Ji Wushuang didn’t know.
She only felt something clogging her heart.
Suffocating.
She stood up and said,
"Brigade Commander, if there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave."
She saluted and turned to go.
She didn’t spare Li Mu another glance.
She knew it wasn’t his fault.
This was the rule.
But this rule left her feeling alienated and powerless.
It was as if she was no longer the invincible "Ghost," the soldier who could overcome anything with sheer strength.
The brigade welcomed a new combat instructor.
Transferred from a sister unit.
His name was Wang Meng, also a First-Class Sergeant Major and the military’s hand-to-hand combat champion.
His muscles were like slabs of iron.
On his first day, he challenged Ji Wushuang to a spar.
"I’ve long heard of the ‘Ghost’s’ reputation," Wang Meng said with a grin on the training mat.
"Let me see it for myself today."
The outcome was never in doubt.
Three minutes.
Ji Wushuang ended the match with a flawless shoulder throw, followed by an armbar.
Wang Meng lay on the mat, conceding defeat with genuine respect.
"I’m getting old," he panted, forcing a bitter smile.
"The future belongs to you young ones now."
Ji Wushuang helped him up.
On Wang Meng’s first rest day, the veterans invited him out for drinks.
Ji Wushuang was included—her first unofficial gathering.
After a few rounds, Wang Meng grew talkative.
He reminisced about his youth.
How he fought his way to the top in the military’s grand competition.
How he single-handedly subdued an enemy squad during a border skirmish.
His eyes gleamed.
The fading glow of a hero’s past.
But soon, the light dimmed.
"Useless now," he muttered, downing another glass, his eyes red.
"Nobody cares about this stuff anymore."
"Now it’s all about computers, drones, charts I can’t even read."
"These skills of mine? In a few years, I’ll be discharged."
"Then what? Work as a security guard? A bodyguard?"
"I’m over forty. All I know is fighting. My own son has to teach me how to turn on a computer."
His voice carried a quiet despair.
Many of the veterans fell silent.
In Wang Meng, they saw their own futures.
A lifetime honing lethal skills in the military.
But in peacetime, in the world outside, what use were those skills?
They were heroes.
Yet also relics, soon to be left behind by the times.
Ji Wushuang didn’t drink.
She listened in silence.
Studying Wang Meng’s face, weathered by alcohol and time.
She saw herself in ten, twenty years.
She would age.
Her speed would slow.
Her strength would fade.
What then?
Would she, too, sit at a table drowning in nostalgia for faded glory?
Then return to a society that had long since moved on, carrying nothing but injuries and confusion?
A chill crept up from her core.
Colder than a night spent submerged in icy water.
The next day, Ji Wushuang submitted an application for advanced training.
She didn’t know if it was the right choice.
But it was the only path she could see.
While awaiting approval, she was assigned one final mission.
A multinational counterterrorism operation.
The sensitive theater required coordination with allied forces.
Ji Wushuang’s "Ghost" team was tasked with infiltration, reconnaissance, and target confirmation—their specialty.
For over two weeks, they lurked in the sweltering, insect-infested jungle.
Like true ghosts, they mapped every defense of the enemy’s hideout.
Plotted multiple optimal assault routes.
Pinpointed the exact location of the target’s leader.
Everything was ready. Only the order to strike remained.
The night of the operation was moonless, the wind howling.
Ji Wushuang and her team had crept within 500 meters of the camp.
Through her night vision scope, she could see the relaxed faces of sentries smoking in their towers.
All waited for the signal to unleash the killing blow.
But the order that crackled through her earpiece was cold, absolute.
"Ghost team, stand down. Primary assault role rescinded."
"Why?" Ji Wushuang hissed.
"Joint Command’s directive," the voice on the channel replied tonelessly.
"Allied forces will lead the assault. You are reassigned to flank support. Weapons tight unless ordered."
Ji Wushuang understood instantly.
This was politics.
The division of credit. The calculus of diplomacy.
They—the scouts who’d risked their lives in the dark—were now bargaining chips on some negotiation table.
