Bigshot's Sweetie Is a Cat! - Chapter 331: They Want to Snatch My Eyeballs

Sometimes dying isn’t even the worst part of your dayMark has been reincarnated into a dead town in a bog, one that has been recently destroyed and occupied by ravenous undead. They disappear every day and return again at night, mindless and hungry, hunting for any survivors. He’ll need to use cunning and subterfuge to avoid them, because since he was transported into the body of a child, he can’t level up. At least not yet.Bog Standard. It means “totally normal”, right? But for the small towns found in these bogs, there's no quick rescue and not much trade. Everything has to be made to last. To them, it means “excellent quality”. Mark will have to prove he's Bog Standard if he hopes to survive.This is an Isekai of excellent quality. It’s a progression fantasy set in a LitRPG world, rags to riches with an eventual OP main character. The pacing is slow-burn, incremental progression, sometimes slice-of-life, punctuated by moments of intense violence and possibly traumatic content.

It started off peculiarly; first, his domestic cat refused to let him cuddle it.Lin Qiushi soon found that a sense of disharmony and incongruity began to pervade everything around him.Then, one odd day, he pushed open a door, and he discovered that the hallway he was familiar with turned into a boundless corridor.At both ends of this corridor were twelve, identical iron gates.he pushed one of the doorsThus, the story begins.Disclaimer: The content presented here is not authored by me. I kindly request that you extend your support to the original author by visiting jjwxc.net.Original Author Name: Xī Zǐxù / 西子绪

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.