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... ptain raised his whiskey, but his tone was strangely playful.

The sailors burst into laughter: "Old John is getting old, the rest on the North Pole are new crew members. He probably can't even throw the grapple hook properly."

Zhang Jian looked at the sailors and whispered to Qing Chen, "Let's find another place to talk. We can discuss your salary and the job."

"Okay," Qing Chen nodded with a smile.

Just as the two were about to leave, a captain named Craig stood ...

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Zhang Beichen downloaded a game called “The Empress of the Warring States Period”. He needs to play the role of a famous minister to help his monarch rule the world and become emperor.

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Until he woke up, Zhang Beichen discovered that he had actually come to the world in the game, and the magnificent empress in the game was standing in front of him!

The empress looked at Zhang Beichen with a cold and glamorous face, and thought: “He is the servant in the Sims who has made great contributions to me, but is rebellious and wants to marry me?”

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Gu Yang, who had just inherited hundreds of millions of fortune, passed through the book, and became a fake daughter in the book who occupied the magpie’s nest and ended up miserable.

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The Jincheng wealthy family said in private, “The Gu family is all stupid, and the fake daughter is still a treasure.”

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Everyone is sour.

Hearing that Gu Yang hangs out with mental illness all day long, netizens ridiculed: “Is this also a mental illness?”

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The whole network exploded.

Gu Yang felt that the little blood bank was good-looking and pitiful, she should treat him better and compensate him more.

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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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