After I Transmigrated, the Male Lead Blames Me for Not Loving Him - Chapter 168 - : Showcase Her Skills

She was a medical genius from the Noah Medical Academy as well as a drug producing specialist. After sleeping for three days, she had returned to the ancient era and become the loyal marquis palace’s ignorant and silly young miss.

Martin was a succubus who perished at the hands of the Sun God, struck down by a single divine arrow during the epic war between gods and demons. Meanwhile, Martin, a Ph.D. in literature and a seasoned movie enthusiast, lost his life in a car accident in August 2023. By some cosmic twist of fate, the souls of the two Martins converged within the chaotic currents of time and space, merging and eventually settling in the body of an eleven-year-old boy named Martin Myers, living in Los Angeles in 1996.A world without spiritual energy? Fortunately, as a succubus, I don’t need spiritual energy to cultivate; all I need is the essence of desire. Emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, and excitement—are all desires. As long as these emotions are directed at me, they can become fuel for my growth. Alright, let’s see what reliable ways exist in this world to stir people’s emotions en masse. Hmm, becoming a writer—sounds promising; and music, that could work too; but wow, Hollywood movies! They have a global reach; this is perfect! What’s that term again? Right—“Idea Recycler.” I’ll start with writing, but the ultimate goal is to become an international movie star. Acting skills, you say? Don’t worry—I’m a succubus, after all!Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to this novel. All characters, settings, and plot elements belong to the original author and copyright holder. This work is shared purely for entertainment purposes, with no intent to infringe on the original creator’s rights.

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.