BambooFirefly

(I owe everyone 4 chapters.)

[The Imperial Consort could have been so much more than what we were shown.]

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Genius Neurosurgeon Lǐ Xīnyuàn died while being held at the gunpoint to perform a surgery on a terrorist leader.

When he opened his eyes, he had transmigrated into a world similar to a Webnovel he'd been forced to read by a colleague.

Now you'd think Lǐ Xīnyuàn had transmigrated into that Webnovel. But did he?

No! Instead he'd been transmigrated into that webnovel's spin-off/"what-if" version of the story with nothing but the superficial knowledge of the plot thanks to reading the main novel.

Now tasked with the mission of avoiding plotholes, unnecessary dog-blood, death and following the storyline to ensure the male lead's ascension to the throne of Supreme Emperor, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

And why did no one tell him that his character had to be married into the Male Lead's harem??

What about the Female Lead?

Later:

Lǐ Xīnyuàn: Why doesn't Your Highness spend the night with concubine Yang?

ML: Don't want to.

Lǐ Xīnyuàn: ... Why?

ML: Are you pushing me away?

Lǐ Xīnyuàn: QAQ

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100-150 PS = 1 extra chapter on Sunday 
25, 50, 75... Golden Tickets = 1 extra chapter on Sunday 
3-5 Gifts = 1 extra chapters (or more depending on the value of the gifts)

Reborn To Be The Imperial Consort [BL]

The moment Hu Lijing's feet touched the moist sand of the island he was so familiar with, he felt his breath hitch upon laying his eyes on the sand and the shore awash by the roaring waves as the crashed and swept the dirt with it to the depths of the ocean.

This place, this shore, this exact location; all of it was a nightmare that had plagued Hu Lijing's slumber for decades, making him unable to close his eyes comfortably without worrying himself sick over the dreams that would come next.

His free hand, the one fallen to his side, tightened into a fist as he drew in a cold, stubborn breath of air that was filled with the scent of sea water, the putrid stench of blood and decay. It was so much harder to turn a blind eye to the scenery where the vestiges of death lingered in a slow dance of wait.

Buds of A Marigold — IX