I've Been so Miserable Lately. I'm a Newbie on Tomato and I Finished Watching the House in 10 Days.

1 死 Dead Stop Forgetful PersonMystery1.3M Wordsongoing 158.2kReads8.5Score21.1kShelves

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It feels like it's on par with Guishe [laughs]

2 仙 Immortal Love: All Souls Are Slaves Pomegranate Doesn't Want to MoveEastern Fantasy105k Wordsongoing 52Reads—Score—Shelves

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The protagonist has a high IQ and no morals. The whole book is about exploitation, backstabbing, and gaming between people. There are 2 groups on the surface in the first task, and there are 2 groups secretly. They cooperate on the surface (the rules are that they cannot kill each other.) They calculate against each other (as long as the companion dies, the remaining people can share the prize pool equally). The battle of wits is particularly exciting. If it doesn't look good, just come back and scold me.

3 域 Yuhe Sweet and Tender PuppyMystery1.4M Wordsongoing 108.6kReads9.5Score15.8kShelves

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It feels pretty good-looking

5 诡 Guilty House: Sun Sign Absolutely Awesome BroMystery1.4M Wordsongoing 6.4kReads7.2Score687Shelves

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Can you come and see my fans? [Crying][crying][crying]

6 鬼 Ghosts Are the Natural Enemies of Humans, and Humans Are the Prey of Ghosts. I Have a Clear ConscienceMystery1.5M Wordsongoing 194kReads8.5Score14.1kShelves

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I think these all look good✧٩(ˊωˋ*)و✧

8 诡 House of Deception 2 Gates of Hell Jiangnan Old CatMystery222k Wordsongoing 61.8kReads—Score3.9kShelves

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① This novel makes a stunning debut with a new theme, perfectly integrating infinite flow, supernatural, survival, other world and other elements to create a bizarre, thrilling and inexplicable fantasy world. The setting of a single female protagonist makes the story full of unique charm and tension.

12 红 Red and White By Ayeayecaptaincompleted 86.6kReads9.7Score—Shelves

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Don't miss The Conspiracy 2. The one below is an emotional novel, but it's worth reading.

13 末 The First Horse Fairy in the Apocalypse Qingcheng Half Fairycompleted —Reads—Score—Shelves

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A book with great potential

14 百 Collection of Hundred Ghosts Jiulu Feixiangcompleted —Reads9.4Score—Shelves

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Beautiful, highly recommended! ! ! ! ! ! ! [Like][Like][Like][Like][Already planted][Already planted][Already planted][Already planted][Already planted][Already planted][Already planted][Already planted][Already planted][Already planted][Already planted]

16 诡 Weird Invitation [Unlimited Streaming] Evening Breeze Island StarMystery421k Wordscompleted 1.4kReads—Score132Shelves

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[Cool][Love]

18 俏 The Playful Princess Is Heartless Neither Heart nor Heartcompleted —Reads—Score—Shelves

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New book, recommended

19 北 Northern Grave Robbery Notes Anonymous (Anchor: Tomato Listening)ongoing 107.4kReads9.2Score—Shelves

