If You Could Hear My Heart - Chapter 1633: Phoenix Nirvana, Rebirth Through Death (2)

Before being reborn, she made a fuss every day, only wanting a divorce, divorce, and another divorce, until she was in danger and he died to save her.After rebirth, she was overjoyed, only wanting to love him, love him, and love him dearly.However, someone is too aloof. What to do? No problem, she is prepared with eighteen different skills, not to mention she has a 'fox' strategist.Thus, she deals with scumbags with one hand and flirts with him with the other, leading to happy days that bloom like flowers.“Report, someone confessed to sister-in-law.”“What? Someone dares to take Mu Qiancheng's wife? Bring that blind fellow to me, I want to have a good chat with him about life.”

Tian Han was a young boy who admired immortals. His dream had always been to become like them—flying on swords, using spells. But he was just an ordinary village boy, and he didn't have much of a chance for that. So, he always read books about immortals, and his admiration for them grew more and more every day. One day, he heard that he had a chance to become an immortal.“You can become immortal.”This was the sentence where his adventure began. Yes, he could become an immortal. And so, his journey started, and he found himself in the ruthless world of immortals.

Tong Huaqiong transmigrated to ancient times into the body of the malicious widow Tong Dajiao and witnessed the execution scene where the malicious widow and her children were wiped out. She returned to the year Tong Dajiao had just become a widow.At the age of forty, she was already a grandmother, embodying the roles of both a wicked stepmother and mother-in-law. Naturally, the children she raised were bad bamboo shoots.The only slight comfort she felt was that, as a widow, she didn't have to serve an old husband.In this transmigration story, she lacked all the golden fingers like systems or noble birth.She didn't even have the chance to rise through marriage. Who could a widow marry? Especially with a bunch of burdens.She could only rely on herself and her bunch of bad bamboos at home.Revitalize the family reputation, correct the children's behavior.Treat stepchildren, daughters-in-law, and granddaughters kindly, dismiss the plan of her youngest son to sell his granddaughter to a wealthy family in exchange for tuition fees, force the youngest son to strive through education on his own, use a stick to awaken the second son from being lazy and spoiled to becoming the family's backbone, and rid the youngest daughter of laziness, greed, and love-brain.Reclaim wasteland and plant crops using modern scientific knowledge, turning saline-alkali land into fertile fields, leading the whole family towards a moderately prosperous life; start a business from street vending, selling steamed buns, pastries, marinated dishes, raising pigs, beekeeping... gradually expanding their commercial territory.

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.”