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... He said, "Well, and then wait for Ye Zhong to say something, she continued, "called Xiao Yujing!"

"That place is not one of the top ten Jewels in the world, but it is definitely not bad. It is a land of creation. And this place has a characteristic, that is, the stronger the person enters, the greater the suppression The lower the strength, the smaller the suppression of entering the inside, this time in order to find out where the palace owner is, know the situation of the palace master, ...

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The Imperial Court of Tang Empire became dim and corrupt. The Emperor believed eunuchs. The officials vied with each other for authority. The Tang Empire was about to collapse. The flouring Confucianism, Buddhism and Taoism eyed it covetously. The three sects wanted to contend for the domination of the whole world. Which one would win in the end? Or would they coexist peacefully at last? Armies of different nations invaded the frontier on all sides. People and the whole world were in extreme misery. Who could save them?

A young man of the Imperial Clan was reborn in Chang’an. In the Last Life, he was framed and was driven out of his place. He was the king of the subjugated country. When he wandered on the streets, he wanted to be an ordinary people and live an ordinary life in Chang’an but failed.

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- Description from Novelupdates

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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.”