The Guardian gods - Chapter 8: Finding

An intoxicated An Xiaoyu boldly places her hands on her hips: “Hey, handsome, this girl is here to rob you. This road is opened by me, this tree is planted by me, if you want to cross, leave some toll money!”The man approaches aggressively, trapping An Xiaoyu against the wall with no escape.He whispers in her ear: “Money, I have none. How about offering yourself instead?”An Xiaoyu is completely dumbfounded.She just accidentally robbed the wrong person, and now he's haunting her?What? He wants her to take responsibility?“Handsome, a forced melon is not sweet!”“No worries, I like bitter melons!”“You, shameless!”“Can't have a wife with too much pride!”“……”An Xiaoyu: “God, please let me go!”Ahem, 1v1 sweet romance + love over time, guaranteed to make you laugh until you have abs!

A bloodsucking mosquito with the soul of a student, seeking revenge, rose from being weak to powerful, step by step from this unassuming life planet 'Earth', becoming a powerful force in the entire universe!Literary version: Reborn as a larva, striving for self-improvement, and ultimately transforming into a terrifying giant mosquito. From then on, I roamed freely across the universe, traveling the vast universe's starry sky!Passionate version: You weak cosmic creatures! I'm using my mouthparts to consume the core nutrients of your mother star. What can you do about it?Funny version: You think I'm disgusting? You hate me because I suck blood? Want to swat me dead with one slap? Just wait, one day I'll stomp your house down!

What should I do after passing through?

Mo Jun’s answer is:

Life will be meaningless if you don’t work hard to enjoy it.

Then play music, then dance.

(Note: This book is a colleague of Qin Shimingyue, classified as light novels, not historical texts.)

- 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.