Bu Chuang
9 Published Stories
Bu Chuang's Books and Stories
His Unwanted Wife, The Nation's Hero
Modern On our wedding anniversary, I came home to find my husband, Jace, celebrating with another woman in our living room.
She was wearing my mother's necklace-the only thing recovered from the explosion that killed my parents. Jace laughed, calling it a "cheap piece of junk," and tried to write me a check to buy a new one.
His family called my parents' ashes "garbage" and "unsanitary." When I confronted them, Jace sided with his mother, ordering me out of the penthouse I secretly owned. He let his friends publicly humiliate me, calling me a gold-digging leech with no background.
But that wasn't the worst of it. When a gunman stormed the restaurant we were in, Jace shoved me directly into the line of fire to shield his mistress.
The shotgun blast tore through my arm. As I lay bleeding on the marble floor, I stared at the man who had just used me as a human shield, his face pale with terror as he protected her.
In that instant, every ounce of love I ever had for him died. The pain in my arm was nothing compared to the cold, hollow void that consumed my heart.
He thought he was sacrificing a quiet, useless wife to secure his future. He had no idea he had just declared war on Captain Cilla Henson, West Point valedictorian and the most lethal operator of the Eagle Task Force. Jilted Bride's Comeback: A Billionaire Queen
Modern My wedding to Ethan Reed was just weeks away.
After seven years, I was certain of our perfect future.
Then, Ethan claimed "selective amnesia" from a head injury, forgetting only me.
I tried to make him remember, until I overheard his video call.
"Total genius move," he boasted to friends.
His amnesia was a fake "hall pass" to pursue influencer Chloe Vance before our wedding.
Heartbroken, I feigned belief.
I endured his open flirting with Chloe and their taunting selfies.
He mocked my distress, prioritizing Chloe's fake emergency.
After an accident he caused, he abandoned me, injured, choosing to send Chloe to the hospital first.
He even tried to cut me off financially.
How could my fiancé be this cruel, calculating monster?
His betrayal poisoned every memory.
I felt like a fool for trusting such boundless cruelty.
His audacity left me reeling.
But I wouldn’t be his victim.
Instead of breaking, a cold plan formed.
I would shed my identity, become Olivia Carter.
I would disappear, leaving him, my past, and his engagement ring behind forever, claiming my freedom. The Fiancé Who Stole My Life
Modern My fiancé, Garrison, told me his family would love me. He said I was perfect. But at our engagement dinner, I overheard their real plan: to harvest my kidney for his sick sister, Corliss, and then discard me.
They framed me for pushing Corliss, causing her to have a "stress-induced episode." Garrison, believing their lies, had me thrown into a brutal "behavioral correction facility."
When he finally came for me, it wasn't to save me. It was to show off his new woman, my old rival, Katia. He humiliated me at a party, forcing me to wear the same dress as her, then accused me of sabotaging a chandelier that nearly killed them-a chandelier I had actually pushed him away from.
In the hospital, broken and bruised from a car crash Katia orchestrated, Garrison showed me faked evidence of my "crimes." He called me an empty void, a monster, and told me he was done with me.
He believed I was a jealous viper trying to destroy his family. He never saw that they were the ones who had systematically destroyed me.
Lying in that hospital bed, alone and in agony, I finally understood. The man I loved was a stranger, and his family were my tormentors.
As he walked out of my life for good, a cold peace settled over me. I was finally free. And I would never look back. His Unwanted Presence
Modern The smell of grilled meat and Olivia' s expensive perfume filled the backyard. We were hosting a perfect summer barbecue, or so it seemed.
I was the guy flipping burgers, the stay-at-home dad, while my wife, Olivia, laughed a bright, theatrical laugh, her hand resting on my cousin Liam' s arm-the one who got away in college.
My twins, Max and Chloe, looked up at Liam with wide, adoring eyes, asking him to do magic tricks and cut their food, preferring their "Uncle Liam" over me, their own father.
Olivia, too, openly favored Liam, remembering his steak preference while dismissing me with cold precision: "Ethan, the trash is overflowing. And did you forget to buy more ketchup?"
