Desolate Era - Book 45, Chapter 7 - Doll

The 27-year-old genius beauty doctor Xia Qing dies in surgery!She is reborn!She is reborn in the ward she's most familiar with, in the body of a 200-pound pregnant woman—a woman who had died from pain during a Cesarean section due to her requests to not use anesthesia.She can't help but worry about herself. This body was useless except for being young.How could Xia Qing tolerate this?On the menu are—revenge, losing weight, and snatching the idolized man of a scumbag girl in passing. Although she's overweight, she strives to live well. Being overweight isn't the end of days. They still deserve love.“Have you heard? Boss Pei has a child out of wedlock. He's getting married!”“Who's he marrying? Who?”“That 200-pound fatty from the Lin family of South City!”“Is Second Master crazy?”Lin Xiaqing turns her head to look. “You think I'm fat?”Pei Zhengyang looks at the voluptuous woman. “Not at all, just nice to the touch.”

The world froze.Literally froze. The chattering students, the falling cherry blossoms outside the window, even the dust motes in the air – all suspended in perfect stillness.“Oh wonderful hero,” a melodious voice echoed through the room. “Your world faces a terrible crisis, and you have been chosen to—”“No,” he said flatly.A pause. Then a shimmer of golden light coalesced into the form of a beautiful woman in flowing robes. She blinked at him. “I... what?”“I said no. I'm not interested in whatever quest or destiny you're selling. Pick someone else.”The goddess's perfect features creased in confusion. “But... but you've been chosen! The prophecy speaks of a warrior with a fierce spirit, one who—”“Lady, I don't care about your prophecy. I've got enough problems here without adding some fantasy world's issues to the mix. Now un-freeze time and leave me alone.”“You don't understand,” she pressed. “Our world is being ravaged by the Demon King's armies! Millions will die without—”

[Longevity + Discipleship + No Female Lead + Lighthearted Humor with No Tragic Moments]When his master picks food, he spins the table there;When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.