Demoness, where are you Fleeing to? - Chapter 11: Deep Freezing_1

He had four disobedient disciples, who now achieved success, won recognition and established their own sects.

The embarrassing thing is that it was him who drove those four out of his sect to make them independent.

But one day he had an incident and lost his cultivation. His life was hanging by a thread. Wandering around, he walked into his third disciple’s territory.

What should I do?

Mountains and seas can be tamed, days and nights can disappear.

Only you, the exceptional you, refuse to give up.

——

A man blessed with fortune, the best in his generation, had an accident and started anew; broken in body but firm in spirit, he now uses his wisdom to guide his evil disciples back to the right path.

Notes :
The title 参商 (Shēnshāng) has two meanings:
1) Constellations Shen (ch. “Three Stars mansion”, eu. Orion) and Shang (ch. “Heart mansion”, eu. Antares), which never appear at the same time.
2) Two friends/relatives who are separated/estranged and irreconcilable.

- Description from Novelupdates

A teen is summoned to another world as the Hero. It turns out the Hero can power up women with his cum.

The once revered Alchemy Emperor returns to his fifteenth year. In this lifetime, he not only seeks to rectify all past regrets but also aims to achieve the pinnacle of martial arts!Compared to cultivation techniques? My lackeys have divine-level technique in hands.Compared to elixirs? My top-tier elixirs are fit only for feeding dogs.Talents? Any genius who encounters me will find their fate crushed!Prosper under my lead, oppose me and meet your demise!

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.”