Memoirs of Your Local Small-time Villainess - Chapter 221 - False appearances

Jun Ye travels through worlds for unexplained reasons and is always cast in subservient roles. Unfortunately, that wasn’t his style. Let the counterattack commence!

- Description from Novelupdates

Emperor Yongning liked his daughter, but he gave birth to eighteen sons in a row. For this reason, he specially asked the master to fortune-telling. Did he have a daughter?

The master told him, “Your Majesty, you have a daughter, and the daughter was born long ago.”

Emperor Yongning waved his hand and said, “I only have eighteen sons and no daughters.”

Master: “No, you have only seventeen sons.” The other is a daughter.

Emperor Yongning: “Absolutely impossible.”

Until one day, Emperor Yongning saw his eighteenth son Jun Ning, wearing a double-ring bun, wearing a pink skirt, pretending to be a little girl, and excitedly said to him: “Father, I am It’s not the prince, I’m the little princess you always miss!”

Emperor Yongning: “…What nonsense, you are my son.”

Jun Ning: “No, I’m your daughter.”

“Come on, give me a medical examination!”

After the test, it turned out to be a daughter.

Emperor Yongning: He, he has a precious daughter.

- Description from novelbuddy

Take a look at the cover. Now take a look at the synopsis. Now take a look at the cover once again. Did you manage to see anything else outside of two big plots on it already? Then let me tell you this - if I'm willing to use this great cover for this novel, then surely as heck I am confident in the first chapter making you read more!

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.”