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... little three could not bear to leave ruan Mengmeng, they stayed by her side.

As a result, the scene of ruan Mengmeng coaxing the two babies to sleep became one of two people following her around, and neither of them was willing to leave first.

As for li junyu, he was also very jealous, but he had to appear calm and magnanimous, in case his little wife would laugh at him for fighting for favor with a ‘little wimp’ and a ‘pet dog’.

That was why li junyu pretended to be con ...

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“Mr. Xu, are you really a Heavenly Master?”

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“I’ve heard that your reputation in the supernatural circle is really bad, even to the point where a ghost once called the police saying you were threatening him?”

“Impossible!”

“It wasn’t me!”

“Don’t talk nonsense!”

Xu Yang clenched the Thousand-Year Peachwood Sword in his hand, and said, “What’s the name of that ghost? Would you dare to let him confront me face to face?”

(PS: This book is also known as ‘This Heavenly Master is too Vicious’, ‘Scaring Ghosts Makes You Stronger’.)

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“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.”

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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.

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“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.

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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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“Mr. Hu Lai, today’s football forwards like you who can only score goals are getting narrower and narrower … But nevertheless, you have achieved dazzling achievements. What is your secret to success?”

On a winter afternoon, Hu Lai showed reporters from all over the world the honor he had just received, and some reporters asked him such questions.

Facing the eyes cast by the reporters, Hu Lai’s thoughts returned to the afternoon when he was in high school. He stood alone beside the stadium to watch other students play games. They did not let him play, thinking he was here to make trouble.

He also thought of what the coach said to him with a straight face: “Hu Lai, if you can’t pay ten times the effort of others, your talent is just worthless stones.” And a disdainful voice: “Modern football The demands on the center are getting higher and more comprehensive. What’s the use of shooting only? ”

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Hu Lai stared at the girl’s eyes, and saw the sunset behind him from those eyes.

The sunlight is reflected in the pupils, flowing, burning, condensing into a halo, as if to melt yourself in this light.

Hu Lai, who withdrew his thoughts, returned to this warm winter afternoon, facing the excited reporters, he smiled slightly: “Because I know, the goal is there.”

- Description from Qidian