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I Received Messages From Future Self!

"Hot Noodles request to add you as a friend." An inexplicable friend request, a non-existent contact. Claiming to be a message from herself in the future, intimately knowledgeable about her past. Fang Xiaocao was utterly numb. Hot Noodles: Danger, do not go home tonight. "Is this some kind of joke?" Staring at the WeChat message, Fang Xiaocao rolled her eyes and opened the anti-theft door. Hot Noodles: At midnight, when the knocking starts, don't turn on the light if you don't want to die. In the early morning: 00:00:00 Fang Xiaocao was woken by the knocking sound. She was just about to turn on the bedside lamp when she remembered that bizarre message. She pulled back her hand and stayed put until dawn, only to know her neighbor next door, a woman living alone just like her was murdered at midnight... Fang Xiaocao was suddenly covered in a cold sweat. Hot Noodles: To celebrate our narrow escape from death, go to the flea market before three in the afternoon, stall number 7, and buy the seventh inkstone on the left-hand side. The seller's bottom price is 80, but the inkstone is worth 8 million. After last night's ordeal, Fang Xiaocao inexplicably chose to believe. She successfully bought an inkstone for a hundred dollars, and later discover it was indeed a imperial inkstone from the Qing Qianlong era, worthing 8 million! Fang Xiaocao stood there, dumbfounded! Following the message's instructions, she bought a second-hand car. But little did she know, the guidance was linking her into a series of events that dragged out a murder case and a fortune worth two small goals. Who on earth sent her the messages? It's really her future self? Or it's some kind of bizarre game?

Your fatty · Urban
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304 Chs

Chapter 157 Break the Door!

Fatty wriggled his lips, smacked his mouth but eventually said nothing more.

Yet from Fatty's expression, it wasn't hard to guess that he was very dissatisfied with the decision made at home, with a hint of ferocity flickering in his eyes.

The non-mainstream youth glanced at Fatty and then at the middle-aged man, then pulled a gun from behind his waist and with a "click," chambered a round.

"When the time comes, we'll use the room as cover. As those cops bust in, kill them one by one, two by two."

The non-mainstream youth, clutching his gun, spoke in a grave tone.

Upon hearing the non-mainstream youth's call, the middle-aged man nodded slightly, while Fatty made no particular response.

The waiting time always seems long.

And with prolonged time comes torture.

Whether it was the detectives outside the door or the trio of non-mainstream youths inside, everyone felt tormented, yet none dared to make a careless move.

This was a dual struggle, both mental and physical.