PREVIEW

... o sing.

Chen Minxi took a deep breath and let himself relax and enter the mood of this song.

As a good student of the second grade of Beiying, "Entering the Opera" is a very simple matter for Chen Minwei.

"Let me drop my tears, not just the wine of last night. Let me reluctantly, not only your gentleness. How long will it take for you to walk, I hold my hand. What makes me feel embarrassed is the freedom of struggle. ”

Chen Minzhen’s singing is very skillful now. Befo ...

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In a parallel world, everyone awakened to weapon talents. They used divine weapons to battle against ferocious creatures.

Hence, the Forgemaster job class was born and was held in high esteem.

Wu Mo transmigrated to this world and became a student of the top academy, Divine Arms Academy.

The end-of-semester practical exam was in three days. Students were required to forge a divine weapon on the spot.

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Since he was a blacksmith, he decided to create a hammer for himself first.

On the day of the end-of-semester exam, the whole world was astonished!

An examiner exclaimed, “We asked you to submit your assignment and you are submitting Mjolnir?”

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“Nan Nan, sugar is sweet only when two people eat it together.”

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Master Qin: “My wife doesn’t know anything from the countryside, so I have to let her.”

Later, famous painters, medical professors, scientists… all came to ask for advice.

Crowd: Aren’t you from the countryside, a bum who doesn’t know anything?

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Master Qin took his wife into his arms and threw out countless black cards: “Look who has more money.”

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The reporter asked: “Is there any secret to chasing such a beautiful and versatile wife?”

“Be able to cook, be a hooligan, have a good appearance and a good figure, and more importantly, be physically strong!”

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“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.

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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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