MTL - Spiritual Energy: I Just Want To Farm Peacefully - Chapter 66 reward

What is it like to own an abandoned oil town in the West? At first, Xu Xing simply wanted to provide some convenience for travel enthusiasts and camping enthusiasts traveling by car to the northwest.

However, it has been out of control since then…

The stall has been upgraded to a convenience store with a unique style, the instant noodles cooked in an earthen pot have been transformed into a restaurant that provides hot and authentic beef noodles, and the shack has been transformed into a hotel that is unique in the country and can look up at the deep starry sky. The tire point has been upgraded to become a gas station and maintenance station….

after that,

The town unknowingly became the size of a small county town…sixth tier, fifth tier, fourth tier, third tier…a few years later it became the only new first-tier city in the northwest Gobi Desert…

- Description from novelbuddy

[sweet, pampering][strong FL, 1v1]He was an absolute noble, decisive and cold-hearted, yet he was persistently entwined with her, doting incessantly.The first time they met, he questioned, “Six years ago, was it you?”The second time they met, he was holding a paternity test, “You still dare to say your son isn't mine?”The nth time they met, she finally lost her patience, “Sir, will you ever give it a rest?”The man lifted the corners of his mouth, smiling with a deep and enchanting charm, “Not before our second child is born.”

The village girl who was close to death from illness was about to marry, and her suitor was a strong and hearty hunter.Having time-traveled to a poor and backward mountain village, she had resigned herself to the lack of three square meals a day, but was her new body already halfway into the grave? What's more curious was that someone still wanted to marry her despite being on her deathbed?Driven by curiosity, she went ahead with the marriage, eager to see who the unlucky sap was who'd lose his betrothal gifts and even the coffin money.Cradled in his arms, her body was thin as a rake, and she really wanted to ask him, “Husband, does holding me hurt your hands?”

All I ever wanted was for famous detectives like Sherlock Holmes or Arsène Lupin to appear in my dreams and share their wisdom. But instead, why am I hearing the voices of notorious serial killers in my head, guiding me to solve a string of mysterious cases?