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## Notes on Grave Robbers: Burning Rivers and Lakes >At the beginning of the 21st century, I joined a northern tomb robber gang with the dream of getting ahead. >In the tomb of the Puppet Manchukuo officer in Changbai Mountain, the "big rice dumpling" pretending to be a corpse forced us to light explosives and almost wiped out the entire army. >In order to save me, the old cat's arm was broken off by the collapse of the tomb passage, and the Luoyang shovel was soaked with blood. >The "White-faced Buddha" has kind eyebrows and kind eyes, but he is the most ruthless when it comes to dividing the spoils. He always says, "The road in the world is narrow, so you have to be broad-minded." >Until I found the name of Lao Mao's missing brother engraved on the red sandalwood beads he had been coiling for ten years. >That string of beads is ground from human bones. --- In 2001, the wind outside the customs was like a knife, causing people's faces to hurt. With only 23 yuan and 80 cents at home and a heart that was so hot that it almost burned through my chest to "get ahead", I plunged into the gray haze of the provincial capital that was filled with countless ambitions. The place where I settled was a large car shop filled with the smell of low-quality tobacco and sweat, and I met the "White-faced Buddha". He was smiling, with two slits on his doughy face, and he spoke slowly and softly: "Little brother, what's the use of foraging in the valley? Follow the Buddha, and what you dig out of the ground will be enough for you to build ten large tile-roofed houses back in the village!" Those "ten large tile-roofed houses" were like red-hot irons, which made my brain buzz, and I followed his so-called "construction team" in a daze. From then on, the Luoyang shovel became my new hoe, but what I dug up was the frozen soil where the dead rested. In the first few years, I followed these "country masters" into holes and pits. I was like a dry sponge, madly absorbing those fishy, ​​strange and fatally attractive rules and slang. Tombs in the south are hot and humid, and coffins decay quickly. A shovel often brings out half-white bones or a tangled mass of hair stained with dark red mud. The air is filled with a sweet smell of decay. The pits in the north are like frozen iron lumps, especially those in the Changbai Mountains where the secrets of puppet Manchukuo officers are hidden. In the cold winter of that year, when it was more than 30 degrees below zero, we hunched forward like mice in the tomb passage that was harder than pig iron. When the iron drill went down, what was splashed was not Saturn, but ice slag. The hand was so shaken that the tiger's mouth cracked. As soon as the blood beads emerged, they froze into dark red ice particles and stuck to the gloves. The tomb was finally excavated, and the cold air was wrapped in old dust and an indescribable, over-fermented pickle-like smell mixed with metal rust. It rushed out, choking and making people's lungs hurt. The moment the coffin was pried open, the "big rice dumpling" wearing a rotten yellow woolen military uniform sat upright! The flesh was purple in color and tightly wrapped around the bones. The eye sockets were two bottomless black holes. The mandible was wide open at an impossible angle, revealing a few black and yellow teeth. A stronger, sickening stench suddenly exploded. "Fuck! The corpse has been raised!" Someone screamed in a piercing voice, and the broken tone crazily hit the wall in the small tomb, making people's eardrums hurt. Time seemed to be frozen, and only the corpse, which exuded the gloomy energy of a thousand-year cold cellar, was "staring" at us with its empty eye sockets. The white-faced Buddha's voice was like a cracked ice shard, sharply piercing the dead silence: "Detonator! Light!" The tiny flame of the fuse was as weak as a will-o'-the-wisp in the absolute darkness and extreme cold, but it burned out the last string of reason in everyone's brains. Boom! The sky is falling apart! The searing waves of air and the acrid smell of gunpowder smoke suddenly knocked people over, leaving only a sharp, never-ending buzz in their ears. In front of them were wildly dancing gravels and filled with choking smoke. The huge shock wave carried the gravel and mud, like countless heavy fists hitting the back hard. The tomb passage made a heart-breaking groan, and large chunks of frozen soil above our heads peeled off and collapsed. Cold, hard soil fell like raindrops, blocking the way in and almost blocking our only way to survive. "Quick! This way!" The old cat's hoarse roar was like a life-saving straw amidst the smoke and the roar of collapse. He was not tall, and as lean as an old mountain vine. He was usually taciturn, but at this moment he burst out with astonishing strength, like an angry leopard, kicking and kicking to clear away the falling earth and rocks in front of him, and forcefully tore a way out of the collapsed gap for us. After he broke it off, he pushed me