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The King In the grand halls of the royal palace, where the walls were lined with tapestries depicting the victories of a thousand battles and the chandeliers cast golden light onto marble floors, sat King Alric on his modest throne. Unlike the opulence that surrounded him, Alric himself was a man of humble disposition. His graying hair curled slightly at the ends, a reminder of the thick, raven-black locks of his youth. His build, though softened with age, still carried the echoes of a man who had once trained alongside his knights. Middle-aged and of average weight, his features bore the lines of a life well-lived but also well-worried—creases on his forehead from nights spent pouring over maps and documents, and faint crow's feet from countless smiles given freely to his people. Alric was known as "The People's King." Not because of propaganda or force, but because he earned it. He walked among his people regularly, rolling up his sleeves to work beside farmers during harvest

This text was originally written in Chinese. I have obtained the original author, Shairly's, permission to translate it into English using GPT, with minor corrections made thereafter. Please forgive any errors. —————————————————————————————— Song Lang rubbed his temples, removed the IV drip from his arm, and stood up from the hospital bed to walk into the bathroom, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The mirror reflected the face of a middle-aged man, with noticeable wrinkles on his forehead and skin no longer smooth and delicate. Adjusting his angle a few times, Song Lang confirmed the crow's feet around his eyes. "I look almost forty, almost twenty years older than my actual age," Song Lang said self-deprecatingly as he touched the beard growing on his chin, then his expression became serious as he closed his eyes to organize the information he had gathered. The claw could indeed fulfill people's wishes, but it also had side effects. Initially, when he wished for Zhao Wan's