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... re in the north. However, this cross street in Changming Fang had only scattered mud huts, and was covered by bare locust woods. The woods were littered with mobile peddlers, packhorses and carts, even more than browsers. On the right side of the woods was a soil slope, at the top of which was a small courtyard with a giant gourd hanging before the door.

It was not so much a residential fang as wild suburb.

Being such a desolate place, a fleet coming in should attract much attent ...

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

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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