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Marauders Afterlife

Mr. Feng Shui's Folk Anecdotes

Set against the tumultuous backdrop of China's Republican Era (1912-1949), this novel chronicles the uncanny adventures of Li Beidou, a feng shui master born under a portentous celestial alignment. His birth coincided with the winter solstice—a liminal moment of cosmic transition between Yin and Yang—marked by an omen: every black dog in the village went mad, hurling themselves to their deaths beneath the ancient huai tree at the village entrance. Hailing from a lineage of funeral attire shopkeepers who clothed the dead, Beidou's destiny shifted during a feverish delirium when he encountered the Yin-Inquiring Matriarch, a spectral figure who inducted him into the shadowed arts bridging the mortal realm and the afterlife. The narrative weaves through encounters with Yin Arts—esoteric rituals to commune with spirits—and the perilous Nine Yin Techniques, a forbidden corpus of necromantic lore. Each chapter unravels bizarre phenomena: sentient funeral paper effigies, geomantic curses haunting ancestral tombs, and markets where the dead barter with spirit coins. Blending historical verisimilitude with supernatural intrigue, the story illuminates the clandestine world of Yin-Yang practitioners—custodians of cosmic balance—through Beidou's trials. From exorcising poltergeists in Shanghai's jazz-age parlors to decoding cryptic feng shui patterns in war-torn villages, his journey reveals how the veil between worlds grows thin in times of human strife.
DaoistWsGVyX · 3.3K Views

I Am Overpowered And A Comedian In Another World

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. ——— ——— ——— Gib Money - ko-fi.com/khyaal Join My Discord For Reference Arts and much more - https://discord.gg/zmUcswM2N5
KhyaaL · 23.3K Views
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