Eternal Life from Talisman Painting - Chapter 164 - 129: Mortgaging the Spirit Field (Part 2)

Xiao Ming, a junior in high school, experienced the whole life of a high-tech planet Pan Shaxing science and technology warrior after staying up late to watch a novel suddenly die.

Xiao Ming, who was dying to death, found that science courses have become simpler. In addition, he also has Pan Shaxing’s technology system.

At the juncture of the college entrance examination, he started a different life.
From sewage treatment technology to domestic operating system;
From neuron chip to anti-gravity technology;
From DNA repair shop to conscious upload server;
Every black technology that changed lives came into being.
I appeared on the cover of “Time” and asked for the front page of “Forbes”.

“Forbes”: “This man has a monopoly on the world, we can no longer calculate his value …”
Technology creates the future, Xiao Ming should be the future guide.

Xiao Xiaoming: “I’m sorry, I seem to have skewed the human tree of science and technology.”

- Description from Qidian

After recently taking on the job as the President of Jing Sheng Group’s assistant, she is reports to the president, that has also just taken office, for work.

“Tomorrow morning, postpone all the meetings. At 9 o’clock, follow me to the civil administration office to receive the license.”

On the first day of work, she already encountered an overbearing president that is forcing her to receive the license. Should she resist or obey?

At night, a certain someone leans on the edge of the door, saying in a light and lazy manner: “Madam, I want to turn off the lights. Are you sure you want to go to sleep wrapped like a steamed dumpling while holding a knife?”

“Either that or you can go out to sleep!”

“Impossible, this is my home!”

“During the day, you transferred the house to me. So now it’s my home!”

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.”

In this world, there is the beautiful mutual and telepathy love.