Nine Star Burden - Chapter 1183

Every drop of this family bloodline is stained with sin. They are the embodiment of contradiction; calm yet maniacal, with great memories yet often forgetful. They pledge themselves to their dreams yet often compromise, are angels that are also devils… It’s why I hate them. And also love them.

The only hope of his family, a youth with the blood of elves and devils walks on a battleground of annihilation and rebirth. He wills his way through boiling lava and icy depths, killing on this field of despair to strike down the lofty figure in his sight. One day he’ll grasp his blade tightly and survey his surroundings, only to find no more enemies to kill.

Chi Yan had always had a weak constitution, and ghosts had always tried to kill him. He had tried many ways to change his situation, but it was all futile.

Coincidentally, Third Master Ye of Shiming City passed away, and a priest informed Chi Yan that Third Master Ye possessed the “look of demon,” Carrying a bit of this man’s ashes and installing an altar for him at home could help control the evil spirits around Chi Yan.

Left with no choice, Chi Yan took a gamble. Amazingly, it worked. However he didn’t expect that he’d be instead be haunted by the most persistent ghost of them all.

Obsessed with love, undying resentment, possessed by evil.

- Description from Novelupdates

In an accident, Zhao Xu had the ability to make various items. Jewellery, antiques, and crafts are all trivial. Sir, would you like to have a unique sports car?

Come to me, Batman Chariot gives you extreme enjoyment! What, do you want Iron Man armor? Sorry, how about I buy it for Megatron as a bodyguard? Carrier groups invade your territory?

Don’t be afraid, the Avengers Sky Carrier will let you know what a domineering side leak is!

Rich people, come on, let your banknotes tremble, our slogan is: “Sows can go up the tree, dreams can come true!”

- Description from fpzw

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.