MTL - Rival In Love Says He Must Marry Me - Chapter 480 strive for meritorious service

Zhao Yelan was born as a criminal s*ave and was rescued by the Third Prince. After years of painstaking efforts to put him on the throne, Zhao Yelan became a sycophantic minister whom everyone detested, but he was actually given a marriage by that person to general Yan Mingting, the lone star of Tiansha.

The general caused the death of his father, his mother, his wife, and his dog. Everyone hoped that the general would kill Zhao Yelan as soon as possible.

On the wedding night, Zhao Yelan, who was dressed in red, took out a dagger, his eyes sharp: “What do you want?”

Yan Mingting held his hand tightly, and borrowed his dagger to carve a large character on the head of the bed – – Early.

“You’re weak and frail, get up early every day and practice horse stance with me!”

“?”

The common people thought this marriage was truly wonderful!

They heard that this big minister was beaten every day. He had to repair the roof tiles when the house leaked and also work in the kitchen. He served his husband and was very obedient, and from then on, he didn’t dare condemn people.

Hey, the general was truly mighty!

Zhao Yelan sat lazily by the bed, playing with the dagger, and raised the ends of his eyes slightly: “Where did these rumors come from?”

“From my dog’s mouth.” Yan Mingting, who was in horse stance, patted his thigh. “Madam, please take the seat of honor. You don’t have to get up early tomorrow.”

- Description from Novelupdates

“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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