MTL - Transcending the Nine Heavens - v8 Chapter 821 Bad [seventh! 】

After transmigrating, Chen Yu found himself in a highly militarized world. But the “will of the world” had concluded that he was an intruder and put a curse on him.

Xiao Qingrong had no mother and no father. With his own ability, he climbed to the peak of life, then encountered a system who could shuttle him across time and space. “Do you want to become a male god?”

He turned into a 17-year old, weak chicken with two years left in prison, Xiao Qingrong coldly interrogated the system. The system, playing dead, threw a powerful pill.

#In short, this Male God always threatens his Super Male God System#

In the first year of the fire calendar, a large-scale spiritual recovery has occurred around the world.

One year after the fire calendar, the Jingwei Division was established and began to contain supernatural beings on a large scale.

After three years of the fire calendar, Xun Xi traveled to this world full of despair. However, in front of him, there is only a diary written by himself before his death, who claims to be the future.

The diary revealed his future death.

In other words, every line and every sentence in the diary is his masterpiece.

And it will be updated!

“Others are the favored sons of the heavens who have traveled through the world. Wherever they go, they will be followed by chance. Why is it only me, where I will die wherever I go, I am just a rebel, a version orphan.”

“unfair!”

…………

Carrying a future diary in his arms, Xun Xi is struggling to survive in this desperate world. He firmly believes: My future style, I am the master!

- Description from novelbuddy

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.