MTL - Dashan Makes a Living 1984 - Chapter 195 191: Why pay more money?

As childhood sweethearts, they were made to engage under the manipulations of their families. It involved having to to live in the same room and sleep together.

One night, she is accidentally made drunk, and in his delirium, he kisses her only to realize he enjoys it. From time to time, he would sneak a kiss on her, but his “crime” is eventually discovered in an accident. After being accused by her, he says with a smile, “You are my wife, why can’t I kiss you?”

The two people’s daily routine is full of bickering and mutual discrediting of each other.

Although he claims to disparage, he actually cares intensely about her. He feels crazily jealous when she is close to other men, to the point of tying her to his side, so that she becomes exclusively his.

- Description from web

Yang Yan found himself becoming a corpse. But before he could stay for a minute, the lid of his coffin was opened.A stunning face appeared in front of him.Leng Biyue!As the Holy Maiden of the Fairy Maiden Sect, she possessed the quasi-empire bloodline!Blood spilled from the corner of her mouth, fell, and landed on Yang Yan's face.His eyes opened!“The Sword Dao Emperor, who was buried for 100,000 years, has come to life once again!”

Shion, the ‘Hero of Darkness’. He was said to be the strongest hero ever. He believed one thing, and that was his current party members.

“I’ll defeat the Demon Lord with this party!”

That is what he swore to do, but a tragedy occurs. He was painfully betrayed by the girls that he trusted.

He barely held onto his life, but the incident left a deep scar in his heart.

He gave up on living, and while he was wandering around in a forest, looking for a way to die, a single monster appeared in front of him.

“Will you kill me, please?”

The monster asked Shion, who was still strong, despite losing his powers.

What Shion, who wanted to die as well, did was―

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.”