hard out of the gap that was about to be completely sealed by the huge rock. The moment I staggered out, there was a dull and heart-stopping impact from behind, followed by the old cat's extremely suppressed half-sounding groan squeezed out from the depths of his throat - "Uh-huh!" A lump of frozen soil the size of a tabletop hit the spot where he had just pushed me. The smoke and dust dispersed slightly, and they saw the old cat's lean left arm, which was pressed tightly under the boulder from the elbow down. The fracture was bloody and bloody, and the white bone stubble was dazzling outside. The dark red blood was gushing out, quickly soaking into the soil-covered steel handle of the Luoyang shovel next to his broken arm, and silently seeping into the cold frozen earth beneath him. The color was shocking in the dim light. I sat paralyzed on the cold mud floor, shaking like chaff. I looked at the old cat's face that was distorted by severe pain, covered with cold sweat and mud, and my throat was so blocked that I couldn't make a sound. The white-faced Buddha crawled over panting, the usual gentle smile on his face disappeared without a trace, leaving only the pale whiteness and a rock-like hardness that remained for the rest of his life. He tore open his relatively clean lining shirt and strangled the wound above the old cat's broken arm that was gushing blood. He moved quickly and harshly. The blood was temporarily suppressed, but the old cat's arm remained forever in the frozen general's tomb. "Brother, this arm is the 'letter of submission' that Brother Cat gave you." The old cat's teeth chattered in pain, cold sweat dripped down his chin, but he forced a smile that was uglier than crying, and his voice was as hoarse as sandpaper sharpening iron, "Go on... Go ahead and 'lay a banquet' (divide the spoils), don't forget... Just give me a pair of chopsticks." The white-faced Buddha patted the old cat's uninjured shoulder, and his voice returned to that strange calmness, even with a little compassion: "Old cat, be loyal! Don't worry, Buddha knows it well. The road in the world is narrow, but the heart must be broad." He coiled the string of red sandalwood beads that never left his hand. The beads collided and made a gentle sound, which seemed to soothe the blood and shock remaining in the tomb passage. "The road in the world is narrow, but the heart should be broad." This sentence became the mantra of the White-faced Buddha, and it also became the sharpest soft knife when he divided the spoils. No matter how big the "cave" (treasure in the tomb) is, no matter how many new scars the brothers add to their bodies, what is finally distributed to each person will always be a little thinner than expected. He coiled the string of oily beads and still smiled like Maitreya in the temple: "Brothers, our family is big and our business is big, so we have to take care of everything. We have to take a long-term view and have a broad heart!" Those gentle words were like an invisible rope, which made people feel depressed, but there was no way to refute. Looking at the old cat's empty left sleeve swaying in the night wind, and then looking at the ever-calm "Buddha face" of the White-faced Buddha, a cold, rusty chill silently crawled up my spine. Until that muggy summer night. We just "built" a small shipwreck cellar from the Song Dynasty beside the old route of the Yellow River. It doesn't have many things, but there are a few exquisite jade ornaments. As usual, a "banquet" was held in the white-faced Buddha's small room, which always smelled of cheap incense. The oil lamp was dim, and mosquitoes buzzed against the lampshade. The white-faced Buddha seemed to be in a good mood. He drank two more cups of low-quality white wine, and his face was shiny. He was leaning on the kang. He casually took off the string of purple-black and shiny Buddhist beads that had been coiled for countless years and placed them on the greasy kang table, twisting his fingers unconsciously. The flame of the oil lamp jumped suddenly, and a lantern exploded. In that moment of light, I accidentally glanced at the string of beads. On the dark purple bead closest to me, through the flickering dim light, it seemed... Something was engraved on it? Like words? My heart skipped a beat, and I pretended to move the wine bowl closer. The surface of the bead was gentle, but it was by no means natural. It was clearly engraved with a small word - "brave" using extremely fine and incisive knife skills. A thunder exploded in my mind without any warning! Old Mao has narrated countless times when he was drunk, that his biological brother who disappeared inexplicably when he was a teenager was nicknamed "Xiaoyong"! A gust of cold air, a hundred times more biting than the coldest wind in the Changbai Mountain tomb passage, instantly shot from the soles of the feet to the top of the sky, and the blood seemed to freeze. "Lord Buddha, this bead... Is so beautifully coiled." I heard my voice was dry and dry, like sandpaper rubbing, but my