The Tale Of Kitsuna - Chapter 132

For more than a decade, she disguised herself as a weakling while preyed on the strong – Qiao Qing had never viewed reputation as an important matter.But people began to take advantage and purposely hurt the ones she cared about.Qiao Qing then decided to stop hiding her real self.An incapable good-for-nothing? Her natural genius IQ can explode your eyeballs!A lowly commoner? Her real identity made her someone who you are not worthy enough to be friends with!A feeble chick? Her skills in ancient martial art can result in you looking for your teeth all over the ground!A godly student, a godly Go player, a godly night rider, a godly martial artist… as her real identity revealed little by little, all those snobs who once viewed her poorly began to switch sides and attempted to please her.Qiao Qing shut the front door. No guests welcomed.She blocked those who wanted her for their own selfish demands, but she couldn’t stop this one evildoer from approaching her.Just like that, climbing over the walls and entering through the window became Jun Yexuan’s specialty.As the President of the Jun Corporation, he had enough to protect Qiao Qing her entire life.But what bothered him was that Qiao Qing was far too independent and far too capable. Without any of his help, she was able to successfully handle everything.Jun Yexuan became moody – he felt like he wasn’t needed!So, on a random day, a cry for help appeared on Weibo, “What do I do when the wife is too capable? Waiting for immediate responses – it’s urgent.”

“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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