MTL - The Alchemist God - Chapter 1197 Reconstruction of the Western gods

The genius cultivator Lin Xuanzhi didn’t let down the world in his past life, yet he only betrayed a single Yan Tianhen.

It was only when he had been backstabbed and killed by his closest friends, teacher and fellow disciples that he knew what kind of unforgivable crimes he had committed.

After he gained the huge opportunity for rebirth, the Lin Xuanzhi who had climbed back up from hell swore to cherish the person that he had betrayed in his past life.

- Description from novelupdates

She is the slow-witted idiot of the Prime Minister’s Residence. Everyone bullies her. He is the most respected and unfeeling Prince, with frightening ability and absolute envy! Together, they are conferred an imperial edict of marriage.

She acts stupid and tries to decline in every way possible while he despotically escorts her into the wedding…… everyone ridicules the match, but no one knows that the “idiot” has transformed from a loser into a talent.

After the marriage, when they encounter the Empress Dowager examining the room, they act in concert with each other and pretend to be two mandarin ducks deeply in love. Afterwards, she laughs, “The performance has ended. Your highness, please return.”

He laughs softly, “Since you’ve got onto this Prince’s bed, don’t even think of getting off.”

- 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.”

My brother* and I, from elementary school to university, had grown up together. We didn’t just get into the same degree, we’re also sharing the same dormitory room.