fingers were uncontrollably trembling with a tremor I couldn't understand, pointing to the engraved bead, "What... Is engraved on it?" The hand of the white-faced Buddha suddenly stopped twisting the bead! For the first time, clear cracks appeared on the "Buddha face" that always had a three-pointed smile. The usual gentle illusion in the slit eyes faded away in an instant, leaving only the darkness like a deep well and an unexpected anger at having a secret revealed, like a poisoned needle point, stabbing hard at him. The air in the room seemed to have frozen, and the fine smoke from the inferior incense rose straight upward, motionless. Opposite the Kang table, the old cat's empty sleeve seemed to have stopped shaking unconsciously in the dead, muggy air. Time only froze for a moment. The shock and anger on the white-faced Buddha's face was like the ripples caused by a stone thrown into a deep pool, and was instantly covered by a deeper and deeper calm. He retracted his gaze very naturally and picked up the string of beads again. His stubby fingers slowly touched the bead engraved with the word "brave" with an almost gentle force. His movements were so smooth that it was as if the pause just now was just an illusion. "Oh, this," his voice returned to its unique gentleness with a bit of phlegm, even slower and deeper than usual, as if to soothe a restless beast, "a thought sent by a brother who passed away in the early years. The person... Is long gone. Carve a word and leave it. A thought." He raised his eyelids and looked at me again with his slit eyes. There was still a bottomless calm inside, and he even asked with a hint of compassion, "What? Xiao Shanzi, are you interested in this old thing?" That look in his eyes was as calm as the cold pool water in the deepest part of the ancient tomb. But in this stagnant calm, all the hairs on my body stood on end, and every nerve was screaming with an extremely clear understanding: This string of beads is definitely not red sandalwood! That kind of extremely subtle matte light showing through the warmth, that kind of strange texture that is definitely not wood, that is faintly revealed after years of polishing - it's bone! They are human bones that have been carefully polished and played with to a thick pulp! The name of the old cat brother is engraved on these shiny bones! The white-faced Buddha's compassionate words of "be broad-minded" and his whisper of "the dead brother is long gone", every word is like an ice pick tempered with corpse poison, piercing through all the cognitions I have barely built up in the bloody years. His stomach was churning, and the strong smell of blood and uncontrollable nausea filled his throat. I lowered my head suddenly, clenched my fists tightly, dug my nails into my palms, and used the sharp sting to force myself not to spit it out on the spot, let alone pounce on it out of control. Under the dim light, the slight "click" sound of the white-faced Buddha twisting his beads sounded eerily coincident with the muffled sound of collapsed frozen soil in the Changbai Mountain tomb passage. After that night, I felt like a man truly haunted by evil spirits. The empty sleeves of the old cat, the warm bone beads between the fingers of the white-faced Buddha, and the small word "brave" carved on the bones. These three things rotated crazily in my mind day and night. Every time I see the "Buddha face" of the White-faced Buddha and hear him slowly saying "Be broad-minded", a cold fear and an even colder murderous intention are like two poisonous snakes, tightly wrapped around my heart. I became silent, like a stone that had absorbed the cold air. I subconsciously avoided the white-faced Buddha's gaze, but with the corner of my eye, I stared at him like a hungry wolf, especially the string of beads on his hand. Every time he twisted the beads, the subtle "click" sound was like a dull saw, pulling back and forth on my tense nerves. The opportunity came unexpectedly a month later. The White-faced Buddha wants to go alone to a neighboring province to "visit" a "palm eye" (appraiser) who is said to have clues to the tomb in his hand. On the eve of his departure, he was unusually drunk. He casually took off the string of Buddhist beads that never left his body and threw them in the corner of his kang mat in the back room, which smelled of old sweat and incense. Snoring like thunder. I slipped in quietly like a weightless shadow. The room was filled with a strong smell of alcohol and the unique turbid smell of the old man. In the darkness, the heartbeat was as loud as a drum, making the eardrums buzz. When the fingertips touched the string of beads, they were cold, hard, and had a slippery feeling. I clutched it tightly, like a red-hot iron, or the key to the door of hell, and quickly backed out. It was just dawn, and I was carrying the string of beads, as if being chased by countless evil ghosts, and plunged into the rolling mass graves full of barren graves on the edge of the provincial capital. Wild dogs roam