I Hate Systems - Chapter 22: Puppets

The idiot Long Gen pretends to be a pig and eats a tiger, takes advantage of the girls in the village, travels across the countryside and forests, monopolizes the beauty and coquettishness, and achieves the legend of “Dragon Gen”. There is a widow in front of the door leaning on the door to watch, and a sister-in-law next door looking through the screen window… This book is determined to be a stallion, with the goal of pushing down and being pushed.

- Description from novelbuddy

Bound together by an imperial arranged marriage, Li Yuyan is scorned for her association with the ill and blind crown prince. Publicly, she stands up for the seemingly gentle and perfect prince, and he in turn protects her from criticism. Privately, she contemplates inheriting a fortune if he dies, while he considers eliminating her if she steps out of line. Unknown to all, the beauty and brilliance they keep hidden will unveil. During their wedding night, as she cures his blindness and cold ailment, but not his secret illness, she discovers the deceit. Realizing she's been tricked, she tries to flee, only to find herself trapped by him as he expresses his fascination with her.

Ms Shen goes about her usual days while Mr Bo flirts with her relentlessly.

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.”