The Amusing Adventures of a Directionally Challenged Dad and Daughter - Chapter 14: Mosquito Repellent Bracelet

A once-opportunistic boy is reborn into a world of his dreams, equipped with a strong system. And he can do anything he ever dreams of.Beautiful woman? YesS*x? YesYuri? NONTR? NOSo come and enjoy the novel I write for fun.PS: This novel is fantasy and has nothing to do with the real world.

It’s the vacation of a lifetime, a trip to a remote island filled with geniuses and murder.

According to Jianghu rumors, the following levels for Mei Zihan’s fans are:

After watching one of his local dramas, they are passersby fans; after watching ten, they are true love fans; after watching all of them, they are fans of the ultimate ashes. But on the way to upgrade fan status, most do not go from passersby fans to true love fans. Instead, the transformation is the blackening of a fan.

Mei Zihan has a glorious name, but he often acts in soap opera with bitter mother-in-law conflicts and anti Japanese war drama. Before meeting Jiang Ying, Mei Zihan’s biggest wish was to become a middle-aged handsome uncle. After meeting him, he was forced to act in the theatre group and go home to practice. What kind of acting do you need for a show that causes brain damage? It’s good enough to live. Honey, I really can’t act!

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”