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... g arts crackling like a whip of power among her fists as her face turned red from anger. A shudder went through her spine as she relived the sensation of the rat crawling up her leg to grab a pill from her pouch and a murderous rage began to boil in her.

She churned her Qi, staring at the little rat and the confused boy. Both standing frozen in front of her.

“Is it yours?” Yan Yun asked, her voice clipped. There were very few things that she hated, snakes, insects or such bothere ...

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This is a story of the flesh pushing everything.

In the Great Ye Dynasty, darkness descends, full of evil spirits and ghosts, killing invisible.

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The mad magic stick method, the eagle claw iron cloth shirt, the poisonous sand palm, the violent ape magic… are all revised to the realm of a thousand years later.

Facing the evil spirits, Jiang Dao had a burly body, muscles all over his body, and his eyes were like electricity.

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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.

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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.

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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?”

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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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