Duwu Qingyang
10 Published Stories
Duwu Qingyang's Books and Stories
The Silent Bride's Forced Tech Marriage
Modern I was the "broken" daughter of the Winters family, a mute girl hidden away in a conservatory while our legacy rotted. To my parents, I wasn't a person—I was a liability they couldn't wait to liquidate.
The betrayal came in a cold study. My grandfather sold me to Florian Mercado, the most ruthless shark in Silicon Valley, as collateral for a secret ledger. I wasn't a bride; I was a business acquisition.
The humiliation started at the courthouse. My mother smeared bloody red lipstick on my face like a brand, and Florian signed our marriage license with enough force to tear the paper. He looked at me with pure disgust, seeing a "defective product" he’d been tricked into buying.
He threw me into his high-tech penthouse, a smart-home prison where everything was voice-activated. Because I couldn't speak, I couldn't even open the fridge. I was left starving in the dark for days while he ignored my existence.
At a high-society gala, he finally cornered me. In front of a swarm of paparazzi, he forced me to sign a legal declaration of my own mental instability. He didn't just want my family's secrets; he wanted to own my very sanity, publicly branding me a "fragile" bride to strip me of my rights.
I sat in that glass cage, burning with a rage they never saw coming. They thought my silence was a weakness, a blank space they could fill with their own cruelty. They forgot that a vault is silent for a reason—it’s protecting the only thing that matters.
I shoved my tablet into Florian’s chest, revealing the truth: I had every illegal account number and encryption key from the secret ledger memorized since I was twelve. I gave him a choice: sign my new terms, or watch me leak the data and turn his billion-dollar empire into a federal prison sentence.
"Deal," he whispered, finally seeing the predator behind my quiet eyes. The war had just begun. My Husband's Deadly Double Life
Modern I was the top financial analyst on the network, my predictions legendary. But one morning, my husband, Augustus, and his intern mistress, Baylee, orchestrated a live-on-air sabotage that vaporized my career.
I was forced onto a leave of absence, only to be called back to prep Baylee-the very woman replacing me.
That night, an anonymous text arrived. It was an audio file from years ago: Baylee' s panicked voice confessing to a hit-and-run, and Augustus' s calm voice promising to cover it up.
The victim was my mother. The accident that left her crippled wasn't an accident at all. My husband, the man who comforted me, had protected her attacker all along.
He thought he had broken me. But as I listened to their lies, I knew my old life was over. I picked up the phone and called my old mentor.
"Eliot," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "I'm ready to sue. I'm taking everything from them." Cast Out, Then Called Back
Modern The day my world fell apart was my 21st birthday, meant for joy and family warmth. Instead, it brought the stinging heat of a slap across my cheek.
My older brothers, Ethan and Liam, surprised our family by bringing home Lily, a seven-year-old orphan, daughter of a student who died alongside our revered parents in an accident that orphaned us as well. They saw her as a duty, showering her with the affection that had once been mine.
On my birthday, the day I was supposed to feel special, Lily had a little "accident"-a glass of milk spilled on my laptop, destroying years of my medical research. Lily cried, claiming I had pushed her. Ethan' s cold voice, "Anna, what is wrong with you?" was followed by his hand cracking across my face. Liam, usually gentle, pointed a shaking finger at the door: "Get out. Don't ever come back."
They believed Lily, condemning me without a second thought. I was cast out, a stranger in my own home, dismissed as dramatic. Their blind devotion to her twisted everything between us, turning love into an unbearable weight of betrayal.
While they took Lily on the Northern Lights trip they had promised me, I signed away the next ten years of my life. Days later, they would receive a formal letter: Anna Miller had been accepted into a confidential, ten-year medical research program, in complete isolation. She could no longer come home. The Wife He Forgot, The Fury She Unleashed
Horror The sterile white ceiling of the hospital room was the first thing I saw when I woke up, a dull ache throbbing at the back of my head.
The kind nurse told me I' d fainted at the clinic, and that my son, Leo, was in the pediatric ICU.
My son. Leo. The name alone brought back a flood of terrifying memories: his pale, sweaty face, his eyes wide with a terror that seemed to swallow the light.
And Jake' s voice, cold and hard: "My son shouldn' t be weak and afraid of the dark! His bad habits need to be cured."
I, no, Ava Miller, as I had been for the last five years, had clawed at the locked therapy room door.
"Leo is terrified of the dark, and extreme fright can be fatal. If you need to punish someone, punish me…"
Jake just laughed, his arm around Chloe Davis, the woman he claimed was the "real" Ava Miller, the one who needed a kidney.
