MTL - Everyone Thinks That the Fake Daughter Has Deep Problems - Chapter 110 picking the moon

He almost became a Hallyu star and his biggest career in entertainment was placing 12th in an idol survival program.

The works he rejected were enormously successful, but every work he went into was destroyed one after another.

This frigging damn unfortunate life played around by false hope actually saved a country in his previous life.

So when he came back to his original body, there was a face genius standing in the mirror.

*Face genius: a Korean slang term for someone who is very good looking

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Dress up as a man#

What is White Moonlight?

The white moonlight is like the bright moon in the sky.

What I can’t get is always acting as a real. Bai Yueguang. As a real. Bai Yueguang. Wen Xien takes the plot seriously, but every time the plot collapses, I can’t bear to look directly.

The scene of a large Shura field.

Sports students who are gradually becoming crazy: “Aren’t we best friends? Isn’t it enough to have me?”

The step-brother who gradually revealed his true nature: “No one in this world loves you except me.”

The opponent who gradually criticized: “They can, why can’t I.”

Gradually perverted junior: “I want to tear you apart, I want to be one with you.”

Wen Xien “…Tong, your mission goals are so perverted, do you know?”

The system sneered: “I forced you out!”

This is a story of a small craftsman who turned the mission target into a snake spirit disease.

- Description from novelbuddy

After annihilating Han, Zhao and Wei empires in succession, the dynasty of Qin is ushering in an unprecedented flourishing age with powerful cultivators emerging endlessly. People take pride in being part of the Qin dynasty. However, Ding Ning, a young lad of humble origin in Changling, Qin, is determined to subvert this dynasty and kill the emperor who breaks in the Eighth Realm.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”