PREVIEW

... h underground rivers. This lake is called Whitewater Lake.

On Baishui Lake, there are several caves scattered here and there, most of which are lived by elders who are good at water spells and lead their disciples. Only the island in the middle of Baishui Lake has the most favorable location and is owned by Yu Sukong.

In Xuanyun Sect, the power of the elders is ranked according to their level of cultivation. Yu Sukong's status is extremely high in the sect, and no one understands w ...

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Ning Yue was a military doctor and a special forces soldier. During a mission to rescue hostages, she died from a bomb explosion. Ning Yue thought she was dead, but when she opened her eyes, she had become a woman in ancient times with the same name but a different surname.

This woman’s father was a general, but she lived in the Ning Family Village and was raised by her adoptive parents for more than ten years. A year ago, the people from the general’s residence found her and brought her back. However, they sent her back again a few months later. When the original owner of the body returned to the village, she was pregnant and gave birth to twin sons within a few months.

Another year passed, and the year of the great drought was ushered in. The entire village had to flee. The original owner of the body left with the rest of the villagers with her two sons and slow-witted father. In other words, the current special forces soldier, Ning Yue, was an older single young woman who had not experienced the sweetness of love. She had skipped all those steps, and directly became a mother to two children. She also gained the original owner’s dim-witted father and a body that didn’t work and had hunger pangs after starving for two days. But was that all? Don’t be naive!

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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.

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“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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