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... ur secret.” Right shook his head.

“You smelled the stench of shadow, something that shouldn’t be possible given your cultivation.” The skull said.

“Are you looking down on us?!” Both jumped up and glared at the skull.

“You two? I couldn’t have done it during my prime.” The skull said.

“Hmph, what’s special about you? We didn’t only smell it, we got something amazing there too.” Left bragged.

“Damn right, he was too weak so he couldn’t smell it, let alone g ...

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Xia Zhinian has transmigrated into the book, and the original owner is a disgusting cannon fodder villain, determined to and the protagonist were robbed by Yan Ci, and finally had an accidental car accident, and Liang Liang went offline.
Others want to change their destiny by transmigrating into a book, but his young master Xia is different, he just wants to transmigrate back through the plot.
Xia Zhinian tried to mention the protagonist Gong to anger Yan Ci, so that he could be beaten according to the original text, but Yan Ci only held his wrist and tied a gold chain with a long tail on it, his eyes were cold, “There is nothing wrong with what you say.” It’s the one named Chu, and you like him so much?”
Turning the subject around, I asked him: “What color bracelet do you like every year, gold, silver, or black?”
Xia Zhinian: “??”
…Is there something wrong with you?
Later he discovered that Yan Ci was obsessed with cleanliness, but he had severe skin hunger and thirst. Every time he had an attack, he was in pain, but he never went to the protagonist Gong for help. Instead, he hugged him and rubbed him.
And diverted all the attention that should have been on the protagonist Gong to him? !
This shouldn’t be, the plot doesn’t go like this!
Xia Zhinian was worried, he wanted to go back to the original world, and waited until the end to finish the lunch box.
So he planned a car accident for himself.
Gao Xingxin closed his eyes, opened them again, and met a cold and gloomy face.
In the room with the doors and windows closed, Xia Zhinian lay on the bed trying to struggle, but found that his whole body was sore and his hands and feet were numb. Footsteps sounded, and someone stepped to the bed step by step, casting a large shadow.
Yan Ci was condescending, stroking the black bracelet on the young man’s wrist, his tone was soft but terrifying.
“Having a car accident on purpose every year, do you want to escape from me?”
Xia Zhinian: “?!!!”
Xia Zhinian tried his best to show a cute smile, “Brother, I was wrong, I have something to say, let go first, uh–!!”
His mouth was blocked, his hair stood up slightly, his fingertips slid on his neck, and the voice in his ears was cold and gentle.
“Hey, I don’t accept verbal apologies.”
Seemingly well-behaved Pipishou × seemingly gentle, paranoid, possessive and super aggressive.
①SC
②The original text has nothing to do with the attack, the original text is transferred to the attack
③Attack and subject have grown up

Content tags: rich and powerful family special liking sweet text wearing books
Search keywords: Protagonist: Xia Zhinian, Yan Ci ┃ Supporting role: ┃ Others:

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[Daily information has been updated]

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[2: In the northern part of your territory, there is an extremely rich iron mine among the Golimbo tribe]

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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.”