PREVIEW

... e are hopelessly stupid people, and "death" is not a pity.

He thought that Shen Luyang just looked stupid, not stupid and could be saved.

But he was wrong.

This may be the only "smart person".

Shen Luyang took the medicine out the door, thought about what Fang Yi said just now, and smiled indifferently.

Xie Weihan was sitting outside watching a cockatiel raised by Fang Yi, not teasing, but watching quietly.

The parrot tilted his head and looked straight ...

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When he got tangled in a fight with a few punks in this different world, he fell off a cliff and miraculously found himself still alive, with two more voices ringing inside his head. They were Sword Master and Saber Master. In the company of them, he continued to find out more about this whole new world. He took the sect entrance examination, entered the sect, met a strange man in black, and even participated in a major competition of the sect to have a chance to win over his peers!
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As childhood sweethearts, they were made to engage under the manipulations of their families. It involved having to to live in the same room and sleep together.

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What do you do when you wake up and find yourself inside the very game that you love?

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Han Xiao was a professional power leveler before his transmigration. Using his past life’s knowledge, Han Xiao sweeps through the universe as he prepares for the arrival of the players. This is definitely not your typical transmigration novel.

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war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”