Joyful Motherhood in a Rural Family - Chapter 382 - : Celebrating the New Year (6)

“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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I’ve unexpectedly embarked on a semi-coercive acting life.

…But it turns out, I’m quite good at it.

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I was killed in a car accident while trying to avoid a stalker.

Is this a reward for dying a miserable death?

I was reborn as a character in a novel that had, not a golden spoon, but a diamond spoon.

I thought I could live my life over again.

Until I found out my brother was a budding psychopath.

“Sister, how about this doll? Do you want it?”

“Leave it.”

“What about this doll?”

My younger brother ties people up so they can’t move, and insists on them being dolls.

Even I am destined to be killed in the hands of my brother.

‘Let’s leave my little brother to the heroine of the novel before that day comes!’

But… my brother killed the heroine…

This is the first part, the second part is “Playing Fish Trapped in a Secret Room (密室困游鱼 Mi Shi Kun You Yu)”.

In 2007, at the WCG Asian Tournament in Singapore. In just a few hours time, between left and right hands, there goes a life and death battle. In the Chinese team that year, there is a professional player who’s only 15 years old, nicknamed “God’s Left Hand”. At that match, he sits right next to her.

Their professional lives start from 14 years old until they retire, disappear, at 25 years old.

In these non-mainstream tournaments, where a small niche of the population follows closely, their only possessions are a mouse, keyboard, and headphone each. There they won gold medals one after another for China.