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... r the fireplace, and honestly it was getting a little too warm. Lughes had fed the fire a little too much.

Crane had already gone to bed, and Lughes was just now walking up the stairs himself. I noticed the way the older man ascended slowly, and not just because he was a little drunk.

His age was starting to take its toll on him.

I sat a little farther from those who were left. Amber sat next to Vim, only a few feet from each other. The both of them sat a little closer to ...

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Is magic really a wish machine?

No! In a universe where magic actually exists, the ultimate nature of magic must be as simple and beautiful as the laws of physics.

This is the story of a mass-produced magic warfare tool man who learned the ultimate nature of magic.

But so what?

Just as a bird can fly without understanding aerodynamics, so a wizard does not need to understand the ultimate nature of magic to use magic.

Knowing the ultimate nature of magic does not mean that the tool man can become a great magician.

But the desire for knowledge is human instinct, and curiosity is the first driving force of human civilization. Humans hope to understand the inner workings of magic, even if it is supposed to be unreasonable.

An inquiry into the ultimate nature of magic, without any justification!

The story in the book takes place in an age where steel dances with gunpowder.

Here, muskets are in the ascendant, armor is still the protagonist, military theories are changing with each passing day, and innovations in systems and craftsmanship are emerging one after another. And this world has one more thing than ours: magic.

The world is undergoing earth-shaking changes, and no one can stay out of it.

- Description from novelbuddy

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My name is Yan, and since I was a child, I’ve been able to see some strange things.For example—In elementary school, our new neighbor Aunt Tan had a pair of all-around genius twins, who were like the “precious little geniuses” with halos above their heads. They could recite the English-Chinese dictionary backwards at three, master both Chinese and Western musical instruments by five, and hack into a country’s database by seven…Growing up next to such prodigies, my life was inhumane, tragic, and constantly subjected to comparisons.To escape the comparisons with these “other people’s children,” I specifically applied to a private boarding school for middle school.On my first day, my deskmate was a small, thin girl with bangs, wearing an old uniform, and her voice was as faint as a mosquito’s.Three months later, she woke up from a nap with a “rebirth” halo above her head.She moved effortlessly among the cold academic genius, the wolf-like school bully, the fierce boss, and the gentle childhood friend, leaving me, a lonely onlooker, utterly amazed.By university, I thought I had finally escaped this abnormal world.But as soon as I stepped into my dorm room, my footsteps froze.My roommates each had halos like “ancient times to modern,” “post-apocalyptic superhuman,” “will die if not spending money,” and “ghost king revival.”I clutched my little blanket and applied to the counselor for a room change, but to no avail.Over time, I gradually got used to it. “Handover systems,” “management systems,” “book transmigration,” “infinite worlds,” “three-and-a-half-year-olds,” “interstellar live streams,” “red envelope groups”…The types of halos kept increasing, and I was able to calmly ignore all of it, focusing on my own life.Every morning, I skillfully helped my “ancient to modern” roommate, who was being blacklisted online, dodge campus paparazzi and secure seats for class.At noon, I assisted my tycoon roommate in distributing today’s haul of luxury skincare and designer bags, tasting the city’s top private chef’s custom lunchbox, and exclaiming with emotion, “Darling, can I really accept these?”In the evening, I enjoyed the flowers and plants cultivated by my superhuman roommate on the balcony, tasting a mutated cherry tomato and commenting, “I feel refreshed and purified.”Late at night, when my ghost king roommate quietly climbed back through the window, I peeked out to ask, “You’re back a bit late today, didn’t bring anything back, did you?”My name is Yan, and I am not the protagonist of this world.

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“Let’s get a divorce,” Chen Jinyao said.

She knew that she was only a supporting character in this novel world. The male lead only married her as a business relationship and, sooner or later, the female lead of the story would eventually show up.

If Chen Jinyao was indecisive about leaving, only heartbreak would follow.

Something pulled her thin white wrist, and next thing she knew, she was pushed down and pressed against a pillow. Yan Cheng’s peach blossom eyes bored into her in discontent as he declared, “Only in your dreams!”

After spending a colorful night, she was too tired to lift a finger.

When she fell asleep in Yan Cheng’s arms, she had a dream.

In her dream, she had turned 80 years old.

But can someone tell her why she still hadn’t left the marriage at that age?