Fairy Tale Chronicles - Volume 4 Extra 1.3

Mu Wanwan transmigrated into a novel.

And became a cannon fodder side character used to counteract the disabled tyrant’s ill fortune.

The tyrant is a huge villain. He challenged the leader of the seven tribes alone and had been beaten into a vegetative state.

The original character lived in the tyrant’s territory. Her parents, who were greedy for power, randomly made came up with compatible bazi* and sent their daughter into the tyrant’s manor, turning her into a wife to ward off ill luck.

Also sent off together with her was a little white flower maidservant, who was the heroine of the story.

The original character and the heroine agreed to escape together—but the original character was stabbed to death that very night.

And just as they were about to implement their escape plan, she transmigrated over

Mu Wanwan: “…”

What a horrible script!!

In order to live, she had to do her best to take care of the disabled, comatose dragon. Three years later, she actually turned the tragic story into a sickeningly sweet love story.

Note: *bazi: A Chinese astrological concept that a person’s destiny or fate can be divined by the two sexagenary cycle characters assigned to their birth year, month, day, and hour.

Hao Yan Che is an immortal and Yuan Gun Gun is a mortal.

Unconditional obedience to him? Dream on! Regrettably, after marrying Tang Yuchen, An Ruo's daily thoughts were of escape, escape, and more escape! Someone grew furious, “You want to flee? The only way out is if you die, or I perish!” Fine, she chose death! Yet he laughed wickedly, “Woman, do you intend to kill the son in your womb?”

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.”