PREVIEW

... /p>

Before this, the audience did not expect that there would be many high grade mages fighting within the small world of the Exquisite Jade Stone. Despite the obstruction of the Exquisite Jade Stone, they still felt the pressures of their auras.


Each and every one stared at the several high level mages confronting each other.


However, You XiaoMo and You Quan were the most prominent ones.


Both of them could be regarded as members of the Vermillion Blood Clan. ...

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“You slut! You cheated on me! I want a divorce!”

“Do it willingly, or I will expose your shameless acts to the public!”

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Caught cheating by her husband, best friend, and mother-in-law, Shen Yin wanted to explain herself but could not.

She had never expected that her surprise for her husband would go so wrong.

However, when she returned home to find her husband and her best friend in bed, she realized that it was just their ploy!

Signing the divorce papers, Shen Yin left with resolve, and made a grand return five years later as a beautiful forensic doctor with a son, here to torture scum and to woo new lovers! One day, her child whistled at a man with a Maserati, saying, “You don’t have to wait for my mom, sir. She’s gone to register her marriage!”

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Who was Shen Yin marrying when her baby daddy was right here?!

Gritting his teeth and dashing to the civil office, he scooped Shen Yin and threw her over his shoulder as he carried her away, smacking her painfully on the butt as he did.

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Song Xuanhe transmigrated into a book called “The President’s Seven Boyfriends”. He became the President’s cannon fodder ex-boyfriend, Song Xuanhe.

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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.

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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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*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“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.

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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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