May The Rest Of My Life Be Sweet To You ( Machine Translation ) - Chapter 130 - Chapter 130 had resulted in the death of a person

In her past life, she had no one to rely on and died alone in jail.

But now, she has been reborn, given a second chance.

Got an heirloom.
Activated a mystical Space Dimension.
Studied medicine and became a genius doctor.
Opened a clinic.
Founded a company.
Bought a house and land.
Found her blood relatives.
Her worth became higher and higher.
Her fan club became bigger and bigger.

“Young master, the Zhao family’s young master faked an illness and went to future young miss’s place for treatment. . .” said a servant.

“Break his legs! Fail his organs! A fake illness? I’ll make him sick completely!” A man said.

“Yes! But young master. . . what are you doing?” The servant said, confused.

The man finished swallowing a bunch of expired pills and said, “I’m sick, gotta go find my wife for some treatment!”

A Webnovel Author who died after installing a strange farming game was reincarnated into a brutal, apocalyptic world. Armed with only his wit and a quirky farming system, he finds himself surrounded by ruined cities, mutated beasts, and desperate survivors. The world is on the brink of collapse, but his system insists on growing crops and raising livestock in the middle of the wasteland.At first, he thinks it’s a joke—a farming system in the apocalypse? But soon he discovers the hidden potential of his system. The crops he grows can strengthen his body, grant unique abilities, and even repel the deadly monsters that roam the land. However, the system has a mind of its own, and not everything is as it seems.Now, balancing survival and farming, he must build a haven in this hostile world, gathering strange allies along the way, all while uncovering the secrets behind his reincarnation. As his farm flourishes, so does his power—making him a target for dangerous factions and ancient forces that lurk in the shadows.Can a peaceful farmer rise to become the hero this broken world needs? Or will his fields of hope be crushed by the horrors that await?

Cliche. Another monster progression story. That was probably what you thought when you read the title of my story. And, I can't lie, for the most part, it probably is.But, what else am I supposed to do when I've been thrusted into a world that could kill me in an instant? There's nothing to do but to progress, to devour and evolve. You would do the same too.Such is the basis of a monster.Such is the right of any living being.So that's what I did. I ate, I killed and I hoarded anything I could get my big limbs on. Friendship, allies and love? There used to be a little god calling himself “Heaven's Equal” who spouted of such things, before I ate him. The world went pretty quiet after that.Follow my story. Read for yourself how I evolved from a little monster in a lake I thought was the ocean, all the way into the Titan Of Destruction.What To Expect:- A relatively quick progression story- Ruthless, I mean - Fang Yuag levels - of ruthless protagonist.- A system? that grows stronger along with the protagonist- Big Monsters Duking It Out, with minimal humans/beastmen/elves, etc. . .focus. Basically, monsterverse without annoying ass humans ruining the show.- Did I mention that the protagonist was pretty evil?

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.”