Heavenly Castle - Chapter 64 – Violette’s expectations, Yuri’s explorations

Xu Ping'an was overjoyed to marry, but what welcomed him was a deception.Eight years of devotion, eight years of infatuation, only to be repaid by the one he loved plucking his spine and devouring his bloodline.“You take my spine, I'll turn my Thunder Sword into bone, defy the heavens to change my fate, and awaken the memories of the Immortal Emperor from a past life.”In this life, I will make all those who betrayed me descend into Hell!

According to a popular legend, the famous God of War of Great Liang, Huo Wujiu, was once captured by an enemy country. He had his meridians severed and both his legs broken before he was thrown into the prison. In order to humiliate him, that incapable ruler of the country gifted him to his cutsleeve brother as a concubine.

General Huo suffered a great deal of humiliation. He laid in wait for three years before he shed his cicada skin and returned to the Great Jing. He treated his crippled legs, and three months later, he led his army to storm the enemy’s capital. He slaughtered the emperor, razed the capital, and finally beheaded that tr*sh of a cutsleeve, displaying his head on the city’s walls for the next three years.

Since then, the world has been united.

——

A certain university’s history lecturer received a graduation thesis depicting the legend of Huo Wujiu, and he wrote a full page of criticism for the student.

Then he blinked, and he was transmigrated into the body of that cutsleeve prince.

There were lanterns and decorations everywhere. A man came, sending word that the disabled general of the enemy state had already entered the manor in his wedding sedan.

As he looked at the General Huo in front of him, taking in his malicious gaze, his tortured state, clad in a red wedding gown, Jiang Suizhou realised that even legends can come true.

This legend could even cause him to be beheaded in public in the future, with his head hung on the city walls for three years.

Jiang Suizhou’s only option was to take good care of General Huo.

In spite of the hidden arrows of the court’s political agendas and the incapable ruler’s endless attempts to humiliate him, he could only bite the bullet and bear the brunt of it; his only wish was that after three years, he could protect his own head.

Of course, he didn’t dare to even dream of asking this 3 meters tall “concubine” to serve him.

However, before the three years was up, General Huo’s legs recovered on their own.

He didn’t just slaughter the incapable ruler and unite the land under the heavens, but he also climbed into his own bed and pinned him down with a heated gaze, stubbornly wanting to establish his status as a concubine.

“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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