Spatial Farm Life: Raising My Kid, Abusing Scum, and Keeping Busy With Life - Chapter 81 - : I Won’t Split Up

Feng Ming was only 19 when he lost his life saving a child from death without hesitation. The grateful father of the rescued child grants Feng Ming a second chance at life. Unknown to Feng Ming, his soul has whisked away to a far away ancient land (resembling the dynasties of China).

He has won the most flamboyant compliments and the most vicious swear words.

He is a guy with rebellion flowing in every vein in his body.

He’s a white kid who’ll never be a celebrity.

He is a young man from the countryside in the eyes of the public.

He’s Tommy Hawk.

He was born again.

Welcome to the first half of the American Dream and the second half of the American Nightmare.

Let us please, come Tommy Hawke, in the winter of 2022.

- Description from novelbuddy

Chu Mu Yun relied on his story of 《Demon Realm》 to become a one-hit wonder in JJWXC, but the him who had written seven mental cases to abuse seven mental cases to death would never have expected that he himself would transmigrate into this shitty novel!
What the hell is this system on the bracelet?
And what the hell is this either propose to seven men, or suffer the taste of a tragic death experience under the hands of these seven people?
I just wanted to write a novel to satisfy my bad interests, who would actually want to get tangled up with a bunch of mad dog sad*st crazies?

- Description from Novelupdates

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”