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... nious as they were before: It was all set up for this very precise moment.

The instant Lin Shiyi spoke, Zhao Meng realized why the script was amended like this. The rim of her eyes turned red, for she couldn't contain her anger the same way as Qiao Anhao.

"Is it because of the script?" Lin Shiyi didn't mind how Qiao Anhao and Zhao Meng ignored her at all, speaking while flicking through the script in her hands. Then she put on a stunned expression. "Ah, how did the script ...

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Cen Qing transmigrated into a book, transmigrating into the villain who single-handedly created the zombie virus in the post-apocalyptic novel.

It’s not scary to dress up as a villain, what’s scary is that there is a villain who is more powerful than her.

Looking at Jiang Ci who was still dormant in the culture medium in front of him, Cen Qing recalled his own ending in the original book, his little heart trembled.

Did she kill him before he turned black and grew up, or pulled out his oxygen catheter now?

But Jiang Ci’s first sentence after waking up was, “Mom.”

Cen Qing was so frightened that the hand that pulled out the oxygen tube swished back, and since then began the daily routine of raising a baby/raising a man in the last days.

“Qingqing, blood is drawn on the hand, it needs to be healed to be healed.”

Cen Qing glanced at the wound where a drop of blood appeared, and ignored him.

“Qingqing, the zombies are Ah Ci’s good friends, can you stop beating their heads?”

Cen Qing glanced at the zombie with its bloody mouth open, and slammed the stick again.

“Qingqing, he pushed me on purpose. I don’t care at all that you stay in the same space as him.”

Cen Qing glanced at his stunned assistant and sighed.

Who did Jiang Ci learn the tea-in-tea phrase from?

But the day-to-day life of raising a baby suddenly changed his style of painting one day. The reason was that Cen Qing recruited another male assistant, the kind who looked soft and cute.

The man pushed her against the wall, his dark eyes filled with strong possessiveness, his voice was hoarse,

“Qingqing, you are not good, and a disobedient child should be locked up with chains.”

Cen Qing, who was trapped in the man’s hot embrace and could not move, burst into tears.

Is it too late for her to pull out the oxygen tube now? Waiting online, very urgent.

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At the press conference, reporters bombarded Chen Xing with questions. “Can you explain how someone as young as you clinched the championship? We heard accusations from other contestants that you've been cheating? Is that true?”Chen Xing shoved the microphone that was pushed up to his nose away, his face filled with annoyance, “I want to state again very seriously that I haven't cheated!”As his words ended, Chen Xing waved his hand and summoned a behemoth that blotted out the sky, then jumped onto its back. “Damn it, I can't stand this anymore. Just because I raised them well, they say I cheated? My crocodile accidentally ate a demon, and that's cheating?”

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Wen Tian, on the way to send off his sister, was kidnapped by some people.

The multitude of bandits, happy and delighted: Boss, Boss, we have kidnapped a pleasant-looking wife for you.

Wen Tian: QAQ

The Bandit Head: Come, my wife, let me look at you, baby.

SiFang Town has been bustling with liveliness recently. The town’s best-looking Young Master Wen, has been missing for half the month and then suddenly returned with a man.

The wild man, called Chu XiangTian, is the head of the bandits in the Western Mountain. Rumors said that it is a devil who kills people without blinking.

Everyone sighs incessantly, Young Master Wen is truly pitiful…

Young Master Wen, who the people said were pitiful, with widely round eyes stared fiercely, “You sleep in the study room at night!!”

The tall and burly man immediately had a black face.

Wen Tian with sunken lips, said “You are being fierce….. QAQ”

Chu XiangTian soften, itching to hold that person in his arms.

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I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My HeadChapter 153: The Last Case (8) | COMPLETED
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All I ever wanted was for famous detectives like Sherlock Holmes or Arsène Lupin to appear in my dreams and share their wisdom. But instead, why am I hearing the voices of notorious serial killers in my head, guiding me to solve a string of mysterious cases?