Each laugh, each dismissal, felt like a confirmation: I wasn' t their father or husband. I was just a convenience, my expiration date rapidly approaching.
A week later, while fixing the AC-because calling a professional was too expensive on my non-existent income-I fell off a ladder, breaking my arm.
Olivia' s first reaction? Not concern, but irritation. "Are you serious? Today? I' m about to close a seven-figure deal, Ethan. Is it really that bad?"
At the hospital, my kids barely noticed my bright white cast. Max' s only question was, "Is Uncle Liam coming over for dinner?"
That was it. The clarity cut through the pain. My wife, my children-they didn' t care. My pain was an annoyance; my presence, a service.
I looked at my angry wife, at the backs of my children' s heads. I was completely alone, a disposable tool.
That night, I looked at our wedding photo, two smiling strangers. I made a decision. Quiet, solid, absolute. I was done.
"I want a divorce," I told Olivia.
She closed her laptop, her face shifting from annoyance to clinical curiosity. "Don' t be ridiculous. We don' t have time for a divorce."
Then Max and Chloe walked in. "A divorce?" Max said, his eyes calculating. "Does that mean we can go live with Uncle Liam?"
Chloe brightened. "Yeah! Can Uncle Liam be our new dad? He' s more fun."
Their words, fueled by Olivia' s cultivation, hit harder than any fall. My children, my own flesh and blood, wanted my replacement.
Olivia, seeing my pain, delivered the final cut. "This is your own fault, Ethan. You let yourself go. The kids want a father they can look up to."
A cold rage burned through me. I pulled out the divorce papers, already signed, that I' d secretly prepared.
Olivia snatched and shredded them. "No one is divorcing me. You work for me, Ethan. You don' t get to quit."
The children watched, not scared, but as if it were a power play, knowing whose side they were on.
A chilling emptiness settled over me. I walked away, locked myself in the guest room, the click of the lock the first taste of freedom in a decade. Love After the Betrayal
Romance The scent of lilies and hairspray usually meant joy, but for me, Abigail Turner, on what was supposed to be my wedding day, it was a suffocating prelude to disaster.
I stood in my bridal gown, gazing into an ornate mirror, my heart a storm.
Then Brandon Hayes, my fiancé, walked in, his eyes cold and distant.
He took his mother' s diamond necklace, an heirloom he' d given me, straight from my neck.
"I need that back," he said, his voice flat.
Before I could process the shock, my cousin, Seraphina Vance, appeared, clutching an overnight bag, her eyes red-rimmed.
Without a word, Brandon fastened the necklace around her neck.
My future, my life, was now hers.
"I can' t marry you, Abby," Brandon declared, his voice devoid of emotion.
"The wedding is canceled."
Then, he looked at Seraphina, his voice softening. "I' m marrying Seraphina. Today."
Just like that, my own cousin, who should have been my bridesmaid, was taking my place.
"Why?" I managed to choke out.
Brandon sighed, as if burdened by immense self-pity. "It' s for the good of the family. There' s a curse, Abby. A psychic told Seraphina' s mother. If I don' t marry her, something terrible will happen."
Seraphina sniffled, burying her face in his chest. "I' m so sorry, Abby. I didn' t want this."
He held her tight, then looked back at me, his eyes filled with a bizarre pity. "It' s just for a few years, Abby. Once the danger from the curse has passed, I' ll divorce her. Just wait for me. You' ll always be the one I love."
The absurdity of his words was staggering. He wanted me to wait.
My family rushed in, drawn by the commotion. My mother' s face paled at the scene: me in my dress, Brandon holding Seraphina, the necklace on the wrong neck.
Everyone expected tears, screams, pleas.
But a strange calm washed over me.
The heartbreak was a cold, hard stone in my chest, but my mind was clear.
I looked at Brandon, the man I thought I would spend my life with, and saw a stranger-a weak, arrogant man easily manipulated by my jealous cousin.
I turned to my father, my voice steady and firm. "Dad, do you remember the arrangement with the Beaumont family in Europe?"
His eyes widened in shock. "Abby, you don' t mean…"
"I do," I said. "Call them. Tell them I accept."
Silence fell over the room.
My life as Abigail "Abby" Turner ended in that moment.
