God Of Crafting - Chapter 233 Finally, reunion

Qin Zheng transmigrated into the role of the Princess Consort, but Qin Zheng, an engineer dispatched to a foreign country, didn’t get the script for a palace drama, nor did she have the chance to experience the luxurious life of a Princess Consort. Because, the nation had perished. A eunuch held three feet of white silk and said, “Your Highness, the city has fallen. Please leave with dignity.” Qin Zheng: “…” What kind of beginning was this? In order to avoid being forced to commit su*cide, Qin Zheng had no choice but to go to the bed of her half-dead husband, the Crown Prince, and pretend to be deeply affectionate, shedding a few tears to delay time. Emperor Chu Chengji, founder of the Great Chu Dynasty, was valiant and skilled in warfare. He conquered the northern barbarians and drove out the southern savages, ushering in the prosperous era of Xuan Chu. He spent his entire life in battles, without a wife or concubines. Consequently, after his premature death, only a young scion from a collateral branch was selected to succeed him. He departed during the peak of his prosperous reign, only to open his eyes and find himself at the time of his nation’s demise! He was reincarnated as the current Crown Prince, his own nephew of many generations. Learning that the territory he had opened up in the past was directly lost, the Emperor of the founding dynasty couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation. How useless were these descendants? Back then, he could establish this long-standing empire single-handedly, and today, he could rebuild it! As for this stunningly beautiful Princess Consort, who cried so pitifully in front of him, the Emperor of the founding dynasty was extremely disdainful: “Women would only hinder his speed of restoration!” Later, the Emperor of the founding dynasty would knock on the door of the Pepper Room every night and ask, “Azhen, can I come back to sleep?”

“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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