MTL - The Analects of Righteous Father’s Collapse - Chapter 215 Autism 8

The course of commitments never did run smooth.

[Space + Food + Su Shuangtian] Song Baozhu had three nightmares.

The first time she wanted to marry an educated youth, she dreamed that the other party was a Zhongshan wolf.

The second time she wanted to marry a soldier, she dreamed that she was occupied by a dove in a magpie’s nest after her marriage.

The third time, she fell into the water and was rescued by Shen Xuan. As soon as she got married, she dreamed that the other party was the richest man in the future, and there was a reborn female educated youth who did everything possible to marry him!

Song Baozhu: I’m not the original match for this cannon fodder!

Identify the main space in advance, make food, make pills, take university entrance exams, buy a house and open a store!

Men will only affect the speed at which she gets rich!

Shen Xuan: ? ? ?

Demining: [Natural power, beautiful, black-hearted heroine VS Junmei Wushuang, black and innocent male lead] [1V1 Shuangjie]

- Description from novelbuddy

This is the story of a Gong who was reborn to the time before he lost his shou, where he started to tease his shou crazily… This story will be written from the shou’s POV.

The F1’s God of racing, Winston, lost his one and only important rival, Hunter. No matter how many skillful opponents appeared before him one after another, he still remained as the solitary ruler.

But one day, when Winston woke up, he found himself back to the time Hunter was only 18-years-old.

Winston, “Are you willing to rule over the Kingdom of speed with me and be my only King?

- 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.”