The next day, I was on a plane to Europe.
Five years later, the world knows me as Ava Beaumont.
I am a respected art curator, happily married, and six months pregnant.
I am back in the United States for the first time in five years, for my husband William' s grandfather' s ninetieth birthday.
And I am a completely different woman. Betrayal's Bitter Harvest
Modern The anesthesia was a thick fog, but the voices cut through it.
"Is she going to be okay?" That was Mark, my boyfriend, a rising musician.
"She' ll be fine. She gave you a kidney, Mark, she can handle a little post-op pain." That was Jessica, his new manager.
My blood ran cold. A kidney. I' d donated a kidney to save his life, worked three jobs, sold my art, used family connections, all for his dream.
Then the words that shattered my world.
"She was a good stepping stone, Mark. She got you where you needed to be. But you can' t have a sick, tired artist clinging to you when you' re about to become a star. You need… Jessica' s Lullaby."
Jessica's Lullaby. Our lullaby, a deeply personal melody from my childhood that I rewrote just for him. He had given her our song.
He didn't just take my kidney, he stole my art, my trust, everything. Even when he came back to the hospital, publicly proposing with cheap roses and a camera crew, it was a sham. Jessica staged an illness, and he abandoned me, rushed to her side, his devotion clear for all to see.
The man I loved had betrayed me, not just by stealing my art, but by commodifying my sacrifice, casting me aside as a mere stepping stone.
My heart was a hollowed-out cavity. But in that emptiness, a cold, hard rage began to burn.
He thought I was just a stepping stone. He was about to find out how wrong he was. I reached for my phone, scrolling for David, the head of a rival record label.
"David," I said, my voice raspy but firm. "It' s Sarah. I have a proposition for you." The Ex-Wife's Hollywood Comeback
Romance Five years.
That' s how long Sarah Miller believed she' d built a real family and found true love with billionaire Ethan Vanderbilt, the man she married through a mysterious deal that saved her life.
Their son, Noah, was turning five.
At his birthday party, Noah, coached by Ethan, blew out his candles and wished: "I want Daddy and Mommy to divorce so Aunt Olivia can be my new mom!" Ethan' s cold, approving smile was a dagger, shattering my heart.
He served divorce papers, calling me a mere "placeholder" for his recovery.
Publicly shamed, disowned by my parents, and rejected by my son for his new "Auntie Olivia," every sacrifice was dismissed.
My rare Larsen' s Syndrome, previously suppressed, ravaged my body, mirroring my shattered life.
Was every tender moment a calculated performance?
The man I nursed back to health, my child's father, utterly discarded me.
Abandoned and utterly broken, I wrestled with this profound betrayal.
With nothing left, I activated The Guide' s "exit clause," staging my dramatic public demise.
I plunged into a new reality as Ava Monroe, a famous Hollywood actress, determined to finally find genuine love.
But a ghost from my past, Ethan, followed, poised to conquer me again, threatening my new beginning. Trampled Legacy: The Hero's Daughter
Modern My daughter Emily, just seventeen, had a heart of gold.
She wanted to change the world, much like her father, James, a Medal of Honor recipient who died serving his country.
Emily was kind and brave, even standing up to Kevin Jennings, the mayor’s son, when he bullied a disabled classmate online.
Then, one cold night, Emily was gone.
The doctor’s words were flat: "Severe internal injuries. Hypothermia."
The police officer’s words were a punch: Kevin Jennings claimed Emily attacked him, and he’d acted in self-defense.
They found my sweet girl beaten and left in the freezing rain.
The powerful Jennings family immediately offered hush money, threatening to smear Emily’s name if I didn't comply.
The media, in their pocket, painted Emily as "aggressive," while online, I became a "gold digger" facing vicious attacks.
When I tried to protest, Kevin Jennings himself publicly *stepped* on James’s Medal of Honor, disgracing everything sacred to me.
The system closed ranks, branding Emily’s death "mutual combat."
But I knew the truth.
Emily’s journal revealed she was trying to reason with a monster.
This wasn't self-defense; it was murder, a brutal cover-up by the powerful.
How could they erase my daughter’s memory, twisting her kindness and trampling on her hero father’s legacy?
