Ji Wushuang's voice remained calm, yet carried an undeniable force.
Li Jing stared at her blankly.
She took in Ji Wushuang's sweat-drenched hair and those steady, unflinching eyes.
Somehow, Li Jing found the strength—she actually stood up.
Ji Wushuang said nothing more.
She simply slowed her pace.
Step by step, she walked alongside Li Jing.
The rest of the platoon streamed past them one by one.
Every soldier cast complicated glances at Ji Wushuang.
At the two disproportionately large packs strapped to her chest and back.
At her slender yet unyielding spine.
The sun dipped below the horizon.
When Ji Wushuang and Li Jing—the last two—finally crossed the finish line,
the entire recruit company fell silent.
All eyes were on her.
The company commander, the political instructor, every squad leader, every recruit.
Ji Wushuang set down the two packs gently.
Two dull thuds echoed.
She neither boasted nor complained.
She simply returned to her formation, standing at rigid attention.
As if she'd done nothing more remarkable than tie her shoes.
After that day, no one dared gossip about her behind her back.
The nickname "Monster" stuck.
But now, it carried a new layer—something called "awe."
...
In Tangzhou, where decades passed without change,
hundreds of thousands lived the same unchanging lives.
Among them was Chen Lei.
His routine marched on without variation:
Class, dismissal, evening self-study.
The factory whistles, the cooking fumes from apartment blocks, his parents' nagging.
He often stood on the balcony, gazing southward.
He didn't know which direction Ji Wushuang's unit was stationed.
But he imagined it must be somewhere far south—
a place without the stench of steel mills or coal dust.
He often remembered too—that moment at the train station when she'd turned and waved.
He wanted to write her a letter.
The thought circled in his mind for ages.
He didn't know what to say.
His life was too ordinary, too dull.
Hers must be so much more exciting.
...And exhausting, right?
He feared his letter might disturb her.
Feared she'd find his words utterly uninteresting.
Then one day,
he came across an article about military life in the school newspaper.
It described the hardships of barracks existence.
How letters from home were a soldier's greatest comfort.
"A letter from home is worth ten thousand pieces of gold."
Chen Lei's heart stirred.
He wasn't family.
But they'd been neighbors. Classmates.
You could even say... childhood friends?
No—they absolutely were childhood friends!
He decided—no, he realized it was his duty—to write that letter.
That night, he took out stationery and pen.
He wrote for hours, filling pages.
Then crossed most of it out.
The final version he mailed contained just a few sparse lines:
"Ji Wushuang:
Hello.
This is Chen Lei.
How are you? Have you adjusted to army life?
Is the training very tough?
How's the food? Are you getting enough to eat?
Tangzhou hasn't changed.
I asked Uncle Ji and Aunt Chen—they told me to remind you:
Autumn's here. It's getting cold. Dress warmly.
Best wishes,
Chen Lei"
A clumsy letter, brimming with adolescent earnestness.
He dropped it into the green mailbox outside the post office.
His heart tangled between hope and anxiety.
One month later.
Mail call at the recruit company—
always the liveliest moment of the week.
The squad leader read names off envelopes.
Each called recruit whooped and ran forward.
Ji Wushuang didn't join the scramble.
She expected no letters.
Her father wasn't the letter-writing type.
If her mother wrote, the page would probably be soaked with tears.
"Ji Wushuang!"
The squad leader's sudden shout froze the room.
Every head turned toward her.
Ji Wushuang blinked in surprise.
She approached and accepted the envelope.
The handwriting was unexpectedly delicate.
Postmarked from Tangzhou.
From Chen Lei.
Back at her bunk, she quietly opened it alone.
Those simple, awkward questions made her lips twitch:
"Is the training very tough?"
"How's the food?"
For the first time since enlisting, she smiled.
Faint as a ripple on water—gone in an instant.
But when she read her parents' message, her eyes glistened.
Ji Wushuang quickly composed herself.
Still, someone in the barracks noticed.
They realized this "Monster" might not be so unapproachable after all.
