male lead, his fate was obvious–not only did he reach rock bottom, he even died without an intact corpse.

Right now, he had become the cannon fodder ex-boyfriend that was foreordained to die without an intact corpse.

——

System: Don’t you think that the male lead has been a bit strange recently? It’s like he’s plotting something in the dark.

Song Xuanhe: Plotting how to kill me?

System: No, plotting how to eat you.

——

Song Xuanhe, who was lying on the bed with an aching waist, pained back and legs suffering from cramps, cursed the System 800 times–what happened to the male lead being a shou?!

Emphasis: Xiao Yuanmu is the gong! Xiao Yuanmu is the gong! Xiao Yuanmu is the gong! Moreover, the tycoon has always been a gong! Spoilers only up to here!

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“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.

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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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