God of Fishing - Chapter 1315: Is That Han Fei?

Warriors train their bodies. Scholars fill their minds. Every cultivator must have both and the talent to harness qi. But when the youngest princess of the murim lord was born, her golden core had to be sealed immediately because her talent for harvesting qi was too strong. Follow her as she regains her talent as the weakest murim princess.

Seeing the cause of justice, the student Ning Tianlin, who was strangled, accidentally gained a combat system in the local government and returned to Yang.

What the hell, your fighting power is only fifty, then you still pretend to be me! I’m sorry to tell you 10,000 points of combat power!

What are you doing, have you been boiled down, trained in martial arts, and practiced iron gear? The fighting power is five hundred? That has something to do with me, I won’t tell you, the clothes I wear, but combat equipment! Just a single underwear, can add a thousand fighting power to me!

Hey, why do you say my combat power has increased so fast? Can I tell you that if I step on an ant and destroy a cockroach, can I increase my combat effectiveness?

- Description from uukanshu

Probably Shy Loyal Dog Gong X Slightly Blackbelly Used Goods Shou

When a new neighbor moves in across from Chen Xiao, he sets his sights on the handsome young man, Gu MengYang. Though he’s coming off a bad breakup, he still wants to find love with a new man and wants to bully that man along the way!

Meanwhile, his fellow blackbelly friend from childhood, Luo Xin, noses in to “help” him catch his man. And, behind the scenes, tries to find a love of his 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.”