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... can only use space if he wants to ferment the dough well.

  The processing workshop in the space, although it cannot do deep processing, but this simple fermentation process is still possible.

  Not only fermented old noodles, but also can be made in the processing workshop when fermenting is required for brewing wine, soy sauce and vinegar, making bean paste, etc. in the future.

  After putting the dough into the processing workshop to ferment, Jiang Pingan quickly lit a fi ...

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Existence was divided into three realms. The Heavenly Realm. The Earthen Realm. The Infernal Realm. Below them, countless minor realms of all types existed, none able to match the might of any of the Three Fundamental realms. The Celestials led the Heavenly Realm, The Immortals led the Earthen Realm and Demons led the Infernal Realm while the Rulers controlled all the minor realms. Together, they formed The Myriad Unity and allowed peace to reign supreme. The mortals were allowed to cultivate and reach for the Heavens as a balance was installed between the Heaven and Earth, all according to the Heaven’s Will. And yet, among the billions of trillions of living beings within the Myriad Unity, one seemed unsatisfied. “They are lying to us.” This man went against all known truths and contradicted the very gods. “We are in a false world! Mere pawns used to study an outcome!” And so in search of freedom and truth, this man committed the ultimate taboo. He rebelled.

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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.

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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.

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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