Amongst Cultivators, I Stand Above All - Chapter 307 - Well-Deserved Reputation

Qi Condensation. Foundation Establishment. Core Formation. In the current world, only these three realms are known to be achievable. Nascent Soul is but a legend and the realms above it lost to the the long river of time. The modern era is known as Cultivation Civilization, a balance of power and civility, excess and moderation. While cultivation remains a secret practice, it has long since exposed itself to the mundane world, quietly intertwined with each facet of society. While the world appears to be at peace, what lies underneath is a conflict between human, cultivator, and demon, brewing for ages and waiting to implode. Yet in the wake of humanity’s rapid industrialization, qi—and consequently cultivation—is dying.

Every trace of my entire youth is engraved with the same name.

When I see the trees on the street and the clouds on the horizon, I will think of him unconsciously.

I remember the bubble tea he ordered for me, and the sparklers he lit up for me.

Those memories supported me through difficult days and made me think I was special at one point.

When I was young, I often wondered, is it possible? Even if it is one in ten thousand, what if I am the heroine in his story?

I have said goodbye to him countless times, on the phone, on WeChat, face to face, every time without pressure, because I know there will be another meeting.

But this time is different, Xu Jiamu, this time I really want to say goodbye to you.

“Goodbye, Xu Jiamu.”

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”

An advertising film director was reborn in the bustling Hollywood in 1988. From then on, he began his own domineering road to becoming a legend in the film industry, mastering everything from writing, editing, directing, and supervising films and TV series, dating a lot of female stars, and having a bunch of child stars.Unofficial translation of 我就是好莱坞 by 贾思特杜.