MTL - Di Wang Gong Lue - Chapter 136 nightmare

Chi Yan had always had a weak constitution, and ghosts had always tried to kill him. He had tried many ways to change his situation, but it was all futile.

Coincidentally, Third Master Ye of Shiming City passed away, and a priest informed Chi Yan that Third Master Ye possessed the “look of demon,” Carrying a bit of this man’s ashes and installing an altar for him at home could help control the evil spirits around Chi Yan.

Left with no choice, Chi Yan took a gamble. Amazingly, it worked. However he didn’t expect that he’d be instead be haunted by the most persistent ghost of them all.

Obsessed with love, undying resentment, possessed by evil.

- Description from Novelupdates

She is the underworld Ghost Doctor’s only disciple, who accidentally transmigrated into the body of the main wife’s daughter in the general’s mansion. She used to be a punching bag.Now, she stepped on her dregs of an older sister, put her father’s concubine in her place, and teaches any objectionable aristocratic ladies a lesson.

Her days are rather free and unfettered. But when did that cold as ice prince from the rumors, sporting a deadpan face all day long, fix his gaze on her?
He unexpectedly fawned and pandered to her like a devoted dog?

“Go away, you rotten man! Careful or I’ll needle you like a pin cushion!”

“Wife, why are you so fierce? As a husband, I’m so scared”
….the man is all smiles as he approached, his eyes gleaming with a cunning light.

- Description from Novelupdates

Coincidentally, indoorsy-guy Zhang Yang went to the cultivation world, being the lowest level of zombie. By using a manual book named: “ Tai Yin Refining Figures”, Zhang Yang find his own way to success and leaves a “If a zombie knows how to use a manual, nobody can stop it “ legend in the world.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.