THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR - Chapter 279 OLD FRIENDS, NEW WARS

The Sheng Mei Tribe, known for its beauty, has been warring with the Shen Mu Tribe for three years. The men of the Sheng...

Hunted for the Alchemical Book in her hand - Mu Ruyue wakes up in the body of a wastrel in Shenwu Continent - a martial arts dominated world.Her fiancé has jilted her in favor of her foster sister.Her father condones her abuse.Her younger sister wishes she was never born.And the whole country ridicules and insults her for being a first-rate wastrel.Wastrel? Not at all. With the Alchemical Book in her hand, what pills and elixirs can't she refine?Jilted? She'd rather marry the pure and innocent Ghost King, Ye Wuchen.----Mu Ruyue: Stop calling me Sister!Ye Wuchen: Can I call you Wife then?Mu Ruyue: Not that either!Ye Wuchen: (about to cry)Mu Ruyue: (sighs) Suit yourself.Ye Wuchen then leans forward and kisses the corners of her lips.Mu Ruyue: …Did a child just steal her first kiss?----Brother 1: Let her go!Brother 2: She is my mother, why should I let go of her!Brother 1: Don't ever think of robbing my mother!Mu Ruyue: Let me introduce you, Jing'er, this is your younger brother. Huang'er, this is your elder brother.Huang'er: Mother, this stupid boy bullied me. He's not my brother.Jing'er: Little guy, from now on, you must listen to me.Ye Wuchen: (How exactly do these two regard him? They dare fight over his wife in front of him...)

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.