A news report on a private island wedding flashed on the hospital TV: "Billionaire heir Jake Hayes is celebrating his wedding to Chloe Davis."
Chloe Davis. My name. The name I hadn't heard in five years.
Memories crashed down, violent and agonizing: a rainy night, a car accident, my mother' s terrified face, and then Jake, whispering "You' re Ava Miller. You were in an accident. You need a kidney. You feel so guilty, don't you?"
He had twisted everything. He wanted my kidney for the real Ava Miller.
He stole my identity, my health, my memories. And now, he had stolen my son.
Leo.
"Mom… if I overcome my fear… will Dad love me?"
His voice message, garbled and frantic, echoed in my mind.
Rage pulsed through me. I was Chloe Davis. The woman on that island, wearing my name, had my kidney. And they were trying to steal my son.
I ripped the IV from my arm. I had to get to Leo.
When I found him, his chest wasn't moving. His eyes were wide open, fixed in terror.
My mother-in-law, Eleanor, who had once pitied me, was sobbing.
"Mom," I said, my voice flat, holding back tears. "I remember everything. I am Chloe Davis. It' s time for me to leave."
His eyes finally, slowly, drifted shut as I whispered, "Mommy's here, Leo. Mommy will take you away from here. We'll go somewhere far away, and we'll be together forever."
The nurse in the hallway sighed, envying Jake Hayes's "love."
If only they knew that his real wife and son, lying dead in a hospital bed, couldn' t earn a fraction of that look.
Not even in death.
Later, in the house I had shared with Jake, I held Leo's urn tightly.
Jake and Ava Miller were on the sofa.
"Did you leave Leo with my mom again?" he asked, a condescending edge to his voice. "Bring him back to apologize to his aunt immediately."
I turned to him, my eyes direct.
I articulated each word with chilling clarity.
"Leo is dead." The Malice of the Almost-In-Laws
Modern A romantic getaway, a beautiful Texas hotel, my fiancé Kevin by my side—it should have been perfect.
I thought our future was set.
Then searing pain hit.
A ruptured ovarian cyst, internal bleeding.
I was dying.
Kevin?
He ignored my pleas, focused on a non-refundable hotel, dismissing my agony as 'period cramps' before I ended our engagement and called an Uber to the ER.
But his cruelty didn't end there.
From my hospital bed, I learned he'd slandered me online as a 'drama queen.'
Then, his mother stormed my office, scattering AI-generated fake intimate photos, trying to shame me publicly.
My life was falling apart, not from my illness, but from their calculated malice.
How could the man I almost married, and his family, be so vindictive, so determined to destroy me, the actual victim?
They thought I was broken.
But I was just getting started.
I exposed their lies, saw his mom arrested.
And when Kevin, desperate and armed with a knife, tried to manipulate me in front of everyone, threatening self-harm to escape consequences, I didn't just stand there.
I gave him a taste of his own drama.
I faked a surgical emergency, turning the crowd, and the cops, squarely on him.
This wasn't just about survival; it was about turning the tables completely. Chem 101: Blind Justice
Modern I was Ethan, a PhD candidate, proctoring the Chem 101 final, my future in chemistry looking bright.
Then, without warning, the exam sheet blurred, students' faces dissolved, and my vision vanished into impenetrable darkness.
My world went black, doctors found no cause, and my promising academic career evaporated into years of navigating a sightless existence, a struggle that culminated in my murder at a community fair, just moments after I shockingly overheard an arrogant student, Mark Jensen, boast that my inexplicable blindness was the best thing that ever happened to him.
To die senselessly, just as I' d found the answer to why my life was stolen, was an unbearable injustice.
But then, I blinked, and the fluorescent lights of the Chem 101 exam room flashed above me once more, the clock ticking down to the very moment my world first went dark. You Can't Kill What's Already Dead
Fantasy My eyes burned, another all-nighter done, just like the thousand others I'd pulled for my demanding wife, Brittany, and her "successful" friend, Marcus.
Then, darkness.
I woke up floating, looking down at my own wake, my grieving parents, and in a corner, Brittany and Marcus — she wasn't crying, she was relieved, nestled in his arms.
"The Prosperity Bond is a marvelous thing," Marcus murmured, his lips brushing her ear, "It took his earnings, his life force, and multiplied it for me. Tenfold."
My breath caught in my spectral throat, my entire life's work, my very essence, stolen and sold by the two people I trusted most, fueling their lavish lifestyle as it drained me dry.
The betrayal was a jagged blade, twisting in my non-existent gut, leaving behind only the cold, sharp fury of pure, white-hot rage.