Broken and alone, I remembered a sacred promise James’s commander, Colonel McGregor, had made: "His family is our family."
Hundreds of miles away, he was my last, desperate hope.
I packed my bags, clutched James’s Medal, and drove out of that corrupt city.
The Jennings family *would* pay.
This fight wasn't over. It had only just begun. You might like
Phoenix Of Ruin: My Second Life Comes With A Better Man
Maple Breeze Ashley gave Nicolas ten years of love and five years of loyalty as his perfect housewife, only to be repaid with betrayal, humiliation, and death at the hands of him and his mistress.
After being reborn, she vowed to make them pay.
She tore apart the mistress, kicked her useless husband aside, and returned as the heiress of a top-tier family.
Surrounded by billions, luxury, and a parade of elite bachelors, Ashley became the woman everyone wanted-including a cold, powerful tycoon.
When Nicolas came begging for forgiveness, she smiled coldly. "Fuck off! My man is worth a hundred of you." The Unwanted Wife Is A Zillionaire
Reilly Mcardle For seven years, I played the perfect, hidden wife to billionaire August Chambers while working quietly as an ER nurse.
Three days before our marriage contract expired, he stormed into my emergency room carrying a bleeding woman. It was Allena, his cousin's fiancée.
She had suffered a ruptured corpus luteum from their violent, aggressive sex. Instead of hiding his affair, August ordered me to clear the floor and threw a massive check at my face to buy my silence. Later, his friends trapped me in a VIP club. When a waiter tripped, August violently shoved me aside just to protect Allena from a spilled cup of coffee. I crashed into a glass table, a sharp edge slicing deep into my arm.
"Apologize to her, and I'll have my driver take you to the hospital."
As my blood soaked into the white rug, he stood over me, demanding I get on my knees for his mistress. He didn't know I had faked a miscarriage five years ago to secretly raise our daughter far away from his cruelty. He also didn't know the money he flaunted was pocket change compared to my hidden AI tech empire.
I calmly tied a tourniquet around my bleeding arm with my teeth and wiped my blood directly over his heart onto his custom suit.
"I'm done with you."
The submissive nurse was dead, and it was time to let him burn in the ruins of his own lies. Flash Marriage to the Tycoon, I'm Spoiled Rotten
Hollow Echo Cast out by an "elite" family and mocked by high society, Elena shocked everyone by marrying the most powerful man in town.
They assumed it was a temporary arrangement-after all, he had said, "The agreement is for two years. After that, we're done."
Yet after the wedding, he refused to let her go. "Elena, you can't leave me."
As he doted on her, rumors shattered one by one. A renowned painter, top hacker, and tech mastermind-her true identities stunned the world.
When a luxury empire announced their lost heiress, all eyes turned to her. "Why did she look exactly like Elena?" Cheated On Me? I Married a Tycoon
Rum Runner I spent three years building my husband, Axel Farrell, into Silicon Valley's ultimate "family man." As his lead PR strategist, I carefully managed his public image, making sure the world saw him as a perfect, devoted husband while I worked in the shadows of our estate.
The illusion shattered when he came home one night smelling of sandalwood and roses, with three deep fingernail scratches carved into his back. When I tried to check his phone, the passcode we had used for years-our wedding anniversary-had been changed.
The betrayal got worse the next morning when his mother called me a "defective product" and tried to force me into a fertility clinic. Axel didn't defend me; instead, he shoved me against a marble bar at a public gala to protect his mistress in front of the world's elite. By the time I tried to leave, Axel had frozen my bank accounts and filed a forged legal petition to have me declared mentally incompetent.
He planned to have me legally kidnapped and locked in a private psychiatric ward just to stop me from filing for divorce. He even blocked every major law firm in the city from taking my case, leaving me with no money, no identity, and no one to turn to.
I couldn't understand how the man who "saved" me from the mud years ago could be the same monster now trying to legally erase my existence. Was our entire marriage just a grooming process to exploit my genius for his billion-dollar empire?
As the deadline for my forced commitment approached, I stopped crying and opened my laptop. I leaked the video of his affair to every tech journalist in the country, watching his stock price crash in real-time.
