The Immortal Cultivation World of Male Inferiority and Female Supremacy - Chapter 62 - : 62. Retribution is like a tornado

As a naive teenager, he was unaware of his own superiority.Shang Xiaojie realized the violent man who had tricked him into a hotel was actually his brother-in-law.He struggled and tears streamed down his face as he pleaded, “Let me go, you idiotic beast!”“I may be foolish, but a beast? Can’t you at least admit to that?” he asked.After drugging Shang Xiaojie, he callously taunted, “You’re just a male prostitute who comes running whenever I snap my fingers. You’re nothing, Shang Xiaojie.”Devastated, Shang Xiaojie swore, “Mussaf, I hate you and I’ll make you regret this.”Upon his return five years later, he was accompanied by a young boy.Shang Mingming asked, “Is that man my father?”Shang Xiaojie responded coldly, “No, I don’t know someone like him.”Furious, Mussaf demanded, “Where are you taking my son?”Shang Xiaojie grinned and replied nonchalantly, “I’m getting married to another man. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Qin Xiaoguo was a successful chef working in the future era. A turn of fate brought her to the past, into a time of famine and uncertainty. Waking up one day, Qin Xiaoguo found herself face to face with a boy who acknowledged her as his mother.

Having transmigrated from the year 3024 to 42 BC, Qin Xiaoguo had traveled across a three-millennium time leap to the past. She was transported to a destitute place, and also became mother to a hungry, skinny boy at the same time.

Her only comfort to her new-found circumstances was a spatial ring that allowed her to transmigrate—giving her free access to food and other belongings from a different era.

After years of raising her son singlehandedly, Qin Xiaoguo had a surprise visitor at her door. It was a man claiming to be her husband, requesting to stay the night. Out of confusion and pity, Qin Xiaoguo let the self-proclaimed father of her child into the house.

The protracted ’witch hunting’ had faded into silence with the end of the Seven Years’ War, and the mysteries of the East Coast had begun to conceal themselves, yet gunpowder was on a rapid rise. Mo Qishang, who should have been utterly confounded, stood at the crossroads of destiny in the name of Arthur. He stared in astonishment at the charging knights, the wizards atop the high towers, and the bizarre wilderness. He felt the sharpness of the longsword and the recoil of the firearm, both clear and unfamiliar. At last, he excitedly shook his robe and, with a smile on his face, said— “Do not believe what I say, for to believe is to exist!”