MTL - Morning, the Heir - Chapter 1870 I have only eaten tofu by one person.

The nuclear holocaust which caused the collapse of the Old Times on Earth should have wiped out all human life on the planet. Yes, the gods set up their beautiful Elysiums to provide sanctuaries for their chosen, but by all rights everyone outside the elysian lands should’ve perished long ago. Yet somehow, human life still managed to persist, even in the deadly, mutant-infested wastelands.

Cloudhawk was a young scavenger who dreamed of being as free as the hawks in the skies, yet seemed destined to live out his life scrounging for scraps in the wasteland ruins. Fate, however, is ever-fickle. A chance meeting with a ragtag group of mercenaries changed the trajectory of his life, bringing him into a world with mutants and metahumans, demonhunters and godslayers, and even gods and demons. Cloudhawk would find his own place in a world that was far greater than he had imagined, find his own path between the zealous light of Sumeru and the whispering darkness of the Abyss… and one day, he would find that even gods may fall.

《Devil》 tells the story of Chi You, the protagonist shou, who was killed by someone and cultivated for revenge with the help of Feng Li, the protagonist gong. When Jiang Luo woke up, he transmigrated into the body of the cannon fodder that killed the protagonist shou.

What’s even worse, he transmigrated at the time when the protagonist shou was already killed by the original body.

At the funeral, Jiang Luo was pushed in front of the coffin.

The deceased body of the protagonist shou in front of him was serene, with a smile at the corner of his lips. However, Jiang Luo knew that he had turned into a malicious spirit and was eyeing covetously at him.

The more dangerous it was, the calmer Jiang Luo became. When his desire for survival reached the critical point, he knelt on the ground with a puff, and forced himself to cry.

With his sincere emotion, he said: “Chi You, I love you so much. Please don’t leave me…”

The chilliness around him smothered slightly.

Vincent van Gogh, the painter who refused to be an accessory Of power and painted with his soul at the tip of a brush, was not understood by anyone and had to die like a madman, and he woke up in 21st century Korea.

Like a wheat field melted with gold, like a sunflower that swallowed the sun, a dazzling painter once again takes the brush.

The world I transmigrated into was a dark fantasy game universe, devoid of hope or dreams.Doesn’t feel like it at all, though.