My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind - Chapter 38: A Building? A Car? Must’ve Grown Naturally

Tang Feng had been just an ordinary milk tea shop employee before one day, the lady boss called him to her room, and he learned what “hidden rules” really meant...

Liu Yuan transmigrated into the world of a Xianxia online game named “Shang Yang” after he maxed out the stats for all the playable characters in the game.

Liu Yuan barked, “Usually, people receive a system or cheats when they transmigrate to another world. What am I supposed to do with this illustrated handbook? And I can only target female characters?”

For the sake of survival and becoming stronger, Liu Yuan once again embarked on the journey of gaining the favorability of NPCs. As such, the most despicable liar and outstanding lover in the history of Shang Yang Realm was born.

The new book “Cultivation of Immortals Begins from Planting Sweet Potatoes” has been released, and new and old book lovers are welcome to come and read it!

A poor boy whose parents died accidentally found a mysterious space and set foot on the avenue of cultivating immortals. From then on, he planted spiritual herbs, refined elixir, opened shops, trained troops, and established a fairyland…

This article is about cultivating immortals and farming, not for mortals, not for stallions.

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- Description from novelbuddy

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.”