She could smile. She could cry?
Ji Wushuang felt something long absent—
warmth from her distant hometown.
Care without demands.
After lights out that night,
she took paper and pen.
By moonlight through the window,
she wrote her reply.
Even shorter than his:
"Chen Lei:
Letter received.
Give my regards to Mom and Dad.
Tell them I'm fine.
Training isn't hard. I eat enough.
Study hard.
Ji Wushuang"
The recruit company entered a new phase:
live-fire exercises.
Every recruit's most anticipated—
and most talent-revealing—training.
On the range, gunfire popped continuously.
The air thickened with gunpowder.
Ji Wushuang held a real rifle for the first time—
a Type 81 assault rifle, cold and heavy.
Yet to her, it possessed a lethal elegance.
She didn't tremble with excitement.
Just followed the drill instructor's teachings:
Check the weapon. Chamber a round. Aim.
Her mind was still—so still she heard her own heartbeat.
She remembered childhood days in the factory district,
hitting sparrows with a slingshot.
She'd always been the most accurate.
"Ready—fire!"
At the instructor's command,
Ji Wushuang squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The recoil slammed her shoulder.
Her body barely swayed.
Beside her, female recruits gasped or winced.
Some even flinched and shut their eyes.
Not Ji Wushuang.
Her gaze never left the sights and target.
First shot: 8 rings.
Decent, but unremarkable.
The instructor called out scores.
Ji Wushuang ignored it.
She adjusted her breathing.
BANG!
Second shot.
BANG!
Third.
...
Five rounds spent, she lowered the rifle expressionlessly.
From downrange, the scorer's voice came—
shaking with disbelief.
"Target five: 8 rings, 9 rings, 10 rings, 10 rings, 10 rings!"
Her last three bullets had all pierced the bullseye.
The range fell silent for a heartbeat.
Every eye fixed on Ji Wushuang.
The male drill instructor strode over.
He examined her target, then her face—
like she was buried treasure.
"Natural talent! Absolute natural talent!" he exclaimed.
"What's your name?"
"Reporting, Instructor! Recruit Ji Wushuang!"
"Ji Wushuang..."
The instructor read out the name.
"What a great name!"
"You—you were born to handle a gun!"
From that day on, Ji Wushuang gained a new nickname.
"The Monster Marksman."
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
rowess are unmatched, commanding a million-strong army! Yet, the Emperor wants to depose him for the sake of a false prince? Hold on, are you throwing me into some female-oriented romance plot? How can I tolerate this? With a grand wave of his hand—the Nine Clan Extraction Technique! Slander the Emperor? Very well, all of you shall die! ... The False Prince: "Although I am not the biological son, Father and Mother love me more. The throne should be mine!" The Female Lead: "Qin Xiao, you are the Emperor, and I am a commoner. If you wish to marry me, you must abdicate. Otherwise, you will never have me!" The Empress: "After we divorce, you must give me half the empire!" The Transmigrator Consort: "You worthless Emperor, why should I kneel to you? All men are equal—I advise you to be kind!" The Great General: "The enemy general is my childhood sweetheart. For her sake, I willingly abandon the frontier defenses!" The Retired Emperor: "Although Yu'er was adopted, I prefer him. Qin Xiao, you should abdicate and let him become Emperor!" ... Very well! So this is how you want to play? Facing this twisted world of female-oriented tropes, Qin Xiao grins and raises his hand to unleash—the Nine Clan Extraction Technique! I am the Emperor. Why would I bother reasoning with you? Seal the gates! Leave none alive!
grated, and just when he finally managed to get into an elite academy, he discovered that he actually had a system, and the way to earn rewards was extremely ridiculous. So for the sake of rewards, he had no choice but to start acting ridiculous as well. Su Cheng: "It's nothing but system quests after all." But later, what confused Su Cheng was that while he was already quite ridiculous, he never expected those serious characters to gradually become ridiculous too. And the way they looked at him became increasingly strange... (This synopsis doesn't do it justice, please read the full story)
