The Primal Blood Demonic Dragon - Chapter 21: Xingxu

When an era came to an end, various forces set foot in cultivation to compete for immortality. A young boy who spent most of the time sleeping got lucky in the troubled times and became an unparalleled immortal who could cover the sky with a snap of fingers. Was he going to live forever?

- Description from Novelupdates

[Palace Intrigue + Sweet Doting + Not Purely Chaste + Heroine Focused on Her Career]

On the first day of her transmigration into the imperial harem, Jiang Xinyu was already out of favor.

Everyone said she was merely a pretty face without substance.

On the second day of her transmigration into the imperial harem, Jiang Xinyu regained the emperor’s favor.

From then on, she held the emperor’s heart firmly in her hands.

She fought monsters and leveled up, rising from a noble consort all the way to the honorable imperial consort, basking in unwavering favor.

Emperor Xuan Wu: At first, it was lust at first sight, but later I became truly captivated by her charms. Who knew this woman had so many more faces that I was unaware of?

Jiang Xinyu: The emperor is the harem’s highest-level boss with the thickest health bar. If I can deplete his health bar, I can become the supreme empress of this harem.

P.S. The heroine is solely focused on her career, yearning for riches and glory, a life of luxury and indulgence. She excels in all pursuits, with layer upon layer of schemes to conquer the emperor’s heart.

Mr. Tycoon Is Actually the Father of My Child!

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.