First Love of mine - Chapter 131

As a new anchor of StarTV, Yu Yan’s ruthless trash-talk, natural rifle-shooting skills, and character of never searching houses earned him a big crowd of fans.

He felt like he was a good anchor who treated all fans of his stream equally—you can suck at the game, you can get knocked down, but if you want the gun in my hand, sorry, no way man.

Until he heard the voice of the streaming platform’s Big Boss.

Yu · ultimate voice-con · Yan: I’m not familiar with this game, swap my Kar98k for your Mini-14.

Yi · brand new noob · Chen: En.

Friend: Daddy, I want to snipe too!

Yu Yan: I think this frying pan suits you very well.

Not-a-very good gamer but dripping with money and looks Big Boss vs Cute, super good trash-talking gunslinger voice-con Anchor.

- Description from Novelupdates

The once greatest Saint underneath the heavens has been reborn after one hundred years. He cultivates with mighty skills, and he fights to once again reach the top of the world!

Don’t compete with me when it comes to concocting pills, 100% effectiveness means nothing to me.

Don’t compete with me when it comes to cultivation speed, I won’t be responsible when you die from embarrassment.

Don’t compete with me when it comes to experience, as I’m an ancient ancestor.

The existence of Jiang Chen is destined to ridicule thousands of geniuses……

- Description from Novelupdates

I am the sword.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, no one dares take ten steps.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, no one can take ten steps.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, ten steps? Not possible!
I am the sword, the sword is me,
On the path towards heaven, each shall wield their own.

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.”