Trash of the Count's Family - Chapter 43Book 2: : The First Law of the Hunt (6)

A car accident causes Yan Chuang to traverse into a martial arts world resembling ancient times, bringing along a 'Purple Mist Palace'.Teaching by Example (Level 1): Your explanations will increase listeners' comprehension efficiency by 50%, and their understanding and thoughts will feed back to you, granting you corresponding 'insights'.The Great Dao Cushions (Level 1): The Purple Mist Palace contains six Great Dao cushions that aid listeners in better understanding explanations and grasping the Great Dao. The effect of 'Teaching by Example' is increased by 1000%. Note: Only two of the six seats can be changed once.Treasure Nurturing Rock (Level 1): You can use 'spirituality' to enhance and nurture items.Method Development (Level 1): You can set up research tasks, gain inspiration, develop martial arts, and complete tasks to gain 'insights' and 'spirituality'. Currently, you can create 2 tasks.Upon reaching the other shore, Yan Chuang laughed and said, “I didn't specifically study martial arts, those were merely insights gained while preaching to disciples.”

Miss Witch's 'warm' daily life in the Cyber Interstellar Era, occasionally epic and impassioned.————She was a timid girl who grew up in the cyber metropolis.She was a crying child trudging through the mud.She was a Legendary star admired by the vulgar masses for her transcendence.She was a dark songstress who brought sorrow and tears to the world.She was a cold-hearted Witch who could not speak of false hope.She was a bloodstained Angel singing the finale...

The antique market that is filled with treasures and trash.

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.