How To Survive A Calamity - Chapter 117: Terra Sanguis [4]

In a distant future, the empires of mankind span the galaxy, and glorious Earth has devolved into a peripheral backwater.

In Shanjing city in the Asian region, Wang Zheng’s dreams of becoming a mech pilot are crushed when his college entrance exam genetic score turns out a pathetic twenty eight, barely above an animal.

To make things worse, people get the impression he attempted suicide after being rejected by the campus beauty.

Then the closest thing to a family he has, the old man in the book store across the road, goes missing, leaving him only a mysterious birthday present.

They are childhood sweethearts, they are engaged under the family’s scheme, and they have to live in the same room and sleep together.

That night, she was accidentally drunk, and he kissed her in a fascinating mood,. By accident, his “crime” was finally discovered, she accused him, but he said with a smile, “You are my wife, why can’t I kiss you?”

The two people’s daily routine is full of bickering, mutual hate.

He said that he disliked her. Actually, In his heart, he was extremely caring of her. When she was close to other boys, he was so jealous that he wants to tie her to his side and become exclusively his.

Ding![The Host has died!]A system message popped up in front of Nell's body after his last dying breath.Ding![Dark Evolution has been activated to absorb the death essence of the host.]And then he opened his eyes to find himself in the past right before the battle started.'Ah! Am I back to the past?'Ding![Please choose a partner to start the Dark Evolution process.][Partner Condition: Must be a living creature from the Monster category, not the Human category][Partner Gender has to be Female.]'Partner? A monster?'Nell's heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a cold sweat coming on.'A female monster?'

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.