MTL - Cultivation Is Like This - Chapter 37 Red umbrella umbrella with white pole

# handsome # shortcomingdefense # strong

After dying on a battlefield, she was reborn as orphan Lu Xiaocha. She was in a peaceful world with delicious food she had never seen before. There were no endless missions or killings, and everything was lovely in her eyes.

When a luxury car rolled up to the orphanage, she realized that the original owner of this body was not an orphan, but a daughter from a wealthy family.

Also, she had a superb father, a mother who was a peerless beauty, five older brothers, and an uncle. But… Why did their family name sound so familiar?

Then, she recalled reading a novel before she died. It seems that her family… were all villains!

Great! She had fallen into a villains’ nest! But… this nest was so nice. Lu Xiaocha would defend them even if they were bad! Heh! Someone wanted everything the Lu family had? They’d have to ask her fist first!

A random man came over and said, “Chacha, come with me.”

“Do you think I need to?” Lu Xiaocha shot back.

Born into darkness, Lucius is marked by an infernal curse—the Mark of the Abyss. This unholy sigil endows him with powers that defy mortal comprehension, yet seals his fate: servitude, rejection, and a grim demise.Embark on a journey with Lucius as he unravels the hidden truth behind the Marks, battles to carve out a destiny of his own, and strikes back against the cruel fate imposed upon him.In a world that shuns him for his cursed existence, Lucius will forge unlikely alliances to challenge those who scorn him. He is driven by a relentless desire to claim a place for himself and his loved ones, no matter the cost.Prepared to plunge into the darkest depths of depravity, Lucius is poised on the brink of a harrowing journey. The ultimate enigma remains: what awaits him in the abyss of his ambitions?

Lu Mingshu had never believed in fate.

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.