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... ad been flawed, he couldn’t comfortably touch anything with his bare hands — so now that he was fine, it was no wonder he didn’t want to wear them.

Another thing that made Yuder realize the remnants of that period still lingered within Kishiar was when he sensed just how much Kishiar loved to touch Yuder with his bare hands whenever they made contact.

Whether in daily life, in the midst of their acts, or after everything ended, he touched Yuder very often.

So often it fel ...

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In 2121, a terrible pollution disease swept through the world.

“We call it distortion, but perhaps, the history records of later generations will call it an evolution.”

The world experienced involution.

Today, that person’s head split into two. Tomorrow, that flower would grow fangs. The day after that, that fish would climb ashore with its legs…

Lu Yan: And I am merely a mediocre doctor who treats the pollution disease.

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Patient A: When I first grew 18 tentacles, I was having a great time eating [beep—] by the seaside. As soon as Dr. Lu came, he cut 17 of them for me. He’s really a brilliant doctor!2

Patient B: I am a poisonous mushroom. My spores are highly toxic and can be parasitic. I gave birth to hundreds of thousands of microspores, which made it worse for my already poor family. Dr. Lu helped me practice family planning when he came. This great kindness will forever be remembered!

Patient C: I have eight mouths. I was a picky eater and only ate meat, so I set up a slaughterhouse for this purpose. But then, Dr. Lu cured my picky eating. This woman of faith is willing to be a vegetarian for the rest of her life in exchange for Dr. Lu’s happiness and well-being in this life.

Lu Yan, the top of the food chain, the eternal god.

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

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*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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