The Ascension of Contracted Spirits - Chapter 11 - 10: Chick House_1

What? He’s transmigrated into an apocalyptic novel?

What? He transmigrated into a white lotus?

What? The white lotus killed the main character shou (bottom, uke) and even proudly became a mistress?

Oh, luckily the white lotus in the apocalypse has a thick thigh to hold on to (someone to rely on).

What? This was actually an apocalyptic rebirth revenge story?

What? The thick thigh was actually a really big cannon fodder?

Therefore, this is the dramatic story of a man who transformed into a white lotus struggling to survive in an apocalyptic rebirth revenge novel, trying to avoid the reborn pig’s foot (the original main character), and trying his best to get away from the cannon fodder gong (top, seme).

- Description from Novelupdates

You’d think seeing the future would give me a head start on surviving the apocalypse. I had it all planned—until everything I knew shattered when my husband sacrificed himself to save me and our son. Now it’s just me, my three-year-old son Leo, and my cursed gift of foresight that only seems to kick in when it’s nearly too late.I’m doing my best to keep us safe, to find food, to make some kind of plan—“Mommy?”I glance down, trying to ignore the tug on my pant leg as I focus on our supplies. “Not now, Leo. Mommy’s thinking.”“Mommy!”I sigh and finally look down. My three-year-old is standing there, clutching… I blink. “Leo, where did you get a knife?”He shrugs, grinning like it’s the most natural thing in the world.My heart stutters. “No, really. Where did you find that?”I try not to laugh. I mean, he’s three. Maybe he just—found it somewhere? But the next day, it’s a water bottle. Then, a tiny flashlight, somehow with batteries still inside.I don’t even know what else; he’s pulling things out one by one with the pleased grin of a kid who’s just figured out his favorite game.Well, we may just survive this mess after all.Now, if only the universe could have spared me from him. I don’t even know his name, but I know his type: tall, broad, and annoyingly handsome, with an air of calm control that’s out of place in this chaos. Ex-military, if I had to guess, with a voice that’s just as infuriating as his smirk. The man has a habit of showing up at the worst—or best—possible times, with a gun at the ready and secrets buried as deep as those bright green eyes.I mean, he’s probably useful, but I’m trying to keep my eyes on the prize here: survival.For Leo and me.Because, foresight or no foresight, nothing is guaranteed in this new world—except the fact that people like him are trouble.

Catching arrows, running up walls, crushing boulders and bending metal, these are but petty parlour tricks in the eyes of martial artists. But where can a genuine martial artist stand in an era where martial artists are nothing more than a myth?