Surviving the Assassin Academy as a Genius Professor - Chapter 62: On the Snow-Covered Ruins, the Christmas Bell Rings (7)

Li Xuan found himself in a predicament after transmigrating without the luxury of a system or plug-ins. To evade notice, he took refuge in a small mountain village. However, one day, he was mistaken for a reclusive expert, he was forcefully adopted as a master by an eager disciple who refused to take no for an answer.

Struggling with his moral compass, Li Xuan initially rejected the disciple’s proposal due to his commitment to honesty. Yet, faced with persistent insistence and tempting offers, he reluctantly crafted fictional cultivation techniques. Much to his astonishment, the disciple not only embraced these fabricated teachings but successfully cultivated with remarkable prowess.

Witnessing his disciple’s thunderous muscles, resilient bones, and potent vital force, Li Xuan couldn’t fathom the inexplicable success. Bewildered, he exclaimed, “I fabricated it all! How did you manage to cultivate so successfully? What kind of monster are you?”

To add to the perplexity, a mysterious Golden Finger manifested: “Your disciple mastered the technique you invented from scratch. Your flawless completion of the technique has enhanced your strength a hundredfold compared to others at the same level!”

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A world only I know of, now I will take it all for myself.There’s no kind soul here willing to share and eat nicely with others.Only the ruthless one who will devour it all alone exists here.

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”