MTL - The Eldest Sister Has Space - Chapter 171 Fight to Fame

When Viscount Ascham’s House’s eldest daughter, Adele von Ascham, became 10 years old, she remembered everything with an intense headache.

In her past life, Xia Chu lost her virginity before marriage and was scorned by her family as a wanton woman, forced to marry an old widower with a limp. Her aunt and mother died one after another because of her. Fleeing alone to the south to work, she suffered a hard life and eventually died tragically at the hands of a scoundrel.Reborn, she is determined to protect those who love her and those she loves, to rewrite destiny. Those who framed her, she will make them suffer the consequences; those who forced her, she will make them kneel and beg for mercy; and those who killed her, she will make them wish they were dead!By the way, that tall, stoic man with good looks, loyalty, and skills, I might as well marry you since you’ve got it all.

Qiao Nan: Crap! I am your biological daughter, yet I am treated as if I was picked up from the streets. In fact, you treat me worse than that!

Mother Qiao: Qiao Nan, you are not as pretty or smart as your elder sister. You are not as blessed as her. You have no right to study, marry, or to have your happiness!

Qiao Nan: Why am I not allowed to study, marry, or to seek my happiness? I will find a man right now and marry him!

Qiao Nan is dumbstruck upon discovering that the man right beside her is a powerful figure in the quad—the person who has the most promising prospects to be the future Chief.

Qiao Nan stares at the well-built man in front of her. He has firm abs and cold, chilling eyes. She swallows the lump in her throat as she says her greetings, “Good Morning, Chief!”

- Description from Novelupdates

[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.