Aetheral Space - Chapter 390:13.48: The First Steps Upon A Bleeding Path

Bai Chuwei has lived for five thousand years, and after becoming an ancestor of all human beings, she descends the mountains and initiates the plot of a novel.A new female student is transferred into Henghua Secondary School Year 3. The young lady has bright eyes, white teeth, red lips and her appearance is similar to an immortal fairy. But unfortunately, she has Eighth-Grader Syndrome.“The wealth of ten Duan Family added together does not even make up half of my combined wealth over the past five thousand years.”“The first classic masterpiece of China? Oh I casually wrote that for fun two decades ago.”“Scientific research isn’t comparable to flying in the skies with a sword. Today, this ancestor here shall teach everyone how to cultivate scientifically.”The online lurkers reveal a snort of contempt and wait to see Bai Chuwei slapping herself in the face after acting so pretentiously. Eventually, the China Property Statistics Association reveals this particular information: The respected ancestor is the richest person in the world, owning the most number of gold mines, hundreds of islands, and countless property worldwide.China Writer’s Association: @Bai Chuwei, Respected ancestor, when will you continue updating your book after having stopped it for two centuries?

Ji Yan discovered his wife, who hated him so much that she wished he was dead, had lost her memory after a car crash. She had changed so much it was like she was a totally different person…

One day, after five years of living in the shadow of the popular actor—Mo Boyuan, Dr. Jiang suddenly decided that she had enough!

[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.