here, and wormwood grows taller than people. It is where the city handles unknown corpses, and it is also a natural haven for people like us. I hid in a dilapidated brick tomb with half of it collapsed, leaning against the cold, damp, moss-covered tomb bricks. Only then did I dare to take out the string of beads again in the dim morning light, trembling. The pale morning light illuminated every bead clearly. Under the purple-black coating, the essence of the bones can no longer be hidden. It is definitely not the warm wood grain of red sandalwood, but the unique dense and fine pore structure of bone, which cannot be completely covered up by years of grinding. What is even more shocking is that there is more than one bead! I shivered, and carefully identified each bead, and found two other names that were also engraved with thin lines on the other two beads - "Shuan Zhu" and "Gou Wa"! These two names were like a red-hot iron being stabbed into my temples! Shuanzhu was the stuffy gourd who slipped and fell into a water-filled shaft in Shanxi the winter before last and never climbed up again! Gouwa is a stupid young man who was hacked to death on the Yellow River beach in Henan in the spring of last year. When they disappeared, the white-faced Buddha once sighed with compassion and said, "The road in the rivers and lakes is dangerous, and life and death are determined by fate." It turns out that life lies here! Here it is! There was a violent spasm in my stomach, and I couldn't bear it any longer. I rushed to the entrance of the tomb, facing the wildly growing weeds and exposed loess outside, and vomited heartbreakingly, until the bile was filled with bitter green acidic water. Cold sweat instantly soaked through the torn cotton-padded jacket on his back, sticking to his skin with a sticky and cold texture. I collapsed in the tomb that exuded the rotten smell, clutching the string of bone-cold beads, shaking like the last dead leaf in the autumn wind. The rivers and lakes... This fucking rivers and lakes eat people without spitting out their bones! The dream of "ten big tile-roofed houses" is now paler and more ridiculous than paper ashes. Those so-called loyalty and rules are just the spices used by the "white-faced Buddha" to cook the same kind! The old cat's broken arm, Xiaoyong's name, the innocent souls of Shuan Zhu and Gou Wa... All the filthy past, all the foolish desire to "get ahead", at this moment, under the cold touch of this string of human bone beads, turned into the most vicious ridicule and the most complete despair. The nausea churning in my stomach surged up again, and I huddled in the corner of the cold tomb bricks. My teeth rattled and rattled uncontrollably, as if I wanted to chew up the bone-chilling chill and fear. A few days later, like a real lonely ghost, I walked back to the stronghold of the White-faced Buddha with unkempt hair and the smell of grave soil. From a distance, I saw the old cat squatting on the stone as big as a millstone at the foot of the courtyard wall, its empty left sleeve hanging limply. He was lowering his head and awkwardly rolling a dry cigarette with his remaining right hand. The pungent smell of inferior tobacco leaves wafted in the cool evening air. The afterglow of the setting sun coated his rickety figure with a layer of dark red light, like coagulated blood. I walked over slowly, my steps as heavy as lead. When the old cat heard the noise, he raised his head. His face, which was full of grooves carved by wind, frost and pain, was startled for a moment, and then he grinned, revealing his teeth yellowed by smoke: "Shanzi? Damn, what kind of mouse hole have you been digging into these days? Lord Buddha is looking for you!" There was a real worry that belonged to an old man in his cloudy eyes. My throat felt like it was blocked by rough gravel, and it was burning. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. In the end, she just walked to him silently and squatted down. The setting sun was sinking, dragging our two shadows long on the dirty mud. I slowly took out the thing tightly wrapped in rags from my arms and stuffed it into the old cat's only right hand. The fingers were cold, and when they touched his rough, calloused palms, you could clearly feel him stiffen suddenly. The old cat gave me a confused look, his eyes cloudy and tired. He lowered his head and clumsily tore the rag apart with his teeth and right hand. When the string of purple-black shiny Buddhist beads that reflected faintly in the dusk was completely exposed, the expression on his face froze. Time seems to be frozen at this moment. His bloodshot eyes were staring at the bead, especially when his gaze passed over the bead engraved with the word "brave", his whole figure was struck by an invisible, high-voltage lightning! The half-rolled cigarette slipped silently from his fingers and fell into the dust. His right hand, covered with thick calluses and stained with tobacco, began to tremble violently, causing the string of human bone beads to rustle. The