"Axel thinks starving me out will make me crawl back to him," I whispered as I walked into the headquarters of his biggest rival.
"But he forgot that the most valuable part of his company is in my head."
I was no longer the abandoned wife; I was the one who was going to take his throne and burn it to the ground. No Longer Mrs. Cooley: The Architect's Return
Xiao Xiaosu I went to the City Clerk's office for a routine copy of my marriage license to finalize a trust fund audit. I expected a simple piece of paper, but the clerk's pitying look told me my entire life was a lie.
"The license was never finalized, Ms. Oliver. In the eyes of the state, you are single."
The three-hundred-guest wedding at the Plaza and the Vogue features meant nothing. My husband, Gray Cooley, had intentionally filed the documents with a "procedural defect" so he could discard me without a legal divorce. Moments later, an iCloud invite titled "Our Little Secret" popped up on my screen. It was a photo of my best friend, Brylee, holding a positive pregnancy test at our Hamptons estate.
Gray's text to her was the final blow:
"Happy anniversary, babe. This baby is the best gift. Once the trust unlocks today, we're done with the charade."
I soon discovered they were even stealing my career, reassigning my architectural masterpiece to Brylee while preparing my eviction notice. Gray's mother called me a "barren mule" in a leaked recording, mocking the infertility I suffered after saving Gray's life in a construction accident. I wasn't a wife; I was a three-year placeholder used to secure his inheritance.
How could the man I bled for treat me like a disposable prop? How could my best friend carry his child while pretending to comfort me through my darkest moments? The betrayal burned until it turned into a cold, hard stone of fury.
I didn't cry. Instead, I walked into the penthouse of the Barretts, the Cooleys' most powerful rivals. I signed a marriage contract with Kane Barrett, the man the tabloids called the "Beast of Wall Street."
"I want a wedding," I told his father, my voice steady and lethal. "Bigger than the one I had with Gray."
If they wanted me gone, they would have to watch me become the woman who owns their world. Abandoned Ex-Wife: Now Untouchable
Tao Yaoyao My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out.
I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm:
"In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling."
Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped.
When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself."
Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son.
The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne.
I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie."
I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare. Seven Years A Fool, One Day A Queen
Stella Montgomery Everyone knew Kristine loved Colton. Still, his heart clung to a woman overseas-someone he spent most days with, now pregnant with his baby-and Kristine still asked him to marry her.
On their registration day, however, he never came; his "true love" had flown back.
Seven years of loyalty later, Kristine walked away, blocked him, and left his city.
Colton didn't blink-until he saw her at the courthouse, arm-in-arm with another man, and the proud CEO went pale. He went after her, desperation overtaking him.
"I'm sorry. Please give me another chance."
She snapped, "Could you stop? I'm already married." Phoenix Rising: The Scarred Heiress's Revenge
Xiao Hong Mao I lived as the "scarred ghost" of the Stephens penthouse, a wife kept in the shadows because my facial burns offended my billionaire husband's aesthetic. For years, I endured Kason's coldness and my family's abuse, a submissive puppet who believed she had nowhere else to go.
The end came with a blue folder tossed onto my silk sheets. Kason's mistress was back, and he wanted me out by sunset, offering a five-million-dollar "silence fee" to go hide my face in the countryside.
The betrayal cut deep when I discovered my father had already traded my divorce for a corporate bailout. My step-sister mocked my "trashy" appearance at a high-end boutique, while the sales staff treated me like a common thief. At home, my father threatened to cut off my mother's life-saving medicine unless I crawled back to Kason to beg for a better deal.
I was the girl who took the blame for a fire she didn't start, the wife who worshipped a man who never looked her in the eye, and the daughter used as a human bargaining chip. I was supposed to be broken, penniless, and desperate.
But the woman who stood up wasn't the weak Elease Finch anymore; she was Phoenix, a tactical predator with a $500 million secret. I signed the divorce papers without a single tear, walked past my stunned husband, and wiped the Finch family's bank accounts clean with a few taps on my phone.
"Your money is dirty," I told Kason with a cold smile. "I prefer clean hands."
