Desolate Devouring Art - Chapter 27 - Tearing The Marriage Certificate

When other people experience a body transformation, it is inevitably either male to female or female to male.

Me? I wake up to find myself transformed into two different bodies.

Both a male body and a female body, one conscience operating two bodies, all sorts of embarrassing moments.

Walking together normally makes other people think that I am sweethearts with my other-self, such sadness.

Also, the entire business of a hero rescuing the beautiful maiden, I call Bull.

I get slashed by a sword and my female body gets abducted, and he wants me to thank him?!?! Can it be less of a tragedy?

- Description from Novelupdates

Leon Thorne was the disgrace of his house, overweight, softspoken, and dismissed as a failure before he ever picked up a sword. Mocked during the Awakening and branded an F-rank, he was expected to fade quietly from the halls of power.But he didn’t.Because this wasn’t his first life.In another timeline, Leon watched House Thorne fall, shamed, scattered and erased from history. Powerless to stop it then, he’s been given one chance to rewrite it now.Stripped of excuses and reshaped by hardship, Leon claws his way forward—through blood, sweat and silence. Now, leaner and sharper, he enters an academy where only strength speaks and legacy decides your worth.But Leon carries no crest. No backing. Just scars, a sword, and the will to shatter fate itself.He’s not looking to be acknowledged or praised.He’s going to rewrite everything.NO MATTER WHAT IT TAKES.

[1V1 easy read, a pampered romance] Time-traveled straight into a wedding, does it have to be this intense?“Hey, hold on, groom, I'm not your bride!”Su Pan'er fiercely resisted.Someone chuckled craftily, “Quit messing around, my dear wife!”This story is fantasy, don't compare it with actual historical context. Recommended another novel by Dou Dou: “Joy of Being a Mother in a Farmhouse”.

[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.