Cultivation Struggles of a Lowly Fox - Chapter 404 – Old Friends

“Young man… if you could go back in time, what period would you like to be in?”

The hearse with the weird odor slowed to a stop before the entrance. The sound of pebbles could be heard bouncing on the ceiling. There were footsteps coming from the corridor, and there seemed to be someone sawing next door. The door knob to the room rattled slightly, and the faucet in the bathroom kept dripping even though it had been screwed shut. There was a rubber ball that rolled on its own underneath the bed. Wet footsteps started to surface one after another on the floor.
At 3 am, Chen Ge held a cleaver in his hand as he hid beside the room heater. The call he was trying to make was finally answered. “Landlord, is this what you meant by ‘the house can be a little crowded at night’‽”

- Description from Novelupdates

Long Chen, a crippled youth who cannot cultivate, is constantly targeted and bullied by his fellow noble heirs. After a particularly vicious beating, he wakes up and realizes a Pill God’s soul has somehow merged with him, giving him some additional memories. Within those memories is the mysterious Nine Star Hegemon Body Art, a cultivation technique that even he can train in, but whose secrets and origin are still a mystery to him. Relying on his improved instincts as he finally begins to cultivate, he realizes a huge conspiracy is underfoot within the Phoenix Cry Empire, one involving his father, members of the imperial family, and even the Emperor himself.

In order to solve the mysteries around him, he must rely on his new alchemy techniques and the powerful but baffling Nine Star Hegemon Body Art. Countless enemies block him as he attempts to climb to the peak of the cultivation world.

Fate destined him to be only a chess piece, but he would not bow to the will of the Heavens.

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.