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... ord and his eyes were cold. Looking back to the ground, the foot is going to come back, but it was stopped by one person.

“Nothing?” The old man smiled and looked at the person who stopped himself: “Why, is the fate dead?”

"Well." There is no expression.

"What do you stop me? You don't hate him? The master who raised you up is dust-free and is dead under the calculation of the Qing Dynasty. It is clear that you are the most sincere to the sacred, do you not hate?"

" ...

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“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

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The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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