Purgatory Artist - Chapter 50: Dao of the....

Ye Qiu transmigrated to a world of barren wastelands. He obtained the 10,000 Fold Return System.

Love watched helplessly as her husband Sima Chao married the princess to fulfill his ambition, and she couldn’t help but feel heartbroken.

Sima Chao hugged her into his arms and coaxed softly: “Afu, you are the only one in my heart. If you can stay in the country, I will definitely set you right.”

Love believed him because she was obsessed with him.

It wasn’t until Sima Chao was worried about his princess wife who was about to enter the house that he killed her flesh and blood with his own hands. Only then did Love realize how much sincerity a person who was cruel to his own children could have towards her.

It’s just that he is lying and she is obsessed with it.

Love finally saw clearly the person next to her. She was completely heartbroken and died in despair the day before Sima Chao married the princess in glory.

Starting over, Love decided not to make the same mistakes again, but when she opened her eyes, she saw the whole house was filled with joy, and she actually returned to her wedding night with Sima Chao.

—

Sima Chao, a great hero of a generation, fought against the princes and unified the world, which was his lifelong ambition. For this reason, he did not hesitate to let down his beloved.

He thought: If she could live in the world, he would give her the highest status in the world, and it would not be too late to slowly repay the deep love he owed her.

As everyone knows, if you miss it, it will be difficult to get it back. When he turned back to her, she had already turned away.

He won the world and had everything, but he only lost her.

When Sima Chao saw her smiling broadly at the man beside her, he finally became anxious, his eyes turned red, and he regretted it.

Overhead, imitating the Wei and Jin Dynasties

Chasing Wife Article; Double C, 1V1

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”

The summer I was 17. A painting I created was sold. For 1.4 billion won.