Imprisoned for a Trillion Years, I Was Worshipped by All Gods! - Chapter 652 - 208-Blood Moon Ascends

The day the apocalypse arrived, Su Mo got utterly chilled by a meteorite fragment.When she woke up, the enchanting young man upstairs asked her, “Do you have a superpower?”“I do!” She silently pulled out a Flat Pot.While being teased, the villain arrogantly put his hands on his hips and said, “You're just a powerless waste.”“Heh,” she said, and with the Flat Pot, she turned his face into a pig's head.Bound to the strongest Cooking God system and dare to call her waste? She could smash your face in a minute.The Arrogant Chapter“My tea, one sip and superpower durability becomes endless.”“My meat, one piece and superpower lethality doubles.”“My dish, one plate guarantees you level up.”“But can you afford them?”

24 years old technology genius, was paralyzed by an accident. Cyra felt freedom for the first time in her life.But the world always throws things at you when you least expect. She transmigrated into a world where genders are reversed but still feeling the joy of her new working legs, she was thrown into a chaos space that would shape her bubbly personality into a dangerous being that made the world tremble.This is a reverse harem novel.Form Author San: my novel is not perfect, read at your own risk. For your author's brain cells please support me with 'love'. Ha! Just kidding. Leave your comments, reviews, and votes.

Cheng Xi, a guileless psychiatrist with a heart of gold, who would do anything for her patients. Lu Chenzhou, a frigid businessman who refuses treatment for his emotional detachment.

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.