MTL - Becoming the Empress: Golden Finger Set Under My Bed - Chapter 403 I didn't let her kill the emperor

A legendary powerhouse of his generation, tired of the bustle of the peak, returned to the ordinary city and started a new life as an ordinary teacher. He wrote the legend in the city.

Magnificent mountains and rivers, the rising powerful ones. Some ancient martial art masters stood at the peak, becoming legendary. Some financial crocodiles rose up in the minuscule places, laughing arrogantly.

However, watching the school beauties was better than fighting and killing; educating was better than fighting for fame.

- Description from Novelupdates

The immortal cultivator was reborn in the city and became the defeated rich second-generation college student Zhang Yifeng, starting a counterattack from then on.

Step on high, rich and handsome, punch all kinds of masters.

Relying on the secret technique of comprehension, he is watching the world and sweeping all opponents in the world.

“In front of me, no one dares to be arrogant, because people who dare to be arrogant to me will never have a future.”

“In front of me, even the high-ranking queen should lower her head. Otherwise, there will never be a crown on her head.”

- Description from MTL

Terrence suddenly found himself back in the past, just moments before countless monsters were about to eat him.He got a second chance in life, but there was one problem.Unlike his peers, who had overwhelming talent, he was just an ordinary soldier with below-average skills.However, there was one thing he could count on that didn’t require talent.He knew the future.And with that knowledge, he could secure his survival, amass wealth, and build the ultimate sanctuary before the first wave hit.“I will be the one to shape the new era.”

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.