The CEO's Substitute Ex-Wife - Chapter 164: Call For Dinner

Bored Gamer in Other Worlds. A spoiled brat journeys in mystical worlds and beyond.

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[Pop text, no abuse, strong women, group pets! 】

After Ruan Qi became popular.

Black powder: No matter how beautiful, there is no culture.

In the afternoon, the highest academic institution of China issued a blog-to introduce, the youngest doctoral supervisor of our school, Professor Ruan Qi.

Heifen: What is the purpose of Chao Xueba Ren? Finally, he had to bow his head to the gold master.

On the second day, Ruan Qi appeared at the International Economic Conference and signed the famous brand-Chairman of Qimu Pharmaceutical Group.

Black powder: Earn so much money, I don’t know how to contribute to the country.

Three days later, the official press release-the latest nuclear submarine came out, thanks to the chief designer Ruan Qi and all R&D members!

Fans:…

Can’t afford it, goodbye.

*

After getting married, a reporter asked Xi Jiu: How did you get to Goddess Ruan, Jiuye?

Xi Jiu opened a diary silently.

Wife Chasing Diary:

1. Make a list for your baby.

2. Vote for the baby.

Three, support for the baby.

Fourth, the baby’s movie must be reserved.

5. Join the Baby Support Club.

…As everyone knows, Goddess Ruan has a universe-level rich and iron fan-Xi Jia Jiu Ye, Xi Jiu!

- Description from novelbuddy

At the feast of the Gluttonous House’s auction, there was a little girl with an exceptional furnace constitution for offer at a sky-high price. Everyone wanted to lay their hands on her. Suddenly, the little girl in the golden cage opened her eyes, radiating a cold gaze. She was no longer cowardly.

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.