MTL - Eight-year-old Princess: Phoenix Reborn - Chapter 806 Different minds

In a heartthrob novel about the heroine, the heroine is an amateur and became popular on the Internet with a love variety show. However, the female tutor in the love variety show was scolded out of the entertainment industry because of negative news such as low EQ and wanting to unspoken rules for male guests.

As good as he could die, Lu Yan, a salted fish, transmigrated into this female tutor.

The amateurs participating in the variety show this time are not ordinary people.
There are rich second generations who can play casually and inherit the family business when they return home.

There is also the female bully boss who started her own company.

There are also male racing drivers with foreign royal blood.

But what does that have to do with Lu Yan?

When the male and female guests flirted with each other, Lu Yan commented with a paralyzed face, “The man is too greasy and uses too much force. He looks like an old sea king.”

When the new male guest introduced himself, Lu Yan had no expression on his face, “Versailles tastes too strong, and it looks like a master of Versailles.”

When the female guest blinked her deer-like eyes and sucked in fans, Lu said, “It smells like high-end green tea.”

Because of a pair of invincible green tea eyes, and real’s straightforward speech, Lu Yan became famous overnight.
The fire is very hot.
Lu Yan had a world-weary face and lacked interest, “Don’t be infatuated with sister, she is just a legend.”
Later, the actor who is also a mentor asked Lu Yan with a smile, “Teacher Lu, look, which one am I?”

One sentence introduction: Sister is just a legend
Conception: Jedi counterattack, turn against the wind, create myth
Content tags: entertainment circle sweet text wearing books cool text
Search keywords: Protagonist: Lu Yan ┃ Supporting role: ┃ Others:

- Description from novelbuddy

Struggling until the age of thirty-eight without being able to afford a house. Facing the need to pay a dowry of three hundred thousand in order to get married. Living frugally for most of his life, working to the point of his liver breaking.

But, where was his money? Who in the world earned all the money away?

Jiang Qin, filled with countless resentments, is reborn at the age of eighteen. The only thought upon opening his eyes was to start a business and make money.

He snatched back the love letter he had given, flipped it over, and under the shocked gaze of the school belle, wrote three lines:

I shall never work a job again!

I just want financial freedom, never to be a s*ave!

As for love? Not even dogs would bother with that!

……………………………………………………………

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Talent? Unnecessary! Wealth? Doesn’t matter! Brain? Eat it!

Even if one was the greatest of gutter trashes with zero redeemable qualities, as long as they had a System, they are bound to reach the pinnacle of life.

Compass Carburettor, a dirt-poor orphan with absolutely zero f**king qualities managed to reach the peak of the business world by the age of 35, all while relying on his Money-Making System like a blinded barnacle.

But at the peak of his life, he was betrayed by his System.

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.”