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... ood out.

The scorpion looked at Zhang Chengling, smiled strangely, and murmured: "Someone in the world has such good luck, good boy, you have an incalculable future."

After he finished speaking, he bent down and hugged the beautiful young man who fell to the ground. The young man was twitching, looking at the scorpion, his face was struggling, and the scorpion gently squeezed his chin and shook his head: , Face is ruined. "

After speaking, the hand suddenly exerted strength, ...

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In her previous life, she had given everything for him and helped him step by step to become a great minister, but she was not as good as her good sister who slept with him.

When the gentle and loving husband took her life, she realized that the love she thought was as deep as the sea was a joke.

To the end with hatred, Lu Xiang cursed angrily, wanting to let the person who wronged her and harmed her have a terrible death…

Opening her eyes again, she returned to the year she was fourteen years old. She had the same life, but she returned with hatred in her heart.

The night was dark and the wind was high, Lu Xiang picked up Chu Jinyan who was hunted down and seriously injured, his eyes sparkled.

“Hey, golden thighs!”

So without further ado, he dragged the person into his room to hide.

“As the saying goes, life-saving grace should be promised with your body… Ah, no, I will repay you with the spring, I saved your life today, and you have to promise me three requests in the future.”

Chu Jinyan: “???”

He doesn’t really want to be rescued…

Later, Chu Jinyan patted his thigh and hooked his fingers: “My concubine, come, I’ll give you my lonely thigh.”

***

She: insidious, deceitful!

Him: despicable, shameless!

Passerby A: So they are a match made in heaven?

Passer-by: Bah, that’s called working in collusion!

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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.

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.]

……………………………………………………………

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