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...

“I didn’t.” Tang XiaoYu resisted a bit, “it was pop up by the computer.”


“Excuses.” Qiu ZiYan did not have the intention of letting him go.


“…” Tang XiaoYu knew fully well that no matter what he said, he will most likely be rebutted back, hence he just shut his mouth up.


At most it will be kisses and touching, it was nothing serious or important!


But this time, Mr. Qiu seems to want… a bit more.


“Excuse me!” Tang XiaoYu stopped ...

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The dead broke small streamer Zong Qi received a random message one day.

Zong Qi: ? tr*sh commercial, deleted

That night, he got pulled onto the set of a horror film and was informed that if he didn’t shoot it… He’ll die.

He was lucky that the actors were all working as hard as they could, and the director only needed to stand around and watch the show.

But because he had been given way too much, Zong Qi didn’t hesitate at all before making his own changes.

Under his false identity was an ‘evil mastermind’ that fought with the actors on everything.

The immoral things he’s done on set include but aren’t limited to–

Personally putting makeup on the ghost, teaching actors how to mess and change the script, switching ‘sides’ at crucial times…

People as arrogant as him usually don’t have good endings when their identities were revealed.

What Zong Qi didn’t expect was that instead of the actors joining up for revenge, an unlucky bastard’s whose plans had been spoilt by him countless times appeared instead.

The man took off his glasses, revealing a pair of closed eyes, his face beautiful and cold.

The brush dipped in paint hooked past the young man’s neck, full of danger.

“You dirtied my brush.”

He smirked, drawling, “As punishment, I’ll dirty you.”

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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.”

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A legendary powerhouse of his generation, tired of the bustle of the peak, returned to the ordinary city and started a new life as an ordinary teacher. He wrote the legend in the city.

Magnificent mountains and rivers, the rising powerful ones. Some ancient martial art masters stood at the peak, becoming legendary. Some financial crocodiles rose up in the minuscule places, laughing arrogantly.

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