Transmigrated As My Former Uncle's Sweetheart - Chapter 219 - It Made Her Lose Prestige And Disgusted Her

Song Cheng transmigrated and became a blind errand boy in a medicine shop in a remote town.Fortunately, after he found a wife who did not disdain him, his “Golden Finger” also followed.Demons and ghosts roamed the Chaotic World, Profound Techniques went with Occult Sciences, Divine Weapons dazzled the cosmos, the Yin and Yang were inexhaustible.Song Cheng did not seek to dominate as a king, he simply wished to live his life well....This is the story of a person with Longevity, who walked through long years and witnessed innumerable Dynasties.

Xiao Ming, a junior in high school, experienced the whole life of a high-tech planet Pan Shaxing science and technology warrior after staying up late to watch a novel suddenly die.

Xiao Ming, who was dying to death, found that science courses have become simpler. In addition, he also has Pan Shaxing’s technology system.

At the juncture of the college entrance examination, he started a different life.
From sewage treatment technology to domestic operating system;
From neuron chip to anti-gravity technology;
From DNA repair shop to conscious upload server;
Every black technology that changed lives came into being.
I appeared on the cover of “Time” and asked for the front page of “Forbes”.

“Forbes”: “This man has a monopoly on the world, we can no longer calculate his value …”
Technology creates the future, Xiao Ming should be the future guide.

Xiao Xiaoming: “I’m sorry, I seem to have skewed the human tree of science and technology.”

- Description from Qidian

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.”

I, Ichinosuke, failed to get a job for 100 consecutive times. Furthermore, my record is still being updated as unemployed.