Tangzhou.
This is a city built of steel and coal dust.
The air is forever tinged with the mingled scent of rust and coke.
At the heart of the city lies the Tangzhou Machinery and Equipment Factory.
Locals simply call it Tangji.
A saying has circulated in Tangzhou for decades:
"Half the city belongs to Tangji."
Tangji has its own dormitories, canteens, bathhouses, and residential compounds.
It even has its own schools, hospitals, and cinemas.
The factory's chimneys belch thick smoke that defines the city's skyline.
The blare of its steam whistles marks the city's pulse.
Every dawn, the long whistle sounds.
Thousands of men and women in blue work uniforms pour out from rows of gray Soviet-style apartment blocks.
They become a flood of bicycles.
All flowing toward the same destination.
Tangji.
Ji Wushuang was born in this city.
Her home was in Tangji's Compound No. 3.
A typical Soviet-style apartment building.
The hallway was long and dim.
Cluttered with household junk and honeycomb briquettes.
At mealtimes, the corridor filled with the acrid smell of cooking oil and mingled aromas of different dishes.
Ji Wushuang's father, Ji Jianguo, was a fitter at Tangji's Second Workshop.
His hands were rough, the crevices of his nails permanently stained with unscrubbable grease.
He was a martial arts fanatic.
He named his daughter "Wushuang"—meaning "peerless under heaven."
He hoped she would grow into someone extraordinary.
Little did he know she would.
Her mother was a nurse at the factory hospital.
Gentle by nature, she harbored no grand ambitions.
Having witnessed life and death daily, her greatest wish was for her husband's safety and her daughter's health.
She sometimes complained about her husband giving their daughter such a masculine name.
But over time, she grew used to it.
The Ji family wasn't wealthy, but life was stable.
The couple was loving, the neighbors harmonious.
Their days stretched ahead like the straight road outside the factory gates—
predictable from start to finish.
Ji Wushuang, however, was a poor student.
From first grade onward, her grades hovered between passing and failing.
Single-digit math scores weren't uncommon.
Half-finished essays were the norm.
Teachers had long given up on her.
As long as she didn't disrupt class, they pretended she didn't exist.
Ji Jianguo and his wife didn't push her.
"Bad grades aren't the end of the world," Ji Jianguo often said.
"My girl's strong and healthy—that's what matters."
Watching his daughter tear across the courtyard, his eyes shone with pride.
He even taught her moves he'd seen in martial arts films.
Not for fighting.
Just because she looked good doing them—powerful, like those silver-screen heroines.
Her mother was even more forgiving.
"Just grow up safe and sound," she'd say, ruffling Ji Wushuang's hair.
"Get a factory job that's not too hard, marry a decent man, and that's life."
That was Tangzhou's way.
Children of Tangji workers almost always joined the factory—
through "succession posts" or internal hiring.
The steel behemoth's final act of guardianship.
Good students might land in the technical office.
Poor ones, like her parents, would work the shop floor.
Either way, there'd be food on the table.
A life to live.
Their only demand of Ji Wushuang?
Stay safe. Stay happy.
So she enjoyed what passed for a luxurious childhood in Tangzhou.
No cram schools.
No endless homework.
Just endless hours racing through the factory grounds.
Scaling scrap heaps.
Balancing on railroad tracks.
Her physical prowess was the inverse of her academic performance.
She ran faster, jumped farther, and hit harder than anyone her age.
No boy in the compound could beat her.
She became the kid no one crossed—
a silent, formidable leader.
Next door lived the Chens.
Chen Lei's family.
His parents, like hers, were Tangji employees.
The two households were close.
They exchanged homemade buns or factory-issued fish.
The men often drank together, swapping tall tales.
Chen Lei was Ji Wushuang's classmate.
His personality was her opposite.
Taciturn. Still. A silent stone.
His grades were middling—
not stellar, but solid enough.
The kind of student teachers ignored but never worried about.
By every measure, he was the better child.
At least, that's what everyone said.
Chen Lei watched Ji Wushuang.
Had watched her since they were small.
Saw her standing in punishment corners.
Holding failing report cards under classmates' stares.
Running wild outside like some feral boy.
To him, she seemed...
out of place.
Eighth-grade PE class.
The 800-meter test.
An autumn afternoon, sunlight pooling on the track.
The rubberized surface had gone soft with heat.
Most girls groaned.
Eight hundred meters meant agony.
Ji Wushuang stood at the starting line, expressionless.
Her blue-and-white uniform hung loose.
Her hair was cropped short, boyish.
Chen Lei stood trackside with a stopwatch.
The starting pistol cracked.
Girls surged forward.
At first, they ran clustered.
After one lap, gaps appeared.
Some slowed to walks.
Others bent double, gasping.
Only Ji Wushuang held steady.
Her pace never faltered.
If anything, she accelerated.
Her breathing stayed even.
Her strides light, almost gliding.
She overtook them one by one.
By lap one, she led by half a track.
