MTL - The Princess Wei Yang - ~ 286 three people into tigers

“Gu Hangshen! Your sister stole my man, and you helped her do it! Your whole family is rotten!”“Whatever my sister owes you, I'll compensate you.”“And what will you compensate me with?”“Me.”“...”Later, he not only gave himself up as compensation, but he also came with a clingy little bundle of joy...

Amidst a world plunged into chaos, where rituals have collapsed and music has spoiled, and the universe is muddled, Gu Qingfeng finds himself transported to this tumultuous era.Initially, he only desired to live out his remaining years in peace. However, the birth of his first son made him realize that things were not as simple as he had imagined...

Cao Ju, after transmigrating to the end of the Han Dynasty, became Cao Cao’s eighth son.Starting from the rescue of the dying Han noble, Xun Lingjun, who was given an “empty food box”, he embarked on a path to contend with the other sons of the Cao family and vie for supremacy against the Sun and Liu clans.However, a practical problem lay before Cao Ju:Cao Pi inherited Cao Cao’s cunning!Cao Zhang inherited Cao Cao’s valor!Cao Zhi inherited Cao Cao’s talent!Cao Chong inherited Cao Cao’s wisdom!When it came to him, what could he inherit from Cao Cao?Could it be that he would truly descend to inheriting the remaining hobbies of Cao Cao, actively promoting the martial spirit of Wei, and making contributions far and wide?Daqiao and Xiaoqiao: If the young lord arrives in Jiangdong, we two are willing to form a bond with the young lord and welcome him together!Cao Ju: You all may question the character of my old Cao family, but you absolutely cannot insult the aesthetic sense of the Cao family!Cao Cao: The eighth one like me can indeed carry on the family legacy!

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.”