MTL - Maximum Comprehension: Taking Care of Swords In A Sword Pavilion - Chapter 634 Goodbye Zeng Daniu

Pretending to be Jiang Lai’s boyfriend to meet her parents, but was given a house and a car by routine, and she wanted to do the fake show for real?

Never expected to encounter a gun battle, a close call, awakening the infinite inheritance system.

[A set of courtyard houses at the foot of the imperial city, is it inherited? 】

[LV5 pistol arc shooting, is it inherited? 】

[Bajiquan Grandmaster, do you want to inherit? 】

National martial arts and marksmanship, language and musical instruments, culinary and acting skills, high-rise buildings, island territories, everything can be inherited.

Slowly, Qin Yan discovered that he had actually traveled to a world where film, television and drama merged.

A Xiang, Carambola, Gao Wen, Andy, Shi Miao, each heroine appeared on the stage, starting a domineering life.

- Description from novelbuddy

Vincent van Gogh, the painter who refused to be an accessory Of power and painted with his soul at the tip of a brush, was not understood by anyone and had to die like a madman, and he woke up in 21st century Korea.

Like a wheat field melted with gold, like a sunflower that swallowed the sun, a dazzling painter once again takes the brush.

After a miserable past life of being enslaved by her boyfriend and best friend, Rong Yue is back ten years in time where she has a chance to rewrite everything that has happened to her.

More importantly, she gets compensated by heavens when they send the Second Young Master Qin to her.

“Master, young Miss just took the first place.” Shadow A reported.

“Only her can take it.”

“Master, young Miss just bought a robotics company.” Shadow S reported.

“Invest in it.”

Watch as this eighteen year old girl takes back the life that belonged to her with her domineering president that’s ready to be at her beck and call

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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.