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... ecific process of negotiation, such as when to return Qinglong and when to build a federal base. Kind of thing.

Until this time, the federal government was unaware of the conspiracy of Ye Shoukong, and they also needed to delay time to create a leap spaceship. They were willing to express peace talks with Ye Shoukong and were ecstatic to show sincerity. In order for most people to successfully board the spacecraft, they did not care about the lives of those who arrived on the mission.

...

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She, a genius abandoned by her clan. He, a proud, pampered, two-faced imperial crown prince, a developing supreme ruler of the world. She, tricking him, disguised as a pig to eat a tiger, suppressing him, provoking him. Every time, after playing with him and stirring him up, she’d escape.

No man could put up with this! He could only hunt her, pamper and indulge her, lure her into falling in love with him, who would have thought, the one to first fall in love would turn out to be him———-

A young man who stood above the world, a young lady who dominated the landscape, evenly matched opponents, evenly matched romantic game of chase and tag.

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Lin Jiao and Gu Quan have been in love for two years, playing the role of a little white flower for his liking, willing to be humble as dust.

She thought that Gu Quan loved each other as much as she did.

But at a party, I heard him and others say, “Lin Jiao is very good, but it’s not her.”

Only then did Lin Jiao realize how ridiculous her character was.

She was ashes as she was, and when he left himself and lingered with his sweetheart, she left the stage sadly.

*

Later, Gu Quan, remorseful, found Lin Jiao.

He grabbed her hand, his eyes full of nostalgia: “Jiaojiao, forgive me, okay?”

“Not good.” A man in a bathrobe suddenly appeared and hugged Lin Jiao tightly in an absolutely possessive posture.

He glanced at Gu Quan defiantly, leaned over and whispered, “Wife, shall we continue?”

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“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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