MTL - Raising a Bun with a Daily Life System - Chapter 99 Satiate and sleep

Waking up, I discovered that I had become a cat with superpowers...

There are a lot of things wrong with Liv Brodbeck. She’s too small, for one thing. When she works in the castle kitchens with her mother, she can’t carry a sack of flour or roll a keg of ale. Baron Summerset’s chirurgeon says that she has brittle bones, so she isn’t allowed to wrestle or sword fight with the other children. Even sledding downhill in the winter brings the risk of breaking an arm or a leg if she falls. Everyone says that she ruined her mother’s life when she was born. Not when they think Liv is in the room, of course, but she overhears all the same. In the kitchen of a less kind lord, a cook bearing a bastard child would have been more than cause enough for both of them to be out on the street. No, a child like Liv doesn’t have much hope. But when she accidentally unleashes a surge of wild magic, she takes her first step on a journey which will lead her from the kitchens of Castle Whitehill, to the cold palaces of the Eld, and beyond, to the graves of gods... What to Expect: - MC starts off very weak, with a lot disadvantages - not just physically weak, but also vulnerable in a socio-economic sense. She has talents, but it is going to take time to develop them. I want to give this process room to breathe, so I hope you enjoy long-term progression. - The MC begins the story as a child. As she grows up, she will have relationships that I intend to be appropriate for her stages of life, BUT THERE WILL BE NO SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS UNTIL SHE IS AN ADULT. Expect eventual teenage drama progressing into more adult relationships. - There is action, but it is not constant action, and it will again be appropriate for the MCs development. As a child, she will be challenged by child things, and as she grows into power the scale of threats will increase.

Cen Qing transmigrated into a book, transmigrating into the villain who single-handedly created the zombie virus in the post-apocalyptic novel.

It’s not scary to dress up as a villain, what’s scary is that there is a villain who is more powerful than her.

Looking at Jiang Ci who was still dormant in the culture medium in front of him, Cen Qing recalled his own ending in the original book, his little heart trembled.

Did she kill him before he turned black and grew up, or pulled out his oxygen catheter now?

But Jiang Ci’s first sentence after waking up was, “Mom.”

Cen Qing was so frightened that the hand that pulled out the oxygen tube swished back, and since then began the daily routine of raising a baby/raising a man in the last days.

“Qingqing, blood is drawn on the hand, it needs to be healed to be healed.”

Cen Qing glanced at the wound where a drop of blood appeared, and ignored him.

“Qingqing, the zombies are Ah Ci’s good friends, can you stop beating their heads?”

Cen Qing glanced at the zombie with its bloody mouth open, and slammed the stick again.

“Qingqing, he pushed me on purpose. I don’t care at all that you stay in the same space as him.”

Cen Qing glanced at his stunned assistant and sighed.

Who did Jiang Ci learn the tea-in-tea phrase from?

But the day-to-day life of raising a baby suddenly changed his style of painting one day. The reason was that Cen Qing recruited another male assistant, the kind who looked soft and cute.

The man pushed her against the wall, his dark eyes filled with strong possessiveness, his voice was hoarse,

“Qingqing, you are not good, and a disobedient child should be locked up with chains.”

Cen Qing, who was trapped in the man’s hot embrace and could not move, burst into tears.

Is it too late for her to pull out the oxygen tube now? Waiting online, very urgent.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.