Forge of Destiny - Threads 238 Spymaster 2

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

On that fateful day, a voice in the sky told everyone on Earth that the world they called home has just been part of some sort of simulation.

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.