Zhao Changhe’s heart burned with genuine anger. He had exhausted every possible means to save her, running from place to place, every thought consumed by the questions of “will this cure Wanzhuang” or “can the Rejuvenation Art save Wanzhuang now?” His thoughts had been in a constant knot of worry and hope.0

Upon setting foot on land, his first instinct was fear for her life. He rode tirelessly, galloping thousands of li, the wind and dust stinging his face as his heart twisted in anguish. In mere hours, he had traversed the distance from Yangzhou to the capital.0

And yet, she treated her own life with such disregard. It was not just her life she was throwing away; it was also his painstaking devotion, dashed into the mud.0

He did not want to scold her harshly. The strongest words he could muster were, “There’s no need to wait for the next life. The rest of this one will do.”0

But Tang Wanzhuang looked into his eyes, her expression solemn and sincere. “If there is a next life… I, Wanzhuang, would gladly be your concubine.”0

This time, it was Zhao Changhe’s turn to be dumbfounded. A concubine, not a wife—did she...0