The cage is open, the hunt has begun, and I'm starting with the people who thought a scar made me weak. The Placeholder Bride's Secret Billionaire Revenge
Luo Ye For two years, I was the invisible force behind tech billionaire Kieran Douglas, convinced that our "private" romance was his way of protecting us from the tabloid spotlight. I managed his mergers, warmed his bed, and waited for a future that didn't exist.
The illusion shattered at 6:00 AM when a Page Six alert debuted Kieran's "real" romance with socialite Aspen Schneider. Before I could even process the betrayal, Kieran sent me a cold, professional text: "Order flowers for Aspen. Pink peonies. Her favorite."
When I tried to walk away, my own mother called me a disgrace and threatened to lock my inheritance forever unless I married a sixty-year-old businessman to save her failing estate. At a high-society gala that same night, Aspen intentionally crushed my burned hand in front of the cameras, while Kieran stood by and dismissed me as a "mediocre assistant" who had overstayed her welcome.
I stood in the cold New York rain, drenched in champagne and humiliation, realizing that every sacrifice I made for Kieran was a joke. I was a ghost in a penthouse that was never mine, discarded the moment his "soulmate" returned. To the world, I was just a placeholder whose time had run out.
But Kieran forgot one thing: my father's multi-million dollar trust fund unlocks the moment I legally marry. I didn't need love; I needed a signature and a shield. I walked into a discreet law firm and signed a marriage contract with a man I believed was the city's most notorious, scandal-ridden playboy.
I thought I was marrying a degenerate "beard" to buy my freedom and secure my revenge. I didn't realize the man who signed that paper wasn't a playboy at all, but Gaston Collins-the most powerful and dangerous man on Wall Street-and he had no intention of letting our fake marriage stay fake. The Humble Ex-wife Is Now A Brilliant Tycoon
Flory Corkery For three quiet, patient years, Christina kept house, only to be coldly discarded by the man she once trusted.
Instead, he paraded a new lover, making her the punchline of every town joke.
Liberated, she honed her long-ignored gifts, astonishing the town with triumph after gleaming triumph.
Upon discovering she'd been a treasure all along, her ex-husband's regret drove him to pursue her. "Honey, let's get back together!"
With a cold smirk, Christina spat, "Fuck off."
A silken-suited mogul slipped an arm around her waist. "She's married to me now. Guards, get him the hell out of here!" 
/1/111391/coverorgin.jpg?v=b918cf6eb8483c61b2ac2e6685182c9e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/114121/coverorgin.jpg?v=93f1972ea67cf6d185c64b7fd55bebab&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/102304/coverorgin.jpg?v=ece878dd3a59cebfa90032d33fe7dcb1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85757/coverorgin.jpg?v=76d8c7d25df22148dbb8924a7e27e8c0&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85346/coverorgin.jpg?v=dfd98da37b1f0ebbfe54ffc036c4f2c1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85036/coverorgin.jpg?v=01353b8274cb1381b655349743629df1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81267/coverorgin.jpg?v=69ff67d77a94914f8fb7d9748f6043c7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80403/coverorgin.jpg?v=20260106193516&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18720/coverorgin.jpg?v=2bbacf92840a4ab5e5a1f08a78a07969&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110901/coverorgin.jpg?v=ef824f8e74525d02a808de96a1088564&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/113362/coverorgin.jpg?v=f0ed4594a511c9676a69af419fb96978&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/112008/coverorgin.jpg?v=2b0abcab944971bf058c4d3da02bb538&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110343/coverorgin.jpg?v=cd4e8269a7b208ebe8c7a769a0d2faaa&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107820/coverorgin.jpg?v=6e86399a40b4939055e49bc447825466&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/107720/coverorgin.jpg?v=6d6583f21b392ea7c76b778b0308381b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106447/coverorgin.jpg?v=3f3287a2d4b0f0bdd81f9c491b55fa4b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106644/coverorgin.jpg?v=3f787171070b7af5eaf9c58a1495a6bd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106609/coverorgin.jpg?v=5e9e182824bef37bb03be668963bc105&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/78663/coverorgin.jpg?v=b705411c5144e51405caa1dd738aa5d2&imageMogr2/format/webp)