Alchemist In The Apocalypse: Rise Of A Legend! - Chapter 4 Primordial Chronicle

For a million worth of contract, she became a surrogate mother.

He was the chief executive of the Empire and she was of lowly birth. With her adoptive father’s business falling into crisis, she agrees to his contract.

She gave birth to twins: the older brother is healthy, while the younger brother didn’t breathe out. Fulfilling the contract with a huge monetary sum as the reward, she disappeared from his eyes.

Six years later – he was still the cold high-profile president, but when she is accidentally imprisoned in the cage of his golden birds he pressured her harder and harder: “Woman, do not think you can escape my hands!”

The old-fashioned man: “Mu Yazhe, you’d better leave her alone, this is the child’s mother!” The man becomes frightened, questioning the reason this child’s features bears such resemblance to…

- Description from Novelupdates

Qiao Shao, who worked hard to stay up all night and study, was first in class — if you count from the bottom.

He Shen, who was able to get a perfect score even when he slept all day, in a rare display of kindness, bought a bottle of drink to comfort his stupid seatmate.

Then he saw the messages popping up on Qiao Shao’s phone—

Dad: Don’t panic, it’s okay if you didn’t do well in the exam. Dad just ordered a new sports car for you.

Granddad: Grandson, there’s no need to hurry. It’s alright even if you didn’t do well in your exam. Granddad bought a new yacht for you, come and take a break.

Grandpa: Grandson, don’t cry, it’s okay if you didn’t do well in the exam. Grandpa’s billions-worth of properties are all yours.

With a blank expression, He Shen threw his 2.5 Yuan worth bottle of drink into the trash.

Hold your horses! Comfort?

Dirt poor and highly intelligent Gong who left home X underachieving, test-failing, doted on and pampered shou

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.

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.

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.

*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.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

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.]

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .

The all-mighty CEO of the Mo Corporation, Mo Shiting, fell into a trap and got into a flash marriage, and the culprit was an unknown little girl.

Everyone was shocked!

It was said that the young master of the Mo family was cold-blooded, cruel, and decisive. The little girl must be in trouble now, they thought. But what they didn’t know was that this little girl, called Gu Li, was not only eccentric and thick-skinned, but she was also very good at sweet-talking. She was born to subdue Mo Shiting. Until one day—

Reporter: “Young Master Mo, please use a phrase to describe yourself.”

Mo Shiting: “A wife-doting maniac.”

Reporter: “Are there no other phrases you can use to describe yourself?”

Mo Shiting: “Afraid of my wife?”

Everyone else: “Young Master Mo, blink if you’ve been kidnapped.”

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .