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... usted my stance.

Across from me, Mirabel stood, her eyes locked on me. She had that calm, cool expression she always wore, like she already knew how this would play out.

After telling Miss Sofia, she agreed to the penalty and added a little for herself, the loser would go an extra ten laps every morning, both of us agreed and here we are.

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My hand rested on the hilt of my sword. This wasn’t a wooden sword but it wasn’t a rea ...

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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.

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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.

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How can a prince be so thin and bony, that was Zhang Ping’s first impression of Huangfu Jie.

The prince looks at the kneeling eunuch, the scars and wounds on his body not yet healing.

Zhang Ping’s eyes turn red—I curse your ancestors for eighteen generations!

He is just little uglier; weirder than normal people.

Are ugly people not human? I, Zhang Ping, swear to cultivate the world’s second best over here in the palace!

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