Married Thrice to Salted Fish - Chapter 75

Ten years after her parents’ divorce, the grandmother who raised Chu Tingwu passed away, leaving her to be shuttled back and forth between relatives.At this moment, an entity claiming to be a “Cub Rearing System” suddenly appeared, wanting to bind itself to her and cultivate her into an outstanding graduate of its program.Just as Chu Tingwu was about to refuse, she saw her personal attributes on the system interface—[Name: Chu Tingwu][Species: Cat]Chu Tingwu: Something’s not right here…Due to a bug, the system had identified her as a kitten.Her stats were those of a cat, but her appearance remained human.How should an exemplary human-cat be raised? Sleeping, causing mischief, eating until she became as round as a pig?However, the reality turned out to be quite different: extreme sports, expert bird-catcher, master mouse-hunter, catching invasive fish barehanded with dynamic vision, using camouflage and tracking skills to film documentaries of rare birds, nearly making the social news as a suspected retired special police officer.For the first lesson in cultivation, the system said gravely:“A cub cannot live alone. We need to find you a cat mother… I’ve already detected a suitable candidate nearby. Go to the target location quickly, little one, and let the cat mother adopt you.”Chu Tingwu looked up as an advertisement fluttered into her hand:[Sunshine Pet Hospital: Limited-time half-price pet neutering, one month of free food with every pet adoption]Chu Tingwu: Who exactly is adopting whom here?

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.

The antique market that is filled with treasures and trash.

The protracted ’witch hunting’ had faded into silence with the end of the Seven Years’ War, and the mysteries of the East Coast had begun to conceal themselves, yet gunpowder was on a rapid rise. Mo Qishang, who should have been utterly confounded, stood at the crossroads of destiny in the name of Arthur. He stared in astonishment at the charging knights, the wizards atop the high towers, and the bizarre wilderness. He felt the sharpness of the longsword and the recoil of the firearm, both clear and unfamiliar. At last, he excitedly shook his robe and, with a smile on his face, said— “Do not believe what I say, for to believe is to exist!”