MTL - Live Beautification System - Chapter 540 Precepts and deeds

“Come not between the Dragon and his Wrath.” — William Shakespeare The year was 2140, and Earth was nothing but a distant memory. Humanity now drifted through the galaxies aboard colossal ARKs, massive skyships that served as the last bastions of civilization. Yet, these ARKs were more than just floating cities; they were humanity’s last containers, preserving what remained of their species. A century before Earth’s final collapse, humanity discovered a gateway to a realm known as Eternia — a fantastical world straight out of myth and legend. Reaching this realm required more than just advanced technology; it demanded a complete departure from the physical body and entry into a mysterious process known as the Dream Weave. In the present day, Cloud lived aboard ARK NO. 427, where he had been training from a young age to step into the Dream Weave. He was a standout among his peers, excelling in every tasks that came his way. Everything seemed to be on track for him — until the pivotal day of the Class Selection process.

As the newly appointed 12th Fatui Harbringer of Snezhnaya, with the nickname of the [Ausbilder], or The [Instructor], Bai Luo feels a little uneasy.This is because the Cryo Archon has given him a task: to go to Inazuma as the Snezhnaya Envoy.As a world traveler, he knows full well the consequences of going to Inazuma—he will definitely be targeted by Raiden Shogun.However, if he doesn't go, the Cryo Archon will also target him.So he chooses to employ a traditional technique that everyone tend to use from time to time in his previous world.Slacking off.

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.”

As a virtuous wife, does it include tolerating his cousin, enduring his concubines, bearing his mother?