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... icker.

  After only a dozen breaths, the thick smoke gathered into a gray shadow.

  Looking carefully, the shape of the shadow looks like the wood carving on the table, but there are only seven or eight faces on the body. The face in the middle even rolled its eyes, staring at the child soul below.

  Although the child soul was ignorant, he knew instinctively that something was wrong, so he gave up the incense and wanted to go back to the wooden ball.

  Yan Ying jumpe ...

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Chu He transmigrated into a barren world as a lowly odd-jobber in the Xia clan. He had initially accepted his fate and was ready to spend his life ordinarily and peacefully. Little did he expect himself to suddenly awaken the Checkpoint System which rewarded him for checking into places!

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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.

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Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

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“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?”

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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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