MTL - Drawing Cards With My Lifespan: Starting By Gamifying Reality - v2 Chapter 286 Palm eyes!

[Short Story] [Food Writing] [Sweet Little Cake] One day Ding Sha got transmigrated into a book, with a baby of unknown parentage in her belly.

Upon closer look, the baby turned out to be the male lead from a previous angsty novel she read.

A poor little thing unloved by his parents.

So impoverished that her stomach rumbled, but armed with superb cooking skills, she transformed herself from Ding Sha into the boxed lunch beauty at the construction site.

Kung pao chicken, garlic baby bok choy, spicy pork belly, tossed noodles – she cooked up a storm.

Before the construction workers could feel the stirrings of spring in their hearts, the baby’s father suddenly appeared.

Jun, carrying a travel bag stuffed full of cash, squatted outside the door gazing longingly at Ding Sha’s slightly bulging belly.

“Wife…I’m back…”

A 1v1 sweet doting story without abuse, a light and fluffy little sweet cake, safe for consumption.

Su Chengyu took the blame for his wife and went to prison for three years. Upon release, he realized that she had betrayed him.Despite this, he benefited from misfortune and comprehended the Dao, stepping into the world of immortal cultivators. He could easily master immortal techniques and ancient martial arts. He could also refine pills, draw talismans, treat illnesses, and save people at will!Su Chengyu postured crazily in the Red Dust City, vowing to find out the truth behind the death of his 127 Su family members 26 years ago.

An RPG gamer who played the realistic VRMMORPG ‘The Amber Sword’ for years, finds himself teleported to a parallel world that resembled the game greatly. He takes on the body of an NPC who was fated to die, and with the feelings of the dying NPC and his own heartrending events in the game, he sets out to change the fate of a kingdom that was doomed to tragedy.

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.