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... ughed at the sky. He flung his long sleeves and began to dance in the wind.

"I wish to ride the winds northwards, where the snow falls like a blanket over the earth.

I wish to ride a boat eastwards, where graceful immortals ride the winds.

I wish to step on clouds and travel a million miles, what can an Emperor do to me? f𝚛e𝗲𝔀e𝚋𝑛o𝘃𝒆𝗹.c𝗼𝒎

The summit of Kunlun bathed in sunlight, in the vast ocean a paradise of green mountains.

A swallow flies over ...

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Transmigrated into his own novel, Mu Yifan was very conflicted!

Transmigrated into his own novel and become a zombie, Mu Yifan was even more conflicted!

Transmigrated into his own novel and become the zombie king that killed the male lead, and the male lead reborn to one month before the apocalypse to take revenge, Mu Yifan has lost his calm!

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Ah!?

Hold on, what kind of rhythm is this?

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How did it become Danmei?

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As the grandmaster who founded demonic cultivation, Wei WuXian roamed the world in his wanton ways, hated by millions for the chaos he created. In the end, he was backstabbed by his dearest shidi and killed by powerful clans that combined to overpower him.

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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.”