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...

In fact, this sentence is not so accurate.

Although they no longer have to worry about running around for food and clothing, there are still other worries haunting them, even more involuntary for some rich people.

This is called--

【The rich have the difficulties of the rich, and the poor have the happiness of the poor】

Zhou Fangwu's family background is not considered wealthy, but he will not be troubled by money. In addition, the old man in the family is in a hig ...

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In the 15th year of Lolan’s independence, Luo En transmigrated to this world. But because his system needed six months to load, he had to make use of his own know-how to open a bar in the city and use the bar to familiarize himself with this new universe he was in.

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“What sort of person do you think the current king of Lolan is?

“Which side do you think is more likely to win the war between Lolan and Waoh?

“Which of the king’s sons do you think is most suitable to be the next king?

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Luo En was always on the verge of rolling his eyes. As a top student of the 21st century who was well versed in military matters and history, these brainless questions were an insult to his intelligence

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“The current king of Lolan is a good king who’s hard to come by. His legacy will definitely go down in history!

“Before him, Lolan was a divided nation where the aristocrats took control of everything, oppressing the people and making their lives difficult. White Horse City and Sunset City were filled with poor and hungry people, even selling their children to make ends meet and eating absolutely anything they could find. It was such a tragedy.

“Thankfully, the current king united the country and gave the people a peaceful and stable environment to live in. At the same time, he set new laws to help the people come out of their post-war poverty…

“So, I think the current king is a truly wise man, a good king who comes once every millennium!

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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