A Stern Mistress from the Ancient Past Becomes the Cannon-Fodder in a Wealthy Family - Chapter 321 - : Fight

No one told Xie Qiao that the after effects of transmigrating into a fetus would be so great. The moment she did it, she became sickly. Fortunately, she had maximum affinity with living creatures. The animals she reared could fight, the herbs she planted could live. She could write talismans, read fortunes, and get rid of love interests. She could perform divination, detect aura, and read Fengshui. She could also good at the chess, music, literature, art, carving, and cooking, so she could earn a lot of money. And she was now taken back by the crown prince. “I heard that the princess consort brought about a lethal fate to her parents since young, and she has a lethal destiny. She’s someone who will not live long. If she marries the crown prince, she might not be able to protect her life. Very soon, she’ll kick the bucket!”This was the secret news of the imperial city.Several years later…“Grandfather, Grandmother, did anyone place bets on when you’re going to die today?”

Mu Xi was reborn back to the age of eighteen, and became a waste of women disguised as men and abandoned by the family.

waste? Say who?

The mysterious master of metaphysics is she,

She is the dean of the medical world,

The great god of the game industry and the top of the hacker world is also her…

With countless vests, she suddenly became an almighty boss who turned her hands into clouds and covered her hands into rain.

*

“Mu Xi, as long as you come back, grandpa is willing to pass on the position of the head of the family to you.”

Mu Xi raised his eyelids lazily, looked at the old Patriarch Mu who was looking at him expectantly, and said word by word, “I don’t care!”

*

“Big brother! Big brother! I heard that you can do anything.”

Mu Xi smiled modestly, “I can’t say that, at least I won’t have children yet.”

The next moment, a figure passed by and carried away Mu Xi who was being interviewed, “Mrs. Ling, are you implying that I’m not working hard enough?”

*

Let’s see how the trash “juvenile” succeeded in counterattack and reached the pinnacle of life.

This article is one-on-one, double-strength, and cool.

- Description from novelbuddy

Once an unsung slave; Yur’s existence was defined by blood, pain, and chains. That was until he stumbled into Zulmasharr, the realm of demons.In the depths of despair and agony, a near-death encounter unsealed the terrifying truth of his existence; he is no mere mortal. A cursed hybrid of human and demon; Yur’s survival was only possible through the bloody rebirth of his Ashkavaal bloodline and the awakening of his sinister cultivation system, Zul.With Zul, Yur can rear demons for rituals, harvest their power, and dominate the chaotic world around him. But freedom comes at a cost. As the incognizant successor to an ancient being, his every step is burdened by the weight of a destiny he never asked for. Yur craves only one thing: to stay free, unbound by demons and men. Yet his growing power and severed bloodline ignite the fascination of forces that would see him enslaved or slaughtered.Yur must steer through a world of demons where trust is a fault, survival is animus, and his very existence is a blemish. Blood will pour, flames will revolt, and demons... they kneel or die. But in the end, is freedom attainable for the bearer of a bloodline forged from blood and ash?Will Yur vanquish his fate or will it condemn him?

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.”