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... ose vip channel. He knew that fans had not seen him for too long. Already waiting for a whole day, Yi Chenyan re-emerged and went to the north gate of the airport.

In order to facilitate the fans to take pictures, Yi Chenyan even took off the sunglasses and masks, smiled and waved with them all the way, and told them to keep order, be careful not to fall.

In the end, Yi Chenyan and the agent Li Wei sat in the nanny car under the crowds of fans.

The car gradually drifted away ...

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As soon as the news that he was going to support Tianqiong’s seventh squad broke out, it sent everyone buzzing.

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He not only relied on his super-powerful abilities to become the dark horse on the battlefield in less than two years, but he also hates it when those at the top forces a flower vase* into his squad.

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That beautiful little genius calmly continued, every gunfire hitting the mark, his fighting power peaking.

Song Qinglan begged in front of everyone, “Adviser Ji, stay.”

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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.”