The Legend of Futian - Chapter 491: Undercurrents

We attend school, find love, work, buy a house, pay our housing loans, insert weird faces in WeChat, watch movies… do any of you find anything amiss? One day, a group of strange people entered this world, equipped in strange clothing and possessing extraordinary powers, cold-blooded killers! They call themselves [Players].

The constant mission is getting redemption.

Shuttle though various worlds to become a variety of scum men, do a little whitewashing and become a good man in the eyes of everyone.

Redeem those who are miserable, and let them live a happy life.

- Description from Novelupdates

Originally titled “The End of the World Chef’s Journey through the Story of Bringing Babies”

The era is empty, the life is plain, and the role of space is auxiliary, not the main plot.

Qin Xiaoguo did a good job as a cook in the last days, but who would have thought that she would travel to a famine era when she couldn’t get enough to eat.

I opened my eyes and looked at myself, naked, with dark hands and a face that I couldn’t see clearly. Before I could figure it out, I was thrown down by a force, and then I screamed, mother!

Well, Qin Xiaoguo admitted that from the end of the world in 3042 to the 42nd year of Shao Kingdom, spanning three thousand years of time and space, looking at the poor and barely calling home, and the cheap and thin people who hugged their legs and cried bitterly and were hungry. Black son, do it!

Fortunately, there is also a little comfort that his net worth in the last days has come with him, and it has also become a space ring.

Son, my mother won’t starve you! Dry it!

A few years later, Xiaoguo was very relieved to see the fat and white son, but what was the matter with this man who came to the door! ?

The man looked pitifully at the lady who wouldn’t let him in: lady~

Small fruit? ? ? ?

- Description from novelbuddy

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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