Pregnant Before the Royal Marriage - Chapter 462 - : Cannot bear the blame for nothing

An advertising film director was reborn in the bustling Hollywood in 1988. From then on, he began his own domineering road to becoming a legend in the film industry, mastering everything from writing, editing, directing, and supervising films and TV series, dating a lot of female stars, and having a bunch of child stars.Unofficial translation of 我就是好莱坞 by 贾思特杜.

Liang Ning had just bid farewell to her eldest and second eldest brothers who died on the battlefield, never expecting that when she was preparing to fulfill a marriage contract with an orphan she saved six years ago, she would be burned alive by him!Upon waking, she became Miss Fu of the Fu Family, and her murderer had already risen to a high position, surrounded by beautiful wives and concubines, becoming a trusted minister before the emperor...No fear!Miss Liang of the Liang Family changes lanes, still the decisive and ruthless Rashamon!But why does that brat, who used to play around with her nephew and knew nothing about respecting elders, keep pestering her?

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.”

Here, only those with spiritual roots can cultivate while those with mortal roots are destined to stay mortal.

Mo Wuji only has mortal roots, but will he only remain as a mortal?