Poison Genius Consort - Chapter 1273

In the spring of year 6823 of the New Calendar, Lu Xuan, an unregistered resident of the Federation, hid outside a high school classroom and secretly learned a Cultivation Skill, embarking on the path of Cultivation.On the same day, he returned home and had a dream, just as he always did. In the dream, he was in the Guardian Storage Room during the Spring and Autumn Period in Chinese history（770-481 BCE）, and the current Keeper of the Records was named Li Er, also known as Laozi.Later, Lu Xuan dreamed that he became the succeeding Keeper of the Records, became Confucius's second teacher, became the senior brother of Zhang Daoling, the Ancestral Celestial Master, and became the honorary father of the First Emperor...Even later, someone unearthed a roll of bamboo slips from the ground, on which an event was recorded.[The eighteenth Keeper of the Records, Lu Xuan, his Sword Qi like a waterfall, assassinated Duke Huan of Qi in his bedchamber]

[Farming]+[Space]+[Heartwarming]+[Prosperity]+[Defeating Scum]Mo Yan, reduced to ashes by an explosion, was reborn in ancient times,becoming a little farm girl on the run from famine!Above her, a kind and handsome Scholar father - not bad!Below her, a lively and adorable pair of younger siblings - very good!But really, she felt like dying all over again, you know?On the run, going without food, drink, or shelter was one thing,but to always guard against bad guys who might capture her to fill their bellies was another!Luckily, her upgradable Space from the previous life followed her,but what the heck -that amazing Space with mountains, water, and meat to eat had been formatted!Faced with a desperate situation, Mo Yan reignited her fighting spirit:So what if it's formatted, I'll still make a fortune and build my wealth right at the foot of the Imperial City!Carving out mountains, planting orchards, buying shops, building houses... not one less!But... there are so many green-eyed troublemakers!Your farm is yours? Here, I'll trap you to death without discussion!Want to be my stepmom? Fine, I'll send you a bunch of widowers!Mother looking for you? Here, take the divorce papers, keep them, don't thank me!...What? A handsome man is proposing? Uh, this... should I throw myself at him?

They call him Ghost.A name whispered in fear across warzones, black markets, and underworld circles.To the world, he's a phantom—a faceless mercenary who leaves no trace but bodies in his wake.To his enemies, he’s a death sentence.To his brothers-in-arms in Graveyard, he’s family.But to himself... he's a haunted man searching for a past stolen in gunfire and smoke.After a flawless mission deep in the Eastern Province, Ghost returns to the hidden forest base he's called home for sixteen years. Yet the victory is short-lived. His foster father, the commander delivers an unexpected order:“That was your last mission.”Now, Ghost—real name Miles Sterling—must step out of the shadows of war and into a world he’s never known. Guided only by a scarred letter, a fading memory, and the voice of a woman he hasn’t seen since the day everything was taken from him.But war forged more than his body and name.Behind the mask, behind the scars, Miles has another secret.One he’s kept hidden even from his brothers in arms.He’s not just a weapon.He’s a ghost with a fortune—a hidden empire he built in silence, across borders and black markets, forged in strategy and blood.A man of many names, and many shadows.Beneath the bullets, tattoos, and silence lies a truth buried in ashes.And Ghost is about to dig it up—one letter, one enemy, one memory at a time.

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.”