MTL - Trafford’s Trading Club - Chapter 2914 Great Sacrifice No. 10: The Fool of Fate

I don’t know the length of Hydra, or the depth of S.H.I.E.L.D.

I don’t know that Ant-Man has an outfit, and I don’t know that the Winter Soldier has an iron fist.

I don’t know that there is chaos in the Bliss Space, and I don’t know that Miss Xiaoyu wants to get married.

I don’t know if the walking corpse is cheating, I don’t know whose fault the alien is.

I don’t know the legend of mutants, I don’t know that Kryptonians can’t afford to provoke them.

I don’t know that Black Panther’s family has a mine, and I don’t know that Iron Man is a mess.

I don’t know what happened to Lei Shen’s family, and I don’t know that Thanos is thinking about making troubles.

He doesn’t know the past or the way forward, he only knows that he stands firm at the critical moment and cannot be cowardly.

- Description from novelbuddy

When Li Shen’s second personality acts out, her consciousness is sent to a strange place called Split Zone No.13. She is then informed that she can only return home after unraveling the truth.

From the depths of a deep and blissful slumber, Chu Yu awoke to the vague sense of someone beside her. Among four of five men that she saw sleeping around her when she awoke, one in particular, caught her eye.'Who is he?'With his unrivaled elegance and the air of supremacy around him, he gazed upon the princess and asked, “What's wrong, Princess? Did you have a nightmare?”And with that, an uncontrollable chill rose up her spine that made her shiver despite the warmth of the room.Is it a joke? Or is it destiny?

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.