MTL - Paranormal Recovery: My Wife is Too Strong - v3 Chapter 210 Start a step-by-step makeover

My old man pointed to the flower-like woman and said, "Call her mother from now on." He then pointed to a flower-bud-like girl and said, "This is your little sister."

Li Wei accidentally obtained a simulator that allowed him to manage a family of cultivators. He discovered that the descendants in the game would offer him strange and unique sacrifices.“Thanks to the ancestor for the gift, our family has become the most powerful family!”“Hurry up and offer a sacrifice to the ancestor. Please accept this spiritual weapon!”“Ancestor, we have already conquered the immortal world!”Then, one day, the descendants of the Li family, who had been in the game, appeared on Earth in grand flying boats. Under the astonished eyes of the entire world, these descendants paid homage to Li Wei in great numbers.“Welcome our ancestor home!”

To be a good mistress:

Lesson 1: The location does not matter; all that matter is whether he wishes to.

“This is an exchange for money and not a game of love.”

Yet, he is eventually addicted to spoiling her and sending her to cloud nine, giving her whatever she wishes for.

—

“Young Master Huo, Ms. An said that she wants to be the world’s top supermodel.”

As a result, news of the Huo Conglomerate entering the entertainment industry shocks the entire world.

“Young Master Huo, Ms. An said that she wants to get married at the age of 28.” The man’s gaze deepened as he replied, “That’s too late.”

The little bun behind him secretly hands him a household registration book and declares with a nasal and innocent-sounding voice, “Daddy, I will pay for your nine-dollar marriage registration fee!”

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.