Jiang Song

When the Emperor married his white moonlight, I was left all alone in the cold palace, where I drew my last breath. No one could detect my breathing. They didn’t know—I was the only inheritor of the Breath-Holding Technique. The Emperor wept uncontrollably before my grave, yet I had already slipped away to the borderlands, feasting and drinking in a tavern. Meanwhile, I took the opportunity to feel the abs of a young man from the Western Regions. Life should have continued on in this blissful way—until an earthquake struck, collapsing the imperial mausoleum. The Emperor discovered that my coffin was filled with nothing but a pile of rotten potatoes. That day, the Emperor flew into a rage...