MTL - Back To Qiqi Farming To Raise Children - Chapter 146 Ask for leave

In the Divine Bizarre world, where monsters and strange beings run amok, human lives are as insignificant as grass.Having transmigrated to this world, Jia Ren just wants to rely on the Proficiency Panel to cultivate in peace.He would keep a low profile,Until he attains immortality.“Do you have any lifespan-extending Cultivation Techniques?”“The Turtle Spirit Technique, created by a Foundation Establishment Cultivator.”“Not only does the Turtle Spirit Technique have a strong life-extending effect, but when combined with Turtle Spirit Ointment, it can even make up for lost years of life.”“I am buying the Turtle Spirit Technique!”

[No fixed CP + wear books + brain hole cool text + women disguised as men + group pet]

Gu Lan crossed over and became the cannon fodder of the original book disguised as a man, counterattacked the protagonist of the original book who slapped her face, and lived in a dormitory full of sickly beauties.

Until one day, she discovered that her roommates were villains from other horror novels. After discovering the secret, Gu Lan thought she would be killed, but her roommates all looked at her strangely… Contrasted with cute Zhengtai, sickly and beautiful boy, split personality school girl, cold and stern school bully, romantic and noble son who plays Shura every day field.

- Description from novelbuddy

He had once obtained a high levelled medical knowledge, martial arts and a Special Ability which allowed him to see through the other party's thoughts. With this, the Young Master Han was able to roam the society, shopping malls, medicine courts, and government officials.

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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.”