Starting from becoming the King of Saiyans - Chapter 152: Ripping apart the doomsday

She, a genius abandoned by her clan. He, a proud, pampered, two-faced imperial crown prince, a developing supreme ruler of the world. She, tricking him, disguised as a pig to eat a tiger, suppressing him, provoking him. Every time, after playing with him and stirring him up, she’d escape.

He is a legendary business powerhouse, a King with a business empire. She is just an ordinary female student. A deal, – a paper marriage, a marriage for four years. Four years later, she turned away fearlessly. She thought that their path would never cross again, but he took her in his stride and refused to let go of everything about her, even interfering with her getting close to other men!

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.”