Pampered by the Toughest Man After Divorce - Chapter 1387 - 1209: Xiao’ai, Dabao, Xiaobei

Curious about worlds where reincarnation meets dark humor, and cultivation isn’t all about respect? Meet Yue Phaelo—a witty, endlessly ambitious prodigy with unparalleled power and a mischievous streak that keeps his foes guessing. With a family as fearsome as they are hilarious, he's on a journey to dominate realms and discover hidden truths of existence. But for Yue, power is just part of the thrill; it's about bending fate and stirring chaos. Dive into an adventure full of legendary trials, unpredictable allies, and twisted Dao mastery.I'm not the best at creating synopses, but I believe this story speaks for itself. If you’re into a blend of intense cultivation, sharp humor, and a main character who’s equal parts cunning and powerful, you’ll want to dive into Yue Phaelo’s world. It’s a mix of clever twists, complicated relationships, and unpredictable challenges. Give it a read, and you might find yourself drawn into an adventure that redefines what a cultivation novel can be.Would that work?

“Old Tang, you activated speed-related Genetic Base Points. What’s the direction of those Base Points?”

This question caused Tang Ting to have a melancholic expression.

“It’s… Hand speed…” “And the right hand at that!”

Xu Tui slipped onto a daze.

Hand speed and the right hand. This image…

Didn’t the teacher say that it was easier to activate the Base Points of the areas you use the most?

“Old Tang, just what do you use your hands for?”

After recently taking on the job as the President of Jing Sheng Group’s assistant, she is reports to the president, that has also just taken office, for work.

“Tomorrow morning, postpone all the meetings. At 9 o’clock, follow me to the civil administration office to receive the license.”

On the first day of work, she already encountered an overbearing president that is forcing her to receive the license. Should she resist or obey?

At night, a certain someone leans on the edge of the door, saying in a light and lazy manner: “Madam, I want to turn off the lights. Are you sure you want to go to sleep wrapped like a steamed dumpling while holding a knife?”

“Either that or you can go out to sleep!”

“Impossible, this is my home!”

“During the day, you transferred the house to me. So now it’s my home!”

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.”