My System Is Three Thousand Years Early - Chapter 859 - 267: That Princely Heir, Can I Be Busy First? (Seeking Subscriptions)_2

The Immortal stroked the top of my head, and as my hair was tied up, I was bestowed with eternal life.IBM z15, 190 CPUs, 40T of memory, 12.2 billion transistorsArriving in the Cultivation World with a portable data center space, a tale of cultivation aided by the IBM z15.All for the sake of immortality!

Welcome to Hell’s Game.[Entering instance: Bloody Restaurant][The position you applied for: Delivery Person][Your customers include: a fat otaku emitting a corpse stench, a maid who bursts at the slightest disagreement...][Your colleagues include: A boss who's too pretty to be human, A cow or a horse in the literal sense, a man-eating tree that swears in French...]Facing these incredible characters, Liu Zheng, who wanted to be a decent person, had no choice but to give up on humanity.

Say what you want three times:
This article has no CP!
This is a brainstorming essay.
When another space node in the primitive rainforest world overlaps with our living space node, a passage between the two worlds is opened.
Plants from another world spread in just a few days and the city fell.
Before long, herbivorous, scavenger, and large carnivores appeared.

Content tags: fantasy space fantasy magic sci-fi power
Search keywords: Protagonists: Mo Qingqing, Wu Mengmeng (Wu Nan), Liu Ziche, Feng Qingran

- Description from novelbuddy

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”