Fortune Teller Master - Chapter 119.4: Jagger Part 4

How long will it take for a murdered thief to distill into something monstrous? In this story the darkness only grows stronger, and its reach only grows wider as it expands by devouring the life that surrounds it. This is a dark fantasy where evil is a where, not just a who that focuses on slow progression, undeath, and atmospheric storytelling.

When Su Yaya awakened, she found herself in a novel world as the CEO’s Substitute Wife–-a mere cannon fodder. Knowing that divorce and a tragic ending was awaiting her once her look-alike, the President’s first love returns, Su Yaya only trusted one thing: Money.

Having transmigrated into the world of Journey to the West and become Tang Monk, equipped with a gaming system that allows for battling demons and leveling up, while looting equipment, from then on, the demons on the path to the Western Heaven were in danger. Monk Sha: Big Brother, it’s not good, another demon has been captured by Master. Tang Monk: You all listen to me today, it’s not you protecting your master on his journey to the Western Heaven to seek scriptures, but rather your master has to drag you all along, you know? Without you, your master alone would have fought, uh, made it to the Western Heaven by now...

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.