I Turn Out to Be a Grand Master - Chapter 22

“Ding! Soulbinding has been successfully completed; you will now head to the Heaven Awaken World.” After hearing this, Zhao Fu’s vision darkened as he fell to the ground.

With bleak prospects in the real world, Zhao Fu’s life is turned around when countless crystals fell from the sky one night, which people could use to enter an alternate, game-like world. After obtaining an ancient Chinese empire’s legacy, Zhao Fu uses his intellect and resourcefulness to develop his own empire from a tiny village. However, with enemies both in the real world and in the Heaven Awaken World, he must make brilliant decisions and use creative schemes to survive.

- Description from Novelupdates

MC (female protagonist) dies in a plane crash and wakes up in the body of a beautiful but corrupt and lascivious prime minister in ancient times, Zhang Qinglian. As circumstances decree, he (she) cannot reveal that the original owner’s soul is gone else calamity might occur. So he (she) decides to walk a righteous path, determined to help the lovely but simple little emperor rule the country. Not backing down after facing torture, not losing courage, destroying rebellions and facing off with scheming princes.

【Brain battles + leveling up + girls chasing + mild suspenseful reasoning. 】

“I can read minds and I understand psychology.

I can identify everything and even predict my own death.

However, if no girl confesses to me every 30 days, I will die.

The good news is, I've successfully picked up many girls.

The bad news is, the girls who can't have me are starting to go to extremes.

If anyone sees this message, please call an ambu——#$%^&*(……”

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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.”