Trapped with the CEO - Chapter 1701 I’m Arvin’s Backup

I reincarnated into a fantasy world. Since I somehow got born again, I resolved myself to live diligently once more. But, putting that aside, my entire village burning up and disappearing when I’m 8-year old f*cking crossed the line. F*cking shit-f*cking crossed the line!

It was said that Lu Zhi, the richest man in City A, had a wife whose medical skills were so good she could revive the dead!

Lu Zhi said modestly, “It’s not a big deal, but if she claims to be second, no one will dare to say they’re first.”

It was also said that Mrs. Lu was a top-notch hacker whose methods were so ruthless that bad guys frequently begged her to let them off the hook

!Lu Zhi smiled affectionately. “My wife is delicate and fragile. Those villains are just too weak.”

The audience all felt speechless. “You’re making up nonsense. Don’t you feel embarrassed?”

Lu Zhi raised his brows. “Hmm? Does anybody have a problem with that? Please step forward.”

Mrs. Lu was calm and relaxed. “You all like gossiping so much. If you don’t want to keep your tongue, you can donate it to me for research purposes.”

Everyone shivered in fear. “Please forgive us. We won’t do it again.”

Dear readers! Fresh green style, maybe you will like it more in .

In regards to the MMORPG Cross Reverie, Sakamoto Takuma boasted an overwhelming strength that was enough for him to be called the Demon King by the other players. One day, he gets summoned to another world with his appearance in the game. There, there are two people that insist “I am the real summon master.” Takuma gets slave-turning magic used for summoned beasts cast on him by the girls –

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.