I, The Female Protagonist With Superpower, Am Super Fierce - Chapter 25 - There’s a Mosquito on Your Face

As a virtuous wife, does it include tolerating his cousin, enduring his concubines, bearing his mother?

Ye Xuan transmigrated back to when he was an infant cuddling in the embraces of his nine older sisters. He activated the God-tier Sign-in System.

[You are hugged by your eldest sister, who is the COO of a financial conglomerate. You signed in and obtained RMB100000000.]

[You are fed medicine by your second sister, who is crowned the God Hand. You signed in and acquired god-tier acupuncture skills.]

[You trained along with your third sister, who is a Martial Arts Grandmaster. You signed in and your overall physique improved.]

[You live-streamed with your fourth sister, who is the top news anchor in the country. You signed in and acquired extraordinary good looks.]

……

Ye Xuan could sign in daily!

After staying in the city and signing in for eight years, Ye Xuan had accumulated an astronomical amount of wealth and become a billionaire.

On his eighth birthday, his nine sisters were forced by the grand elder of their clan to get married. Just when everyone had lost hope of turning things around, Ye Xuan hopped down from his eldest sister’s embrace and said, “You’re marrying my sisters off against their wills. Have you consulted me about this?”

As a loyal disciple, Ye Chen dedicated himself to guard the spiritual medicine field for his sect. But, during a fight with enemies, the spiritual field was destroyed. His loyalty and dedication to the sect could not save him. The loyalty he thought he had obtained from his peers and lover, could not save him from betrayal. Thus, he was shamelessly banished from the sect. With the help of a flame falling from heaven, Ye Chen began to develop himself into a stronger cultivator. Battled against his opponents, unfolded his legendary life and rewrote his own story…

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.”