MTL - Scoring the Sacred Body of the Ancients from the Get-go - Chapter 435 Long Aotian's chance, Gulong Cave, Wang Teng presents Jiang Sheng...

Xu Anran did not know that her husband Qin Xiaokun was a wolf in sheep's clothing until she died.

He deceived her feelings with affectionate illusions, conspired to seize her family property, harmed her family, and in the end, he ran her over in his car in order to be with his true love justifiably.

After she opened her eyes again, Xu Anran returned to the day she married Qin Xiaokun five years ago.

Those scumbags better not think about touching the things that belonged to her in this lifetime!

What she suffered in her previous life would be avenged one by one.

She walked up to Qin Xiaokun's rival Jiang Rongyan in front of everyone and asked him with a smile, “Mr. Jiang, would you like to marry me?”

Behind him were the unpleasant expressions of the Qin family.

He thanked her for the invitation. This would be the cuckolding version of the face-slap script specially customized for Qin Xiaokun.

-Xu Anran wanted to stay away from relationships in this life, but she did not expect that after the agreed marriage expired, the man refused to let her go now!

Jiang Rongyan, “You want to flee after you finished using me? Heh, you're dreaming.”

The most successful businessman of his time, who started from being a homeless orphan, died indignantly because of being plotted against by his most trusted aid, his own brother.

Death, Depression, Poverty, Love issues – all things that a 27-year no-name writer faces.

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.”