Having children earns benefit, start competing for dominance in the world by marrying a wife - Chapter 441 - 271: Lu Shuyun Wants to Run Away_1

Ever since He Mulan, a 28 year old forensic investigator, transmigrated into the post-army civilian Hua Mulan’s body, she’s been under a lot of pressure. Unlike the folktale ending, there are no flowers or applause to be found here. After leaving the army and returning to her hometown, word by the countryside has painted the now 32 year old Hua Mulan as a homicidal maniac, an old hag, and a freak of nature, among other nasty things. Between piecing together Hua Mulan’s scattered memories, grappling with her fellow villagers’ prejudice against her, and fending off Mrs Hua’s attempts to match make her, He Mulan has her hands full. All He Mulan wants to do is protect Hua Mulan’s body till her soul comes back, but fate has other plans…

- Description from Novelupdates

Shen Tang woke up on the way to distribution, and found that the world was very unscientific.

The divine stone descended from the sky, and a hundred kingdoms competed for each other.

Wen condenses the heart, and the export comes true.

Gathering martial arts and courage, splitting mountains and breaking seas.

What she thought was a pretty boy, saying “Hold the gun and jump the horse”, the next second the armor is attached to the body, the spear is in hand, and one person forms an army, and thousands of troops can kill seven in and seven out!

The tuberculosis ghost in her eyes, she said “the stars are scattered all over the world”, the sky is like a round cover, the land is like a chess game, and the formation of troops is easy to come by!

This TM can’t be considered unscientific!

It is clear that the coffin of science has been nailed to death by theology!

And she—

“My lord, there is a severe drought in Beijun, why don’t you cry?”

Shen Tang: “…”

“My lord, Nanzhou flood, why don’t you smile more?”

Shen Tang: “…”

———————

Looking at the ten bowls of rice that she killed, the pockets that were cleaner than her face, and a group of villagers who were starving for food, harboring malicious intentions and causing trouble all day long, Shen Tang, the village chief who was suspected of being the reincarnation of the rice bucket and a true soul painter, had to give up his beloved He was forced to embark on the road of applying for a job as a prince.

- Description from novelbuddy

“After every fire, ants survive.”

…

Mysterious anomalous biological metals have polluted the world, and the world has undergone tremendous changes. Metal sickness is like a key that opens the door to evolution. Under the tide of evolution, there are no innocents.

The choice is up to you, do you want to be the surviving ants after the fire, or do you want to risk your life, step on the glorious long steps to the gods, and glimpse the supreme glory of the mother goddess?

…

Touch the totem in your heart, follow the inspiration, and step on the long steps of ascending to God:

[Amphibians] → [Atlantic Glory] → [Ningen]…

[Eight Arms] → [Nightmare in the Sea] → [Deep Divers]…

[Eagle Eye] → [Owl Ghost of the Night] → [Jersey Demon]…

[Living Dead] → [Grave Digger] → [Death Ferryman]…

…

“On that day, the world was polluted, and I was the source of pollution. Human desires are endless, desire is the best food on the way to evolution, and I am the embodiment of desire.”

– Joe Tour.

- 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.”