MTL - Open a Clinic to Cultivate Myself - Chapter 1797 The World in the Seal of Creation

Upon awakening, Lu Xuan found himself as an ordinary spirit plant cultivator, tending to an acre of land merely scraping by in the realm of cultivation.

Fortunately, he stumbled upon an unexpected revelation: with each maturing spiritual plant, he received additional rewards.

Harvesting a The Firefly Grass yielded a Golden Sword Technique.

From the Blood-Devouring Vine, he obtained a Purification Talisman.

And the Phantom Spring Flower gifted him a prescription for the elusive Luminous Flame Pill.

Henceforth, he contentedly tended to his own spiritual fields, observing the tumultuous tides and shifts in the world of cultivation.

“Duels and clashes, expeditions into secret realms, immortal fortunes, obtaining mystical treasures… None of it concerns me!”

“I simply wish for peace and quiet to tend to my fields.”

“Then why don’t I marry you!” Yu Dong suddenly proposed.

“You…” Xia Feng thought he had misheard.

“You see, you’re looking for someone to marry to ease your mother’s heart, I also want to get married, we’re right in front of the doors to the Civil Affairs Bureau, and with all our papers too!” Yu Dong exclaimed while holding up her red household book.

“And the most important thing is that we just broke up with our exes. This is fate, ah!”

Right up until they left the Civil Affairs Bureau again, holding a newly registered red book, Xia Feng remained dazed still wondering, how did he end up getting married?

Did he just pick up a wife at the doors to the Civil Affairs Bureau?

What Xia Feng doesn’t know is that Yu Dong traveled back in time from 10 years in the future.

Now, having a second chance in life and able to secure a good husband, Yu Dong will live her life at full throttle and without regrets.

Great Cultivator Chen Fan had failed his Tribulation period, but after a dream, he had returned to Earth, when he was young, five hundred years ago.

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.