Vampir Lord: Erotic RPG - 120 Chapter 72

They are childhood sweethearts, they are engaged under the family’s scheme, and they have to live in the same room and sleep together.

That night, she was accidentally drunk, and he kissed her in a fascinating mood,. By accident, his “crime” was finally discovered, she accused him, but he said with a smile, “You are my wife, why can’t I kiss you?”

The two people’s daily routine is full of bickering, mutual hate.

He said that he disliked her. Actually, In his heart, he was extremely caring of her. When she was close to other boys, he was so jealous that he wants to tie her to his side and become exclusively his.

With peerless medical skills in one hand and unmatched Kung Fu in the other, bearing the memory of the Medical Divine, I dominate the city as the god it kneels to. I am here, so I decide your fate between life and death! I am here, so I am the heaven that dictates your destiny!

The hearse with the weird odor slowed to a stop before the entrance. The sound of pebbles could be heard bouncing on the ceiling. There were footsteps coming from the corridor, and there seemed to be someone sawing next door. The door knob to the room rattled slightly, and the faucet in the bathroom kept dripping even though it had been screwed shut. There was a rubber ball that rolled on its own underneath the bed. Wet footsteps started to surface one after another on the floor.
At 3 am, Chen Ge held a cleaver in his hand as he hid beside the room heater. The call he was trying to make was finally answered. “Landlord, is this what you meant by ‘the house can be a little crowded at night’‽”

- Description from Novelupdates

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.