Pampered by Short-Lived Bigshot - Chapter 983 - 585: Jiang Xiaosi vs Qi Duidui, Using His Money to Spoil Another Man? (Part 2)

As a true over-bearing president scum gong, when Xie He for the Nth time rejected his admirer, he heard a sentence in his head: “Congratulations on achieving the “rejects 100 hosts” accomplishment; as an award you will soon bind to the “Scum Gong and Cheap Shou” system, entering other worlds to complete capture missions.

The handsome Emperor of the acting industry, Mo Zhen, has caused thousands of girls to fall in love with him in his 26 years, but has never fallen in love before.

That is until a certain shameless ghost shows up at his house and decides to move in with him to become a freeloader.

Not only does she blatantly try to follow him to the bath, plots revenge against any females with ulterior motives within five meter distances, but she even wrecks havoc online by providing secret info about him to his fans!

Honestly, how shameless can a ghost get?

Out of all the ghosts in the world, Emperor Mo still loves his little ghost wife the best.

And out of everyone in the entire world, the little ghost still likes to watch her family’s Zhen Zhen bathe the most.

- Description from Novelupdates

Jang Joonbum started stream to enjoy an easy life.

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.”