Cultivation: I Can Add Descriptors To My Body - Chapter 124 - : Joining the Sword-Testing Conference

Others treated disease to save person, he treated disease to steal heart.

The Frost Goddess was deeply captivated by him. The gentle and kind beautiful teacher was completely enchanted by him. Even the cold and beautiful female assassin melted quietly because of him.

Competing in medical skills? He was the one who treated the Godly Doctor. Competing with backgrounds? Leaders rushed to him. What? You actually wanted to compete with him in a match for match? Looking at the gentle girl beside him, Tang Yu had a headache as he said, “Beautiful girl, how did you fall in love with me?”

- Description from Novelupdates

Fear breaks the boundaries between dreams and reality, and it is impossible to tell which is reality and which is illusory. When the nightmare really comes, no one can be alone.

This is both a danger and an opportunity.

- Description from novelbuddy

Superpowers descended upon the world. This was a world where everyone awakened to superpowers.

Some people awakened to abilities at the lowest F rank. They could only work the most difficult jobs for their entire lives. Meanwhile, some people started off with S rank powers and skyrocketed to fame.

In this age where talents determined everything, Ling Feng awakened the clone ability, which was ranked second last in the F rank powers.

The crowd mocked him, “That is one of the most useless talents. After one awakens this ability, they can create a clone of themselves. However, their strength is halved in the process. Aside from running errands and making deliveries, it is useless.”

However, very soon, Ling Feng discovered that something was off. That was because his talent could level up from the lowest F rank up to the SSR rank! He had unlimited clones and unlimited evolution!

Many years later, half of the superpower users in the world were Ling Feng’s clones.

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.