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... was no way in hell that Zhang Wuying would let her be, and she didn't want the old woman to know that she already knew about her birth mother.

Tang Moyu still needed to find out if Yan Qiuyu and Tang Lingjun were involved in some sort of a murder plot or not. She had a nagging feeling that it wasn't a simple break-in that cost her mother and brother's life.

When she was younger, she never understood why Zhang Wuying treated her like that nor why Feng Tianhua had chosen to betray ...

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“I’ve been pursuing you for so long, what do you think?’

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Xu Xu looked into his eyes: “I also like you so you don’t need to pursue.”

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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.”