Magic's Return: I Can See The Spirits - Chapter 267 Got you bitChapter

Yun Che, a big shot in the doomsday, who even the militaries drooled upon, finally died in the hands of his beloved and family. After reincarnation, he wanted to live for his own!

Xing Feng, a rooting third military generation, didn’t lay his heart in the army at all. So when he turned to 20, he chose to leave the army and went into business. When the doomsday came, he accidentally met Yun Chen and started a new chapter of his life, meanwhile, his moral bottom line kept hitting a new low…

- Description from Novelupdates

Cool and abstinent president X gentle and pure beauty

Wen Hua is getting married.

The other party is said to be the head of a Chinese family of European financial giants.

When we met, he was dressed in a suit and leather shoes, and his gestures were dignified and self-reliant, with a demeanor all over his body.

Wen Hua stared at him in silence, and after a while, she chuckled, “Interesting.”

After marriage, the two are model couples outside, but the queen respects each other as guests and does not disturb each other.

A friend asked her why she married Xi Mo.

She smiled at Yan Yan, “He is rich and powerful, if there is someone richer than him, I will marry too.”

Suddenly looking up, the man’s dark handsome face was hidden under the psychedelic lights of the bar.

Friends watching the excitement didn’t think it was a big deal: “Huahua, you’re miserable, go home and kneel on the washboard.”

It was impossible to go home, so she went back to her natal family.

Go back to your natal home if you get into trouble, go back to your natal home if you get angry, and go back to your natal home if you say something wrong

Mr. Xi is no stranger to this, and nine out of ten times he coaxes people back with nice words.

When he caught up with Wen’s house, someone was sitting in the living room eating oranges, saw him, and unhurriedly ate the last piece, with a provocative expression on his face, “Don’t move here, I’ll buy you some oranges. ”

“…”

Instead of being angry, he gently and patiently coaxed her home

- Description from novelbuddy

Reborn in the world of Naruto, Otis is granted a single “Legendary Skill”: Throwing. No chakra beasts. No kekkei genkai. Just the art of hurling things... perfectly. Now a towering five-year-old in Konoha, Otis must survive a ninja world that laughs at his gift — until they see what a true master of throwing can do.------------------------------------------Disclaimer:This is a fan fiction inspired by Naruto by Masashi Kishimoto. All rights belong to their original owners. No copyright infringement intended. For concerns, contact me and I’ll take it down.------------------------------------------(A/N):This Fanfiction is written by me.This is not a translation or adaptation.I upload on Webnovel, Royal Road, and Scribble Hub only------------------------------------------Want to read ahead?Join my Patreonpatreon.com/pacifist01https://discord.gg/SeF8utGspM

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.”