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If you read a lot of historical romance novels, then I’m sure you’re familiar with this scene: An assassin draws his blade and lunges at the male lead.

At the critical moment, the female lead rushes forward and takes the stab for him.

She collapses into his arms, and he cries her name in panic…

When I transmigrated, this exact scene was unfolding.

You think I was the female lead? Nope.

And of course, I wasn’t the male lead either. I was the assassin.

A friend of mine worked at the Egyptian Mummy Museum.

She said something had happened there and asked me to come take a look.

Out of curiosity, I unwrapped the mummy’s bandages.

Beneath layer after layer of linen was my friend’s face. “Lu Lingzhu-“

I went out northwest to haul coal in a big rig.

That morning, we were lined up waiting to load our trucks.

All of a sudden, we heard someone shouting.

“Oh no! There’s someone buried under the coal pile!”

A bunch of us ran over to help.

But even after we dug all the way to the bottom of that mountain of coal, we didn’t find so much as a shadow of a person.

The worker who had shouted was starting to panic.

Stammering, he tried to explain, “That’s not right. I saw it clear as day.

There was a pair of wrinkled human hands sticking out from under the coal pile!”

At midnight, I woke up in a strange place.

Someone knocked on my truck window and said they were holding a celebration tonight, and asked me to join them.

Still groggy, I got out of the truck.

The village before me was decked out in lanterns and colored streamers.

“Is it a wedding?” I asked the villager. The villager didn’t answer.

Instead, a hazy thought came to me: I seemed to have come here to escort the bride.

I turned back to look at the heavy truck I’d driven here.

It was empty. But why did I remember it being packed full of things when I arrived?

What had I been carrying? For a moment, I couldn’t recall.

When I turned back again, the villager who had come to call me was gone.

While we were out at sea on a cruise ship, a tourist from Sakura Country put on a Night Parade of One Hundred Demons for us.

Everyone praised his superb magic tricks, never realizing that every last one of those “demons” was a real ghost.

He used those ghosts to blackmail the other tourists, so I gave him one hell of a slap.

“Within the borders of Huaxia, foreign entities are forbidden to pass!”

What he didn’t know was that I was the one and only Earth Master successor.

How do you get a man to spend five million on you with a single sentence?

“Sir, your face bears an omen of disaster.” The man looked at me with utter disdain.

The next second, the Rolls-Royce he had parked by the roadside was hit by a van.

It exploded on the spot.

A buddy of mine who drove long-haul trucks took a job delivering a Buddha Head.

The Buddha Head had clearly arrived safely, yet he came down with a fever that wouldn’t break and was plagued by nightmares.

By the time I heard the news and rushed to the hospital, he was already delirious from the fever.

His scalding-hot hand clamped tightly around mine.

“Brother Long, I… my Buddha Head was stolen. The Buddha Head is gone!”

“Dashun, the Buddha Head was delivered. It wasn’t lost.”

His wife and mother stood around him crying, but no matter what anyone said, he insisted that his Buddha Head had been lost.

A perfectly healthy man was down to his last breath.

I turned to Dashun’s boss and said, “Where is the Buddha Body? I’ll deliver it.”

I disguised myself as a man and spent twelve years in the barracks as a no-good soldier-only to suddenly learn that I was the Prefect’s true daughter.

The impostor daughter clutched my sleeve, sobbing as she shook it.

“Sister, I know I stole the place that should have been yours. I only beg you not to take away the love Father, Mother, and our brothers have for me.”

What she didn’t know was that I had no interest in stealing her love.

All I wanted was to get my brothers-in-arms some military pay.

When I first started driving freight trucks, I once asked Master out of curiosity: Why did truckers need to perform Chongsha, while bus drivers didn’t?

Master said it was because trucks carried cargo, not people, so what they feared most was running into trouble on the road.

Buses, on the other hand, were always picking people up and dropping them off, so their greatest taboo was disaster striking onboard.

That was why buses didn’t pay much attention to warding off the road itself.

What they cared about was ballasting the vehicle.

Most bus drivers I’d met used stones for it.

Some used stone statues.

Whenever the passenger count hit four or seven, the driver would bring out the Vehicle-Ballasting Stone, treating it as one extra passenger onboard to keep misfortune away.

But recently, I took on a strange job.

A bus driver came to me and asked me to ballast his bus as a living person.

He said that before me, three Vehicle-Ballasting Stones had already shattered on his bus.

Liu Ye always felt that he was a good person-specifically, a paragon of filial piety. When it came to his mother, he was exceptionally devoted.

The Joyous Funeral Fiend: Bullshit!

Toward his father, he was kind and amiable.

The Water Fiend: *Sob, sob*… Don’t come any closer! If you take one more step, I’ll die right in front of you!

To his friends, he was the type who would take a bullet for them.

Other Fiends: You mean you’d put two bullets in us!

In short, Liu Ye felt that he was a happy man.

The Fiends: Isn’t your happiness just the history of our blood and tears?