trembling became more and more severe, spreading along his arms to his shoulders, and finally even his whole body was shaking like chaff. He stared hard at the bead, and made a sound like "ho... Ho..." In his throat, like a broken bellows. The blood on his face instantly faded cleanly, turning as pale as paper. In those cloudy eyes, first there was extreme shock and confusion, as if they didn't recognize what was in front of them, then there was the overwhelming pain of being betrayed by a loved one, and finally, all the emotions sank, leaving only a heart-stopping, dead darkness, bottomless, darker than the deepest tomb we have ever drilled. He didn't cry or shout, but his body was shaking more and more violently, and his teeth were clattering, as if he wanted to crush all the teeth in his mouth. He held the string of beads in his remaining right hand, his knuckles turning blue-white from the force, almost crushing the cold human bones. The setting sun finally sank completely into the horizon, and the last afterglow disappeared. The darkness was like an icy tide, instantly submerging the courtyard wall, the millstone, and me and the stone statue beside me that was shaking violently and exuding the cold air of despair. The night was as dark as ink, too thick to dissolve. A few days later, the news of the White-faced Buddha's return blew like a dark wind. It is said that as soon as he stepped into the yard, he was chased and hacked by a mad tiger-like old cat with a rusty butcher knife. No one dared to take a closer look at that scene. They only heard the white-faced Buddha's ever-slow tone changing for the first time, becoming sharp and frightened, followed by the beastly roar of the old cat and the dull and terrifying sound of the blade chopping on a hard object. Later, only Old Cat sat on the millstone alone, covered in blood, with the curled butcher's knife thrown at his feet. The white-faced Buddha and his string of beads that never left his body completely disappeared, like water vapor steaming in the dry and cold air outside the pass. Some people said that the old cat chopped him into pieces and fed him to the hungry dog ​​behind the yard, while others said that he dragged his body and sank his body into the stinking pool on the outskirts of the city that was said to be connected to an underground river. No one could confirm it, and no one dared to ask. A large area of ​​soil in the yard has been renovated, and the color is dark and black. I walked in the middle of the night without a moon. All he had with him was a flat canvas bag, stuffed with a few changes of clothes and a thick hard-shell notebook carefully wrapped in oilcloth. The cover is made of dark blue cloth, and the corners have long been worn and turned white and fluffy. I walked to the old locust tree with tangled branches at the entrance of the village and stopped. Under the tree, the newly turned soil was still moist, and on the moonless night, there was just a deeper, silent darkness. I squatted down, put down the canvas bag, took out the notebook from inside, and took out a small bottle of gasoline that I had prepared long ago. The cold liquid was poured onto the thick paper, and the pungent smell spread instantly. I struck a match, and a weak flame jumped in the darkness, then licked the gasoline-soaked paper. The flames rose up with a roar, and the orange light suddenly illuminated a small patch of dark ground in front of me, as well as the rough bark and gnarled roots of the old locust tree. The fire jumped, greedily devouring the pages, devouring the location of every tomb, every thrilling experience, every missing name, and every "business" stained with mud and blood that was densely recorded on it. Those twisted, struggling, greedy, and numb writings curled and blackened in the flames, and finally turned into light and erratic gray butterflies with the warmth of embers, spiraling up into the thick darkness, and then being completely engulfed by the boundless night. The firelight reflected on the face, bringing a brief, burning warmth that was fleeting. A deeper and deeper chill seeped silently from the ground beneath my feet, from the boundless wilderness behind me, and from all directions, wrapping around my ankles and climbing up my back. I turned my back to the fire that had swallowed up the past, to the new soil where too many secrets and sins were buried, and to the direction where I once thought I could get ahead, and plunged headlong into the bottomless darkness ahead.

20 魂 Soul Penetration********** completed —Reads5.8Score—Shelves

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The Soul Penetration 60 Divine Machine system is started. New book is on the shelves, friends, please support [send heart][send heart][send heart]

24 诡 Treacherous House** completed —Reads5.8Score—Shelves

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Guishe fan fiction.

25 噩 Nightmare** ongoing —Reads5.8Score—Shelves

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Infinite streaming horror