Spatial Farm Life: Raising My Kid, Abusing Scum, and Keeping Busy With Life - Chapter 15: F*cking Bullsh*t

Tsunderes are refreshing at times but having to chase a wife is hell. Oppress the tsunderes!

In ancient times, oppressive scums were boring old stories. It was pure crap, only for entertainment, having neither escalated or was serious plot. Everyone just enjoyed reading it.

- Description from Novelupdates

Using the ability to freely travel between Earth and the fantasy world so he can… become a porter of two worlds…?

Bai Yang’s objective was to establish a production line that would yield hundreds of millions of pills, pellets, and artifacts…

- Description from Novelupdates

The frail and sickly Wen Jiexi had always wanted one thing: a healthy body and like a dream come true, one day, she was selected by the system!

System: The amazing me shall grant you a strong physique and divine strength! However, you have to maintain your health through monthly missions! If you fail to complete them~well, then you’ll stay as a female King Kong, forever~

Wen Jiexi: What?! Will I no longer be able to live my life freely again?!!

Mother with an alarmed expression: My frail daughter is actually trying to do the most sit-ups possible?!

Father made a strange face: My delicate daughter ran on the treadmill for an hour?!

Brother’s expression crumbled: Can anyone tell him how his cute little sister who is as precious as a delicate white flower…was actually able to use one punch to break a sandbag and smash a hole through the wall!!!

Through a series of unexpected circumstances, she was pulled into the entertainment industry and became a female martial artist!

Female Fan: Our darling Wen is the most awesome! She’s even more handsome than a man!

Male Fan: The girls today are so domineering! To be able to throw away all of one’s shame, I want that feeling too!

The frozen expression after being hugged by the princess from behind: …..

Wen Jiexi held up a hand: No, no, no! It’s not like that!

- 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.