Je suis née beauté, et je suis suprême

Chapitre 129

"It will fit perfectly after being altered."

"It can't be fixed."

"I can change anything I want."

"If I don't want to change, no one will dare to change."

"Sikong, let me tell you, I feel that Xiaoyi would be the best candidate."

"No, he doesn't understand the intricacies of it. Giving it to him would be a waste."

“I can teach him.”

"He can't learn it."

...I glanced at Chou Qian, then at Qian Qing. Seizing the moment between their conversation, I quickly spoke up: "Um, excuse me...you two can discuss it slowly. I'll head back now. Let me know when you've decided. I'll borrow the clothes for a couple of days."

The two of them looked at each other, ignoring me.

I walked towards Zimo and took his cold hand: "Let's go home."

My target is Zi Mo, not you bunch of idiots.

Zi Mo looked up, and in the darkness he seemed even more mature: "Let's go home." He tightened his grip on my hand and led me forward...

In place--

Qian Qing stood alone and proud, watching that person leave. His undeniable imperial majesty lingered around him as he went.

Chou Qian concealed his sharpness, but still maintained an unyielding and calm demeanor that made him look down on everyone else.

These two individuals represent the pinnacle of power in the Eastern Qing Dynasty.

"Tell me, what is the most urgent matter right now?" Qian Qing looked at Chou Qian, and behind him, a neat line of soldiers approached him.

Chou Qian waved and released a shadow sparrow, seemingly unconcerned, and said, "The Shen and Gao families should arrange a marriage as soon as possible."

"Haha! Haha!" Qian Qing laughed heartily, his voice filled with heroic pride, while the emperor remained ruthless. "Sikong, how much longer can we continue our cooperation?"

"A long time, so long that those who left can never come back."

...

[Main Text: Chapter Seventy]

I lay on the table, brush in hand, facing the blank paper. What should I write?

"My dearest Huihui...do you miss me?" Ugh, disgusting, I won't write that.

"Dear Comrade Huihui...Are you alright?" He's not part of the organization, so he won't write it down.

"Young Prince Ouyang, I send my greetings from afar." I picked it up and looked at it against the sun; this wasn't intimate enough. We were once intimate lovers with a past; how could we rewind our feelings?

I laid out a new sheet of paper and pondered carefully. What should I write? "Fool Wu Hui, is your mad cow disease cured?" I looked again, no good. What if he dies of anger on the battlefield? Wouldn't I have gained a martyr's reputation for nothing?

Oh dear! How can I write it in a way that truly conveys my urgent desire to spread the word?

I stared at the scenery outside the window, studying it over and over again. A blade of grass drifted past my window, and suddenly it dawned on me. I picked up my pen and wrote: "No regrets, if you don't come back soon, I'll wipe you out..." Hmm, this feels right.

I wrote furiously, trying to wake him up while everyone else was "sleeping".

"Xiao Yi." Mother pushed open the door and gracefully dodged the crumpled piece of white paper I had thrown. "What are you doing?"

"write a letter."

"What is it written?" she asked curiously, craning her neck to see.

I held it tightly; I couldn't let them catch me in a relationship. "Prime Minister, I want to tell you something."

My mother looked at me suspiciously. "What could you possibly have to say to the Prime Minister?"

"The salary is too low, I have no money, no car, no house, and no one wants to work for me even if I earn 30,000 a year."

"Nonsense!" My mother didn't hold back in hitting me. "You also wanted to say that chair needed to be changed? That's ridiculous."

"Changing the player is easy; your grandson might even be the next one in charge." That's quite possible.

My mother looked down on me and said, "If my grandson were in that chair, I would live forever."

Oh, "Do you need me to contribute to your eternal youth?" I'd be happy to sacrifice myself.

"You brat."

If you keep hitting him, and a mentally challenged child is born, it will definitely be you who hit him.

"I've come to tell you that Zimo has returned to the manor."

"Okay." I leaned back on the table and continued writing.

The mother inquired, "Why did you send Zimo back to the manor to report to you first?"

"I just had nothing better to do."

"Your mother is asking you something serious, so you're not allowed to be joking around."

I obediently put down my pen, sat up straight, and listened attentively to the teachings.