MTL - Rebirth of the Urban Immortal Emperor - Chapter 3996 both sides stop

To sum up in a sentence, *slag men **washing white daily, transmigrating to different worlds to wash white, and the goal is to become a good man!

Note:
*Slag men refer to men who play with women’s hearts aka scum.
**Washing white means to come clean, fix up your life.

- Description from Novelupdates

Three Days of Happiness is a novel by Sugaru Miaki, also known as Fafoo. It’s a rewritten version of the story originally posted to 2ch.

The premise of the story revolves around a shop where one can sell away the remaining years of their life, and the consequences of doing so.

“I Say A Little Prayer” is a short related story which was posted along with the novel’s release. It spoils some things about the main story, but nothing major.

Your fingers become golden fingers.

You touched the Jiuyang Divine Skill with your golden finger, and you learned the Jiuyang Divine Art.

You used your golden finger to touch the eighteen palms for subduing the dragon, and you learned the eighteen palms for subduing the dragon.

You touched the magic of the wedding dress with your golden finger, and you learned the magic of the wedding dress.

You feel that your skills are progressing slowly, so you meet a liar who sells powerful pills.

You touch the Dali Pill with your golden finger, and the Dali Pill becomes the True-Dali Pill.

You touched Melatonin with your golden finger, and Melatonin became a brain pill.

You touched the Liushen toilet water with your golden finger, and the Liushen toilet water made it into a brewed flower.

You touched Yunnan Baiyao with your golden finger, and Yunnan Baiyao turned into Xiao Huan Dan.

……

So you started to collect all kinds of fake cheats, drink toilet water, eat Melatonin, and Dali pills… Your life also started to take off.

Welcome fan book friends to join the book group of 18 [341458870]

- 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.