Nine Nether Heavenly Emperor - Chapter 58 Hee Xuan

Will, a seasoned game designer, found himself reincarnated as the disposable villain in a cliché “kicked out of the party” novel. Faced with his inevitable tragic fate, he had one ambitious dream: to turn the pitiful “losers” from the protagonist’s harem into terrifying blackened bosses who would torment the protagonist!He taught the timid and cowardly wolf-girl maid to imprison the one she loves forever by her side.He trained the tsundere, sharp-tongued loli witch to make her beloved see only her in his eyes.He guided the cold and clueless half-elf princess to use…—

Immortals, gods, demons, princes and generals; dragon girls hold lamps, and the cups hold the sea.

Wild foxes practice Zen, and fierce tigers realize Taoism; they swim in the North Sea in the morning, and go to Cangwu in the evening.

Immortals and gods survive, and demons establish a country.

These originally had nothing to do with Qi Wuhuo.

And Qi Wuhuo, who always saw square characters in his dreams, only thought about being able to participate in the spring test in the coming year.

Until when he was making yellow rice rice, an old man gave him a jade pillow, which made him have a long dream.

Huang Liang has a dream.

…………

Huang Liang awakened from his dream and broke his heart, and since then he has opened the door to practice.

The golden crow flies, and the jade rabbit leaves.

One grain of millet in the three realms, the dust of the mountains and rivers for several years.

Pass the sword leisurely through the downtown.

No one knows that I am a real fairy.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”