MTL - Wizards: Begin Liver Experience with Knight Breathing - Chapter 158 Tenth-rank red lotus, fire master! (13,000 words, please order

For more R-18 lewd and depravities check out my Patreon https://www.patreon.com/YuujiEveryleafAn old man dies, torn by regret. Due to his high karma, he has “near-limitless possibilities for reincarnation”. He chooses to reincarnate in a fantasy world as a voluptuous futanari succubus with big tits and an irresistible smile.1st place winner of ScribbleHub's Metus Writing Contest.

Marauders shot Yuan in the head and buried him in a ditch. They thought it would be enough to put him down. They were wrong.Rising from the dead by the will of the Gun, demigod of revenge and firearms, Yuan only has one goal in mind: track down his murderers across the Unmade World and slaughter every last one of them. With the bullet-core stuck in his skull marking him as a Gunsoul, he can finally teach these arrogant cultivators a lesson they’ll never forget.But revenge isn’t so easy to claim. To carve out a path through the wasteland, Yuan will have to face power-hungry sects, nuclear cultivators, and weapon-gods. Let them come. No one will bury him again.He’ll give them all a taste of Bullet Hell.

This is the story about the rebirth of a xiao gōng with a sweet steamed bun-like xiao shòu.

In the past life, xiao shòu, in order to help xiao gōng block a poisonous blade, ended up dying due to blood loss.

After the rebirth of xiao gōng, xiao shòu was loved till overflowing.

This is a cliche story which is warm, sweet, no abuse.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.