Suddenly, blinding sunlight hit my face; I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my own bed, alive, solid, on the very morning of the car crash that killed me, armed with the horrifying truth.
"Ethan! Get up! You're going to be late for that presentation!" Brittany's voice, sharp as ever, cut through the silence, but this time, I wasn't just hearing a nagging wife—I was hearing a co-conspirator plotting my demise, and my patience was gone. The Quiet Girl’s Roar
Modern Sarah Miller had spent three years engaged to Jake Mitchell, her life quietly devoted to their struggling Texas ranch under the shadow of his family’s loan.
Most folks saw her as just a quiet country girl, sweet and a little sheltered, her secret passion for barrel racing hidden from judgmental eyes.
Then, Jake returned from Dallas, not alone, but with Tiffany, a flashy rodeo hanger-on who immediately made her presence known.
He brutally broke off their engagement, dismissing Sarah and her "quiet farm ways," smugly declaring she’d "never understand the adrenaline of the rodeo arena."
Adding insult to injury, he'd given Tiffany Sarah’s most cherished heirloom: her grandmother’s silver dollar bolo tie.
When Sarah dared to ask for it back at a pre-Fair party, Tiffany, with a scornful smirk and Jake’s tacit approval, snapped the tie’s cord, sending the precious silver dollar clattering to the floor, dented and broken.
“It’s just a thing, Sarah,” Jake carelessly remarked, offering to buy a new one, utterly oblivious to the depth of her hurt and the heirloom’s meaning.
The public humiliation and blatant disrespect burned, turning Sarah’s heartbreak into a simmering fury she’d never known.
They thought she was weak, easily managed, a charitable case with no fire.
But Jake's condescending words about "adrenaline" had struck a chord.
She would show them.
She would take back her power and her identity.
Tonight, under the bright lights of the County Fair, Sarah Miller would unleash her secret talent, and with her trusted horse, Dust Devil, prove just how much adrenaline she truly possessed. From Gilded Cage to Silver Medal
Romance Ava Hayes lived a life that glittered like ice, a promising figure skater poised for the U.S. Figure Skating Championships, coached by an ambitious mother and partnered with the charming Ethan Vance.
Then she woke up, not from a dream, but from a terrifying, crystal-clear memory of a future that hadn't happened yet—a future where her partner, her rival, and her own mother combined forces to publicly shatter her career.
She remembered the disastrous flameout, the chilling smiles, the calculated betrayals, seeing herself broken, humiliated, quitting everything she ever loved, vanishing from the sport that defined her.
The ache in her head wasn't from a fall; it was the raw, sickening wound of a betrayal so deep it stole her very identity and left her wondering how the people closest to her could orchestrate such a cruel downfall.
But this time, the disaster was still weeks away. Armed with the painful blueprint of her past self's ruin, Ava Hayes found a new, cold resolve, determined to break free from her gilded cage and reclaim her future, starting now. You might like
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. 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." Secret Triplets: The Billionaire's Second Chance
Roderic Penn I stood at my mother's open grave in the freezing rain, my heels sinking into the mud. The space beside me was empty. My husband, Hilliard Holloway, had promised to cherish me in bad times, but apparently, burying my mother didn't fit into his busy schedule.
While the priest's voice droned on, a news alert lit up my phone. It was a livestream of the Metropolitan Charity Gala. There was Hilliard, looking impeccable in a custom tuxedo, with his ex-girlfriend Charla English draped over his arm. The headline read: "Holloway & English: A Power Couple Reunited?"
When he finally returned to our penthouse at 2 AM, he didn't come alone-he brought Charla with him. He claimed she'd had a "medical emergency" at the gala and couldn't be left alone. I found a Tiffany diamond necklace on our coffee table meant for her birthday, and a smudge of her signature red lipstick on his collar. When I confronted him, he simply told me to stop being "hysterical" and "acting like a child."
He had no idea I was seven months pregnant with his child. He thought so little of my grief that he didn't even bother to craft a convincing lie, laughing with his mistress in our home while I sat in the dark with a shattered heart and a secret life growing inside me.
"He doesn't deserve us," I whispered to the darkness. I didn't scream or beg. I simply left a folder on his desk containing signed divorce papers and a forged medical report for a terminated pregnancy. I disappeared into the night, letting him believe he had successfully killed his own legacy through his neglect.
