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... ai Lingmiao to ask the old man from the Bailian Sect to ask, but he still didn't get anything.

But after such a long time, the believers of the White Lotus Sect have been hiding in Tibet under the fear of death, and they have changed for many generations.

For all the memories about the vacuum hometown and the lifeless old mother, through them

The content of this chapter is being updated...

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“When everyone scorned me because I was merely a woman, I kept convincing myself: ‘Actually, you can give it a try.’” – Fang Feng Sheng

There was a famous saying in officialdom: there is no yamen without Shaoxing.

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A calamity broke the Fang family apart. Her father was implicated and put to death, and she cut her way through thistles and thorns to prove her name.

However, walking down this path, she discovered that there were things beyond her imagination.

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Lin Feilu, or better known by her nickname—Green Tea Princess, was the best of all the scheming b*tches that the world had ever seen. She was the Oscar-winning actress among the masses with real life as her stage. Acting coy, slandering, feigning innocence, or playing the saint, she aced it all. Simply put, she was the proverbial villainess.

Ah, but retribution came way too early for this malicious personage and she died on her 27th birthday.

In death, Lin Feilu reflected on her career of 20 years as the Green Tea Princess. She was full of regret and remorse over the life she once led. She vowed, if there was an afterlife, she would atone for her misdeeds and be a good person.

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The living environment was very harsh.

Lin Feilu, who wanted to be a good person: … You forced me! Sorry, I can only activate my unique skill.

Harem fight? Striving for favor? Climbing the ranks?

Apologies, but let me show you what it means to be slaughtered by a maxed out player.

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[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.