King of Hollywood - Chapter 1 - Waking Up

Lan Hengsheng was once the pride of the Lan Clan, a child prodigy with limitless potential—until his fifth birthday changed everything.Declared spirit coreless, he was abandoned by those who once praised him, dismissed as a mortal in a world ruled by cultivators. His so-called friends turned their backs on him, and the clan that once held him in high regard saw him as nothing more than a disappointment.But Hengsheng holds a secret—one that defies the natural laws of this world.Ding![Make a wish] He wished for everything! With the ability to create a system, he doesn’t need talent. He doesn’t need fate’s blessing. He can program his own path to immortality.Why struggle for enlightenment when he can create a Cultivation Optimization System?Why waste decades training when he can install a Time Acceleration System?Why risk his life searching for treasures when he can develop an Auto-Farming System?While other cultivators beg the heavens for guidance, Hengsheng writes his own cultivation manual.Armed with his cheat-like power, he will challenge geniuses, reshape sects, and rewrite the very foundation of cultivation itself.The strongest cultivator is a system maker!

Suddenly being thrown into the world of the novel and possessing a pretty much fucked up character made him have no choice but to continue his life as a new identity.

And just like any sane person that transmigrated into a book, of course, he would destroy every red flag that stood in his way.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, every single thing he did was just wrecking the storyline more and even more; to the point that the plot had become utterly screwed, thanks to him.

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .

What’s worse than finding out you’re that Louis XIV when you’re a baby?

Of course there is, for example, it’s still a magic version.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”