My Second Life in Another World - Chapter 356: Hello Chaos My Old Friend

When Coach Ethan saw Emma for the first time, he was attracted by her. It was a girl's breath. Emma is very stupid in learning to drive, but Ethan is very patient and let Emma sit on the coach to practice driving. This kind of close-up...

After 10,000 years of intense, solitary cultivation inside the Immortal Palace, Ancestor Li Shen finally steps outside —only to realize the world has changed, his sect is broke, and the juniors are clueless.Naturally, he does what any enlightened master would do:He starts throwing spirit stones at the problem.Need cultivation pills? Buy them in bulk.Sect disciples weak? Dump divine weapons on them like party favors.Enemy sects causing trouble? Bribe their ancestors into early retirement.Soon, Li Shen isn’t just revered as the most powerful being alive —he’s the richest, loudest, and most dramatically dressed cultivator to ever walk the continent.With a golden flying palace shaped like a reclining dragon and a pet phoenix that doubles as a chef, Li Shen’s new path to immortality is paved with cash, chaos, and really questionable decision-making.Will he reach true enlightenment?Will the Heavens finally notice him and file a noise complaint?Find out in this completely serious tale of wealth, wisdom, and way too many spirit stones.

[Urban Martial Arts, Passionate Martial World.] He was a super expert who, due to accepting an inheritance, underwent a physical transformation that put his life at risk. To extend his life, the king returned...

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.”