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... good things he didn't deserve.

Just when Zhang Meng's hand reached 999, the red chip suddenly shot, grabbed Zhang Meng's hand, and kicked it fiercely, Zhang Meng flew out with the opportunity.

Mu Yexiao's face was already very difficult to look at, and he looked at Zhang Meng: "Come, Zhang Meng is disrespectful to the princess, drag it straight down, thirty big boards."

Xiao Man snorted and put the drawing of the trebuchet in front of Mu Yexiao: "Brother, look, this thing o ...

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After Su Nuo had died, she discovered that she had lived in a novel world where the female supporting character had overtaken her role as the female lead.

The female supporting character, who had transmigrated into Su Nuo’s world, was pretty and outstanding. She had easily replaced the good-for-nothing dodder of a female lead.

Then, Su Nuo went through a series of quick transmigrations —

The flirtatious concubine of a troubled nation, the cannon fodder in a prestigious family, a young girl who joined the military for her father…

Su Nuo transmigrated back to her original world after completing ten quick transmigration assignments.

Outside the patient room, the fiance that she had grown up with mocked her coldly, “I don’t care if you try to commit suicide for me 100 times. I will never be interested in you.”

This was the day after she had attempted to commit suicide for Chen Weng. It was a warm and sunny day in spring, and she was 19 years old.

***

Su Nuo was a well-pampered, sweet pushover. Chen Wang hadn’t liked her since she was a child.

However…

He later discovered that his pampered and tender fiancee had turned into a female despot.

#Where men who had bullied the women that loved them come to die#

#You might enjoy a momentary satisfaction bullying a woman that loves you, but you’ll be chasing yourself straight into the crematorium in the next scene#

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#A love interest that isn’t an expressionless iceberg#

#Loving birth family and adopted parents#

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“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.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

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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