Rebirth: 100 Days Before Doomsday - Chapter 140: The New Base

As the head disciple of the number one sect in the world, Luo Jianqing had a brilliant reputation. He was the most respected senior brother of his junior brothers and sisters: the last disciple of the cultivation world’s number one cultivator, Luo Jianqing greatly respected his master’s teachings, not crossing his limits by even half a step.

One day, when I came to my senses, I found myself reincarnated in another world.After enduring a rough life post-reincarnation, I thought I could finally settle down, quietly tending to a flower garden in the mountains……But something feels off.”

In the third year of the Republic of China, Yao Zhi was 14 years old and the jewel of the governor’s office.

At that time, the young man next to the marshal’s mansion was still physically disabled and had his feet deep in the mud. Yao Zhi stretched out her hand and tried to help him, but the boy, who looked fierce, shut his eyes and was heartless. Yao Zhi has been the white moonlight of all young men in Beijing since childhood. Her crescent eyes were curved, and her beauty was incomparable.

Shen Xu regarded her as a god in his heart and never dared to put her in the bottom of his heart.

He looked up at the gods on a bright moonlit night, never thinking that one day she would take the initiative and rush into his chest. Yao Zhi, who became the pinnacle of his two lives, grabbed his clothes and said quietly.

“Shen Xu, if you ignore me again, I’ll kiss someone else.” Shen Xu couldn’t suppress his youthful emotions. He held the god’s waist tightly. He had no choice but to beg her repeatedly. “Zhizhi… “

“Don’t leave me,” she said, knowing that he was young and humble and that he had feelings as deep as the sea for her.

She wouldn’t leave. She would be the apex of the young man’s heart and stay together with him.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”