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... bout advanced algorithms when Arjun's mind went to the farthest recesses of his consciousness. Thoughts automatically lined up to think about Ayesha, the female factor that returned to his life after much painful separation. Everything had been a rollercoaster over the last few weeks since that tearful reunion; he held on to her and was desperate to make up for lost time.

That familiar funny feeling he had become so used to began twisting in his gut as he woke that morning. He felt right ...

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Nangong Anshan was reborn into the body of a little girl who was fleeing in ancient times. Before she could figure out the situation, she found out that she had been betrayed.

Her father and elder brother disappeared due to joining the army, her mother was paralyzed and disfigured due to hunting, her third brother was sickly and weak since childhood, and several younger siblings were hungry and growling.

But that’s all right.

Natural power! Let her easily deal with the people who hit her house.

Avoid water droplets! Let her find plenty of food in the water.

Space department store system! Let her have whatever she wants, and she can also cure her mother and third brother.

Buying fields, building yards, buying shops, and family reunion is a matter of time!

It’s just that the so-and-so who popped up in the middle, I’m not familiar with you, so don’t always come up to me.

That so-and-so: “Are you sure you don’t want me? Then I’m leaving now?”

Nangong Anshan turned her head and hugged his thigh tightly…

PS: 1. This article is 1V1, superficial, superficial, please be cautious when you are a serious party.

2. There is space in this article, and there will definitely be plots that transcend reality. It’s fine to look at it, and don’t enter if you can’t accept it.

3. Refuse personal attacks, otherwise rebound.

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MTL - The President Asked Me To Go To Her House AgainChapter 105 The president is Xing me to her house again
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What if the president always coerces her to do “hard work” on the grounds of deducting her salary?
To do or not to do?
After finishing the work, Lin Sheng silently took out his mobile phone, opened the circle of friends, and pressed down word by word:
The president asked me to work at her house again!
President, she has a little white face!
The woman behind the successful woman is me! it’s me!

Domineering domineering president X small staff
The daily life of the president and the staff is so sweet and sweet~

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A Regressor’s Tale of CultivationChapter 684: Sword God Dance (4)
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On the way to a company workshop, we fell into a world of immortal cultivators while still in the car.

Those with spiritual roots and unique abilities were all called to join cultivation sects, living prosperously.

But I, having neither spiritual roots nor special abilities, lived as an ordinary mortal for 50 years, complying with fate until my death.

That’s what I thought.

Until I regressed.

THE DEATH KNELLChapter 67: War of God’s and Shadows
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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.”