MTL - Everywhere in Jianghu is Wonderful - Chapter 110 Can you do something else!

He was about to join the beta test on the newest VR games, Second World.

The once-bustling and noisy streets were now filled with an eerie blanket of silence.

Hoarse and frenzied whispers lingered high above the heavens, and an indescribable ancient giant lurked in the shadows of the bottomless ocean.

A mysterious plague had outbroken, and natural disasters wrought the Earth. Global pandemic and catastrophes had the panicked masses seeking illusory shelters from the devastation, day and night.

A bloody shower poured over the land as the streaks of lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the ill-intentioned gathering of ravens above. Nevermore, nevermore, quoth the ravens.

“We can see that this malformed creature has twelve pairs of ribs like humans, but also has a “transverse bone” that humans do not possess…”

In the medical school, Gu Jun continued bringing down his scalpel, illustrating the abnormal thoracic structure of the malformed cadaver on the dissection table to the surrounding students.

Ominous and treacherous times had descended! Truth and logic had crumbled, order warped into a frenzy. Humanity can only forge ahead through the power of intelligence and wisdom.

Carry a full belly, her husband brings another woman home and even wants to kick her out!

Tragically dying and reincarnated, she is determined to escape, yet he relentlessly pursues: “Dare to flee, I’ll search the entire city, find that woman within 48 hours!”

He’s arrogantly domineering, turning his hand he treats her as insignificant, reversing his hand she’s the treasure held in his palm.

She scoffs: “Stay away from me, we’re already divorced!”

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.