HAREM: WARLOCK OF THE SOUTH - Chapter 108: ASH IN THE WIND.

Pei Qin, upon transmigration, was instantaneously drenched in a basin of misery.The Scholar father was murdered on his way to the exams, and eldest uncle Jian Shen had two households.There was a son from the second wife, but neither grandparents nor villagers liked him, and he was also a thorn in the side of eldest aunt.Valuing sons over daughters, they wanted to sell her to buy land.Malnourished and poorly clad, her mother and siblings toiled like beasts of burden.Before she could strive for a better life, that already deceased Scholar father came back to life.He'd married a rich man's daughter? Sired two sons?Life was so hard, yet it drove his wife to her death.Pei Qin looked at her emaciated younger siblings, her hands trembling: To the mountains!!————————Lived in caves, built a hut, ate wild vegetables, gathered wild fruits.In poverty-stricken days, Pei Qin led her siblings to quietly amass wealth and silently prosper.Just as they were about to thrive, another wave of misfortune was thrown their way!Pei Qin with hands on hips: If you want to play the scoundrel, I'll make sure you're reduced to nothing!********************

Ling JingXuan, a secret international doctor and killer. Can save people with one hand and kill with the other. Right or wrong, both paths without exception would cause people to be terror stricken. One morning he crossed over, with only four bare walls for a home and was also given two free stir fried little buns. Ling Jingxuan can’t help but be speechless.This life, can this pit be any bigger?

Yan Chengrui, Qing dynasty’s only prince with a title of General. On his first mishap on a mission, a good man forcibly became a slave wife. There was no one who was not disappointed from the imperial family. But, don’t know when slave wife learned it but poison concubine’s poison was incomparable, who dares to try to straighten him out?

“What? 30 Wen? You’re robbing from people, so expensive!”

One day of the month of a certain year, Ling Jingxuan takes the two little buns to the market to buy living necessities.These five year old little buns after hearing the price have to hold back their red faces. Fried little hands rigidly held onto the broken wallet, Ling Jingxuan suddenly wanted to cry but had no tears. Sons, we earned money but not spending it, don’t tell me its left for the foals?

At the end, it was obvious they carried two liang of silver. Stuff that was sold at the last minute were the cheapest. Seeing the smile of satisfaction from the little fried buns, Ling Jingxuan secretly vowed. One day he would develop them into super meat buns，a rich 2nd generation family!

- Description from Novelupdates

“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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