MTL - My Summons Are Weird - Chapter 503 classic reprint

Jin Yang received a birthday present at the age of 20. He received a baby wrapped in a blanket and placed it in a box. The paternity test results told him that this was indeed his child.What? What did that happen? In Jin Yang's memory, he had never had sex with a woman. How did this child come about?Lin Shenshen had gotten pregnant before marriage and was despised by her family. She had liked Jin Yang for many years, but one day, she disappeared. She would never pester Jin Yang again and stop him from getting close to other girls.Jin Yang gave the child a name. He realized that this brat was very smart, but his personality was becoming more and more like the girl in his memory.Six years later, at Lin Shenshen's lowest, Jin Yang found her along with his son.“I'll find you a beautiful stepmother.”“What about my own mother? Is she not as pretty as this young lady?”Lin Shenshen picked up her son and kissed him on the cheek.“Where did this child come from?”“Baby, let Mommy tell you—you were born in Mommy's dream!” The couple, Lin Shenshen and Jin Yang, kept teasing the little kid.Jin Yang, “Honey, why don't you elaborate? How did you give birth in your dream?!”

Xin Yan was betrayed in her past life, brutally killed by her boyfriend and her best friend.But she didn't expect to get reincarnated.“In this life, I will plot my revenge against those who have harmed I and my family,” Xin Yan vowed.“Darling, don't you need me to help,” a coquettish male lead asked.Xin Yan felt her scalp tingle as she gritted her teeth.“Fine,” it wasn't bad to have someone take revenge on her behalf, was it?Have questions?

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.