MTL - Song Tan Jishi - Chapter 347 fluffy green peach

[You can now choose three of the following seven options
1. Go back to five years ago with the present memory
2. Five centimeters taller
3. Seven million deposits
4. Appearance +50 points
5. A company with a market capitalization of 500 million
6. Proficient in a foreign language
7. Teaser live broadcast 10 million virtual coins]

Li Ang became angry after finishing the selection: choose every day, choose, choose, you will give it after the selection!
…
Fuck, it’s really shipped!

- Description from novelbuddy

“Those who defy the heavens must be prepared to pay the price.”Zhu Rong dared to forge a divine grade weapon in the mortal world, an act the heavens deemed a challenge to their authority.In response, the tribulation descended with fury, striking him down and ending his life in a blaze of divine wrath.But death was not the end.In the moment his soul scattered, he awoke once more... in the body of his 17 year old self.With his memories intact and the mistakes of his past laid bare, Zhu Rong is granted a second chance, to repair the regrets that once shackled his heart, to reclaim the strength he once lost, and to finish the masterpiece that cost him everything.This time, he will forge his legend anew.And this time, not even the heavens will dare to stand in his way.

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.”

Behind the calm smile lies a heart riddled with scars.Beneath the weight of fate burns an unyielding gaze.A body trapped in the abyss of despair—if it reaches out, can it grasp the light called hope?A soul locked upon the rack of destiny—if it prays sincerely, can it embrace the future called redemption?