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... although he hadn't survived for a few years ...

"Brother." Emperor Ming saw his family as beautiful as a spring flower, and his brother, Qingruo Haoyue, woke up under his unconscious call. He seemed to realize that as an emperor, he was as embarrassed as his daughter's family. The tough and mighty image in front of him cleared his throat quickly, and then ...

"Cough, how is Xiaocheng feeling now? Is there any pain in your body, not thirsty, do you want to drink water?" Mingdi forg ...

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Mob Protagonist ~ Mob in the Novel But There is a ProblemChapter 380.2: Short Story. Everyday Life At The Café
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I have been reincarnated as a mob. Isn’t that usually how it starts, right? But this development feels a little strange, doesn’t it? Most people would be sad to be a mob, but then they end up having a significant role and overshadowing the protagonist. Well, that’s only natural. After all, I know the story and work hard from the beginning, so it’s only natural that I excel.

So, the correct way to express it would be like this:

“I’ve been reincarnated as a mob protagonist.”

“I’ve been reincarnated as a mob.”

To put it accurately, “I’ve been reincarnated as a mob in a popular novel. I’m a character who doesn’t appear in the story at all.”

Well, some people might say, “Hey, if that’s the case, you’re not even a mob!” But the thing is, that novel is popular, you know? It’s been adapted into a game.

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MTL - StepmotherChapter 300 extra five
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Liu Ling, an unmarried activist, has been unrestrained all her life. Before her death, a friend asked her if she had an unfulfilled wish, and Liu Ling replied she could not raise a baby.

The friend fell into trouble; this is not easy to do. Not waiting for her friend to speak, Liu Ling said that if she gave birth to a child, the mother would die, and her child would live, so let’s forget it.

Unfortunately, God heard.

After her death, she did not enter the underworld and transmigrated into Song Zhaodi. She also had seven children, all of whom were not her own.

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MTL - Food Circle Plug-in EmperorChapter 820 almost fought
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Waking up from a big dream, Fu Yu felt that he had been forced into a mouthful of pie by God.

Everything familiar, suddenly becomes virtual.

Working kitchen table, tools used, co-workers, and customers.

All things have become walking NPCs and auxiliary props.

Daily life and work have become the main tasks that need to be completed, and the key clues for advancement.

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The customer ordered a piece of loose pork.

Fu Yu took out a piece of fresh tenderloin: [Pork: Freshness: 90%]

Holding an egg with one hand: [Egg: Freshness: 85%]

Heat oil in a pan, prepare starch, and prepare onion, ginger, and garlic.

First fried and then fried, the meat is cooked out of the pan, put on a plate and served in front of customers: [Ding! Complete the task with a slice of loose meat. Get rewards: cooking experience +10, RMB +100, a colander without oil! 】

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As a chef who is being chased and fed by God, as long as you cook, you will be promoted!

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THE DEATH KNELLChapter 67: War of God’s and Shadows
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war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”