By lap two, she'd lapped the stragglers.
Chen Lei couldn't look away.
He forgot to click the stopwatch.
That sunlit figure—
not bulky but brimming with force.
Lonely yet relentless.
When she crossed the finish line, the field fell quiet.
All eyes on her.
No triumphant grin.
No exhaustion.
Just cool-down stretches,
as if she'd merely warmed up.
The PE teacher took Chen Lei's stopwatch.
Stared at the time.
Stared at Ji Wushuang.
"Freak," the teacher muttered.
Chen Lei heard.
That night, he dreamed.
Of Ji Wushuang running.
Running clear out of Tangzhou.
He ran towards a place far, far away—a place he didn’t recognize at all.
m back to his original world. In the end, he realized he had overthought things. [Hey, why is Shen Manni, the female lead, acting strange? Shouldn't she be fawning over the male lead at this point?] [Zhou Qiaoqiao, are you sick? Weren't you supposed to break off your engagement today?] [Damn it! An Youyi, please do your job as an undercover agent and sell my information to the protagonist, you idiot!] ... At this moment, Xu Mo himself didn't know that these female leads had already heard his inner thoughts. Then they decided not to play by the rules. Xu Mo: Please respect my profession as the big villain!
o a martial world and obtained a system that allowed him to draw one entry per year. Unfortunately, all he drew were useless white-tier entries. The probability for high-quality entries was extremely low, with the highest-tier mythic entry having a mere 0.001% chance! To increase the probability, he had to improve his martial realm, but he lacked the innate talent for cultivation. At the age of eighteen, Chen Yi fell into the hands of a gang and was forced into hard labor. Just as his life seemed destined for a bleak end, on his 18th entry draw, he actually pulled a mythic entry—Simulator! In the simulation, he could also draw one entry every year that passed, and upon ending the simulation, he would inherit all entries and his martial realm! In his first simulation, Chen Yi struggled desperately just to survive, knowing that living one more year meant one more entry draw! Finally, with hair turned white, he drew the entry he had longed for—Low-Grade Innate Talent! "Hahaha! Don't bully the old and poor! Time to cultivate and inherit my cultivation base!" ... From then on, Chen Yi continuously simulated and drew entries, his martial realm soaring higher and higher! Epic, legendary, and even mythic entries were gathered into his collection one after another! "What demon race or devil race? What dark turmoil? I don't know anything about that. They just charged at me screaming 'How can you possibly ascend to immortality?!' and got stuck to my fists, unable to be shaken off. Blind spots, speed bumps... go talk to my simulator. We're all struggling to survive out here. I'm trying so hard, so how are they still alive?"
orn and Humiliation】【Forced Love】 In his past life, Lin Ran was betrayed and murdered by his girlfriend and family, while the yandere female aristocrat, who had treated him as a mere plaything, avenged him by doing in his enemies. Upon seeing the yandere female aristocrat lying in the same coffin, ready to die with him, Lin Ran realized how profoundly mistaken he had been. Reborn, he abandoned the fickle campus beauty and wholeheartedly embraced the yandere female aristocrat's arms. "Ran! If I dig out your eyes and turn them into a specimen, you'll only be able to look at me!" Lin Ran: "Darling, kiss me!" "Ran! If I break your legs, you won't run away anymore, right?" Lin Ran: "Love, hold me tight!" "Ran! If..." Lin Ran: "Hush now! Love me more!" Luo Yao: ... Seeing his scumbag dad: "Take him out!" Seeing his stepmother: "Get rid of her!" Seeing his brother: "Eliminate him!" Seeing his white moonlight: "Send that to Southeast Asia!"
Explosive Plot Song Gua crossed over into another world, bringing along a whole crew of his doppelgangers—all of them mischief-makers. This was a world where everyone could choose a class. Song Gua became a "Bondweaver," capable of borrowing power, while his doppelgangers took on a wide variety of classes, covering just about everything. The number of doppelgangers grew day by day, each one a talented individual with a charming way of speaking. Under Song Gua's brilliant leadership, they would "greet" each other daily and engage in friendly "sparring," pulling off one major scheme after another on Earth. Sometimes they were bandits—stealing bosses, plundering mines, snatching resources. Sometimes they were saviors—descending like divine warriors to face world bosses threatening to massacre cities. Sometimes they even went undercover, infiltrating various major factions to stir up trouble from within, keeping their enemies constantly on edge. To prevent their doppelganger abilities from being exposed, Song Gua made them wear masks with mahjong tile patterns and don Taoist robes in various colors. "Remember, in front of outsiders, call me 'The Dice.'" "Got it! Boss!" "Not 'Boss'—it's 'The Dice.' Think about the vibe, pay attention to the vibe." "Yes! Boss!" "For crying out loud..." From then on, whenever they appeared, they would have their own theme song playing: ~Hey~ paying respects at the mountain stronghold at night~ whose arm is draped over whose shoulder~ gather your courage and follow along...
