Seeking Immortality In The World Of Cultivation - Chapter 1025 - 20 Years Later_2

What if you spend your whole life like a vegetable in a hospital bed? Only being able to speak and listen. Just that. Would you go crazy? Unbalanced? What if it was all the fault of a degenerate madman looking for his parents' inheritance? Would you be angry? Would you be mentally broken?That was Kayden's life for 20 years and as quickly as it started, it ended, but luckily for him, reincarnation existed and by some miracle, he still had his memories of it. And....his new world had...magic.In the first moment of consciousness, Kayden made a promise to himself, in this life, he would achieve everything, he would reach the height of power, he wouldn't give a damn about women or money, futile things that would condemn him to mediocrity, his focus was to have the power to rule his destiny, this time he would not be a slave to his own life, he would be a monarch.

“A marriage contract determines fate for a lifetime.As the once well-to-do Sang Wan marries into the wealthiest Shi family of Qingzhou, she faces a suspicious and difficult mother-in-law, a husband who cherishes his childhood sweetheart instead, a harsh eldest sister-in-law, and a cunning younger sister-in-law. The diffident Sang Wan retreats and concedes until she ultimately meets a tragic and desolate end, dying alone in a secluded corner of the Shi Mansion.Reborn in the sedan chair on her wedding day, where should she go? At the starting point of tragedy, with a chance to start anew, can she change her tragic fate and create a life filled with harmonious melodies for herself?In this life, she only desires a leisurely and peaceful existence, to truly live for once.”

Village woman Su Xiumei, “Fei, sister is ill, come help sister with a treatment!”Lin Fei gave a wicked smile, “Xiu Mei sister, don't lock your door tonight, I'll come give you a shot and you'll be fine!”Su Xiumei, “You little rascal, you're really naughty!”

“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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