Five years later, Hilliard walked into "The Vault," the city's most exclusive underground auction, looking for a broker to manage his estate. He didn't recognize me behind my Venetian mask, but he couldn't ignore the neon pink graffiti on his armored Maybach that read "DEADBEAT." He had no clue that the three brilliant triplets currently hacking his security system were the very children he thought had been erased years ago. This time, I wasn't just a wife in the way; I was the one holding all the cards. 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. First Lady Out, Your Majesty In
Asher Wolfe For three years, Allison played the perfect First Lady in a marriage that never gave her love back.
Nolan handed her divorce papers, sneering at her background while his mother mocked her as barren and his pregnant mistress claimed her place. So Allison walked away.
On the very day she left him, the royal family reclaimed her as their lost princess.
Crown, fortune, power, three terrifying brothers, and a handpicked royal consort now stood at her side.
Her eldest brother-the world's most feared arms dealer-pushed a black card across the table. "Go on. Spend whatever you like."
Her second brother-the genius doctor-twirled a scalpel between his fingers. "Tell me, sis. How many cuts do the ones who hurt you deserve?"
Her third brother-a global martial arts superstar-stormed into her ex-husband's lair. "Who made my sister cry? Time to face the music."
When her regretful ex begged for another chance, Allison only smiled.
It was too late. She was no longer his wife. She was his worst mistake. Marrying Her Was Easy, Losing Her Was Hell
Michael Tretter "Stella once savored Marc's devotion, yet his covert cruelty cut deep. She torched their wedding portrait at his feet while he sent flirty messages to his mistress.
With her chest tight and eyes blazing, Stella delivered a sharp slap.
Then she deleted her identity, signed onto a classified research mission, vanished without a trace, and left him a hidden bombshell.
On launch day she vanished; that same dawn Marc's empire crumbled. All he unearthed was her death certificate, and he shattered.
When they met again, a gala spotlighted Stella beside a tycoon. Marc begged. With a smirk, she said, ""Out of your league, darling." 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!" His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator
Eydie Pfefferle My husband of three years, Arthur Vanderbilt, came home smelling of his mistress's perfume and threw divorce papers on our marble kitchen island.
He demanded I sign away all rights to our assets for a five-million-dollar "severance," calling me a leech his family picked up from the suburbs to solve a temporary PR crisis.
When I refused and demanded my four percent equity in the Vanderbilt Group, he and his mistress, Serena, launched a vicious smear campaign. They planted false stories on Wall Street forums, accusing me of laundering money for an Eastern European crime syndicate.
They tried to force my hand with a check for five hundred million, which I tore up and threw in his face. To them, I was just a trophy wife they could easily discard.
They had no idea that the "leech" they so despised was the anonymous investor who had secretly bailed out their entire company three years ago, saving them from bankruptcy.
Their final move was to hire an actress to publicly accuse me of fraud in the lobby of the most powerful law firm in Manhattan. They didn't realize I was there to retain the firm's most ruthless lawyer. After security threw them out, I looked my replacement in the eye and made her a promise.
"Prepare for an FBI probe into perjury and corporate defamation." 
/1/108061/coverorgin.jpg?v=30cc17b28487e4afc530d7ddcb2dfe21&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103384/coverorgin.jpg?v=d91eb329a375c13cbcbcc2d434d8e6cd&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/86776/coverorgin.jpg?v=78d6cdd31005682cce304d16075a2801&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85711/coverorgin.jpg?v=ee0beb90fcd21067022677d8497f80d9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83138/coverorgin.jpg?v=40eea7c1b366dbddc45d9ef6a28dcc64&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82562/coverorgin.jpg?v=95e756ee3f220df3636080b7c02db1fa&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80920/coverorgin.jpg?v=2ca94d96bcd3045cfbb2bcaeeb114d9c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/80868/coverorgin.jpg?v=e53618b4fdb4e7d71204de580df1ba9b&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/79985/coverorgin.jpg?v=6b1705473dbb1e5eb2cbccb10ab8bd67&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/18641/coverorgin.jpg?v=ec7b09dee149242a80efc3785b8cd9a1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/106609/coverorgin.jpg?v=5e9e182824bef37bb03be668963bc105&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)
/1/106649/coverorgin.jpg?v=b55ff3a1bf4d7bb198689613bf191b01&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110343/coverorgin.jpg?v=cd4e8269a7b208ebe8c7a769a0d2faaa&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110015/coverorgin.jpg?v=864b36cbe26f3b21ce755a59ed6d4fb7&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/81650/coverorgin.jpg?v=6e4487b5edd0ed017fe09f8ca0166339&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/78663/coverorgin.jpg?v=b705411c5144e51405caa1dd738aa5d2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/110647/coverorgin.jpg?v=29beacffc0e96b8cfd2210bc9ec24044&imageMogr2/format/webp)