MTL - My Family Really Has A Goldmine - Chapter 67 Maison Blanche

Wang Yi gets a key, opening a door in 2022 will lead to 1982, and opening a door in 1982 will return to 2022.

Two very different great eras appeared before him:

Abundant dietary protection, developed industrial products, miraculous medicines, and explosive information, this is 2022.

Simple folk customs, rich wild resources, scattered antiques, and treasures of the age, this is 1982.

Traveling between these two eras, Wang Yi didn’t think much of it, he just wanted to live a good life.

- Description from novelbuddy

“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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That lonesome night as he lays dying in the hospital, fearing of death and desiring the taste of life, his mind became unprecedentedly complex with mixed emotions.

A sound, deep and unearthly, cracked across the sky — like the world itself had been struck with a sledgehammer. The stars flickered, then vanished behind creeping waves of ash and violet light. A fracture spread across the heavens, jagged and violent.And from that wound in the sky... they fell.Shapes. Twisted. Wrong. Crawling, jerking — no longer human.But inside a secluded estate tucked behind electronic gates and manicured hedges, the world still slept.Ryan stirred beneath the sheets, tangled in warmth. Jane Blackwood lay beside him, her breath calm and even. For a fleeting moment, the illusion held.Then—Bang! Bang! Bang!“Ryan!” Maggi’s voice, sharp with panic. A second slam, louder. “Open the door! Now!”Ryan groaned, still half-dreaming. “What the hell’s going on…”He slid out of bed, eyes heavy, limbs slow. When he opened the door, Eleanor nearly collapsed into him. Her hands were streaked with blood, her eyes wild.“They’re here,” she whispered. “The sky cracked open. Something came through. People are changing. Dying. Tearing each other apart—Ryan, this isn’t a dream. This is real. It’s happening.”He turned, pulse hammering. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”Outside, the world had ended.And the dead had begun to rise.He reached for his clothes, yanking on a shirt. But just as he stepped toward the hallway. The ceiling of the household collapses on their bodies and they died instantly but the pendant given to him by his mother started flickering and next second, In the world unlike Earth, Ryan instantly opens eyes with a gasp and when he sees himself in the mirror. He got reincarnated in another world.Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Thank you !.