Minutes later, the so-called "allies" attacked.
Gunfire erupted, chaotic and undisciplined.
They didn’t even follow the intelligence provided by Ji Wushuang to infiltrate from the weakest point—instead, they chose a full-frontal assault.
The enemy camp erupted into chaos instantly.
The target, shielded by their personal guards, fled through a secret waterway at the rear of the camp, vanishing without a trace.
The entire operation turned into a complete farce.
The "Ghost" squad didn’t fire a single shot in the end.
They could only watch helplessly as the enemy effortlessly exploited the very escape route they had meticulously marked as critical.
Covered in mud and humiliation, they retreated to their temporary base.
The mission had failed.
Back at the barracks, Ji Wushuang was physically unharmed.
But her heart felt heavier and more exhausted than after any injury.
She requested leave and locked herself in her dorm.
Gao Feng visited her a few times.
He said nothing, simply sitting with her for long stretches.
This old soldier, who had spent a lifetime weathering the trials of military life, understood this kind of powerlessness all too well.
This wasn’t a defeat on the battlefield—it was a loss to forces beyond it.
That kind of frustration could shatter even the toughest warrior’s resolve.
A few days later, Gao Feng summoned her to his office.
"Wushuang."
He looked at her, his expression grave.
"I’ve temporarily held back your application for further studies."
Ji Wushuang froze.
"Why?"
"Because it might not be the right choice for you."
Gao Feng continued, "You are a blade forged for battle. Locking you away in a study would only let you rust."
"But—"
Gao Feng cut her off.
"Wushuang, read this first, then decide. If you still insist on further studies, I’ll respect your choice."
From his drawer, he pulled out a plain black envelope made of an unusual material—cold and metallic to the touch.
"What is this?" Ji Wushuang asked.
"An invitation."
end. Thus one must continue to cultivate, and become a saint or great emperor, in order to prolong one's life. Chen Xia, however, completely reversed this. Since his transmigration, he has gained immortality, and also a system that awards him with attribute points for every year he lives. Thus between the myriad worlds, the legend of an unparalleled senior appeared. "A gentleman takes revenge; it is never too late even after ten thousand years." "When you were at your peak I yielded, now in your old age I shall trample on you." - Chen Xia
Cheng's father told him he was getting remarried—to a wealthy woman. Cao Cheng realized his time had finally come: he was about to become a second-generation rich kid. Sure, it might be a watered-down version, but hey, at least he'd have status now, right? The wealthy woman also had four daughters!! Which meant, starting today, Cao Cheng gained four stunning older sisters?? But that wasn't even the whole story... "My name is Cao Cheng—'Cheng' as in 'honest, smooth-talking gentleman'!"
reezy rom-com) Good news: Jiang Liu is quite the ladies' man. Bad news: He’s lost his memory. Lying in a hospital bed, Jiang Liu listens to a parade of goddesses spouting "absurd claims," feeling like the world is one giant game of Werewolf. "Jiang Liu, I’m your first love." "Jiang Liu, you’re my boyfriend—she’s your ex." "Jiang Liu, we’re close friends who’ve shared a bed, remember?" "Jiang Liu, I want to have your baby." The now-lucid Jiang Liu is convinced this must be some elaborate scam... until someone drops the bombshell: "The day before you lost your memory, you confessed your feelings—and got into a relationship." Jiang Liu is utterly baffled. So... who the hell is his actual girlfriend?! ... Before recovering his memories, Jiang Liu must navigate this minefield of lies and sincerity, fighting to protect himself from these women’s schemes. But things spiral even further out of control as more people show up at his doorstep—each with increasingly unhinged antics. On the bright side, the memories he lost due to overwhelming trauma seem to be resurfacing. Great news, right? So why are they all panicking now?
ither go to a cultivation world where a single sword strike can defeat ten thousand enemies. Or they travel back to historical dynasties to alter history and wield imperial power. At the very least, they'd go back a few decades to get rich using their future knowledge and build a harem. Who the hell would transmigrate here!
