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... so-called third child, naturally the underground hegemony Hui brother, the latter face red, a little embarrassed.

"Big brother, he is a martial artist. I didn't bring anyone to come. I can't do it." Hui Ge hardened his head.

"Nothing, nothing, the colonel and the mayor have arrived, this kid is absolutely not afraid to make a second!" Guiyuan said with a long-term vision, showing a hearty smile, his nursing home, really radiant, originally did not expect the old comrades Will come ...

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In her previous life, she had given everything for him and helped him step by step to become a great minister, but she was not as good as her good sister who slept with him.

When the gentle and loving husband took her life, she realized that the love she thought was as deep as the sea was a joke.

To the end with hatred, Lu Xiang cursed angrily, wanting to let the person who wronged her and harmed her have a terrible death…

Opening her eyes again, she returned to the year she was fourteen years old. She had the same life, but she returned with hatred in her heart.

The night was dark and the wind was high, Lu Xiang picked up Chu Jinyan who was hunted down and seriously injured, his eyes sparkled.

“Hey, golden thighs!”

So without further ado, he dragged the person into his room to hide.

“As the saying goes, life-saving grace should be promised with your body… Ah, no, I will repay you with the spring, I saved your life today, and you have to promise me three requests in the future.”

Chu Jinyan: “???”

He doesn’t really want to be rescued…

Later, Chu Jinyan patted his thigh and hooked his fingers: “My concubine, come, I’ll give you my lonely thigh.”

***

She: insidious, deceitful!

Him: despicable, shameless!

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Passer-by: Bah, that’s called working in collusion!

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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.”