MTL - Cāi Cāi - Chapter 88 The curtain call "Famous Oceans" ⑤

He was once Head of the Immortal Sects.

Jiang Zheliu resisted the world’s destruction, protecting the people single-handedly. After losing all his spiritual energy, his hair turned white overnight.

All that remained was a millennium passed in vain, and a grave disease.

He distanced himself from the Cultivation World, went to Zhongnan Mountain to collect herbal medicines and grow flowers, as if to retire.

Until….. Those little demons he had once saved, his cherished juniors, even those devils that he had suppressed innumerable times, all came knocking at his door, each more excited than the next gripping his hand:

“Qianbei, what type do you like? Can you not be so rigid on your requirements?”

Jiang Zheliu: “……？？？”

Wenren Ye is newly appointed Devil Lord of the Devil Realm.

He is cold-hearted, devilishly handsome, and when he was younger he suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of a certain Head of the Immortal Sects.

Still obsessed with this defeat, Wenren Ye hurried through the night to Zhongnan Mountain, but all he saw was white-haired weak Immortal Sects Leader, with droopy eyes, sick to the bone, with freshly coughed up blood staining his lips.

His obsession was still alive, but his heart was also thumping.

- Description from Novelupdates

Chi Xiaochi: fourth-rate citizen at birth, three-time award-winning film emperor, second-rate temper, first-class looks. He crawled his way out of hell on hard mode to become a winner at life.

[Mature Content]

‘All it took was breaking one rule that she was not supposed to’

He was the bad boy with tattoos. She was the good girl with glasses, and she was his.

—

When Julianne Winters decides to move to the dormitory of the reputed University, she has everything planned so that she can complete her graduation and leave the place. But her plan is quick to catch fire from the moment the eyes of Roman Moltenore from senior year lands on her. And his appearance screams nothing but TROUBLE.

“What rules?” Julianne asked with a frown as she read through the page. She was sure she hadn't seen any rules of the campus mentioned on their website.

# 4. No using cell phones.

# 12. Students should not roam outside the campus after eleven in the night.

The further she read, the more bizarre it turned out to be. Her friend turned the page and then pointed at the last rule # 29. Listen to Roman Moltenore.

“This is made up. Look, the last one is even written in pencil.” Julianne couldn't believe that her friend from the next dorm thought she would fall for it. “And no phone?”

“It is important you abide by all the rules. Especially number twenty nine,” said the girl in a serious tone. “Remember not to get involved with Roman. If you happened to see him, run in the other direction. There is a reason why it is written down here.”

With the rules of the campus, she resorts to sending handwritten letters to her uncle. But who knew it would end up in someone else’s hand!

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.