While Others Cultivate, I Use My Unique RPG Leveling System to Cultivate Smut Romance With Their Girlfriends! - Chapter 333: Important question

Transmigrating to the Immortal World, Shen Ping has been cultivating as if he was walking on thin ice for more than twenty years, but he didn’t have cheats and had ordinary qualifications, so his cultivation progressed slowly.

When he finally decided to give up completely and become a loser to enjoy the world… Come on, chicks!

But…

Right after his night of satisfaction, he looked at his lovely wife who was curled up like a kitten in his arms.

[You have diligently cultivated with your wife for one night, gaining talisman-making experience +10]

[Current wife affinity 60]

[Bonus: 0]

[Talisman Master: First Order Lower Grade (1005/1000) Breakable]

He then realized that the way he opened the world of immortals was a bit wrong!

Dear readers! Fresh green style, maybe you will like it more in .

When a person dies, they either die light as a feather (aka unimportant) or heavy as Mt. Tai (aka very important).

Eight hundred years ago, Zhang Ruochen, the son of Emperor Ming, was killed by his fiancee, Princess Chi Yao.

Eight hundred years later, Zhang Ruochen came back to life, only to discover that the fiancee who once killed him had unified the Kunlun realm and opened up the first central empire, known as “Queen Chi Yao”.

Empress Chi Yao – ruling the world, she is powerful in all directions; youth is eternal, immortal and immortal.

Zhang Ruochen stood outside the ancestral hall of the emperors, looking at the statue of Empress Chi Yao, with a raging flame of hatred burning in his heart, “When I rebuild it for thirteen years, dare to call the empress to Huangquan.”

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”