MTL - NBA: No. 1 Forward - Chapter 552 every other person

By a series of freakish accidents, she provokes the feared and mysterious “God of Night”.

When someone bullies her, he says, “Only two types of people bully my wife: those who haven’t crossed her path, and those who have already died. Which do you want to be?”

When someone questions her, he says, “Everything my wife does is right! Those who disagree can have a little chat with me!”

When he goes home, he pleads in a low voice, “Wifey~ Can I not sleep in the study today?”

“You can consider sleeping on the streets.”

“Well, I’ll sleep in the study, then.”

At night, he abducts his freshly-showered wife into the study. She shrieks, “Sheng Nanxuan! What are you doing?!”

“Sleeping… in… the… study!”

The next day, his wife dashes out of the room with tears in her eyes and a sore waist. That isn’t what she meant by “sleeping in the study”…

The idiot Long Gen pretends to be a pig and eats a tiger, takes advantage of the girls in the village, travels across the countryside and forests, monopolizes the beauty and coquettishness, and achieves the legend of “Dragon Gen”. There is a widow in front of the door leaning on the door to watch, and a sister-in-law next door looking through the screen window… This book is determined to be a stallion, with the goal of pushing down and being pushed.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.

Ein was a hitman on hire. A killer, a shadow, a death with insomnia, if you may.He had witnessed countless pairs of eyes dim as the light of life faded, leaving nothing but vile hollowness. Needless to say, the sight of a soul popping out of the dead body was a first.And it wasn't just any soul. It was the dead heir of Byers Holdings, the same guy he killed with his own hands. Turns out the rich boy Adriel had a horribly irritating and loud soul, but worst of it all - impossible to get rid of.Who would have thought that killing on a blue moon night could lead to being haunted?