Rolling love - Chapter 21

Struggling until the age of thirty-eight without being able to afford a house. Facing the need to pay a dowry of three hundred thousand in order to get married. Living frugally for most of his life, working to the point of his liver breaking.

But, where was his money? Who in the world earned all the money away?

Jiang Qin, filled with countless resentments, is reborn at the age of eighteen. The only thought upon opening his eyes was to start a business and make money.

He snatched back the love letter he had given, flipped it over, and under the shocked gaze of the school belle, wrote three lines:

I shall never work a job again!

I just want financial freedom, never to be a s*ave!

As for love? Not even dogs would bother with that!

……………………………………………………………

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Let someone else go to war, you, lucky Austria, go get married! What the god of war can give you, the god of love can also give you.

The smoke of the Napoleonic Wars has dissipated, and the Vienna system that once brought peace to Europe is riddled with holes. Beneath the seemingly peaceful appearance, there is a vortex of the times with undercurrents, the tranquility before the storm.

The air is filled with the steaming mist of sweat, and the choking black smoke makes it hard to breathe. On the elegant dining table, a group of soldiers and fat men in suits are pushing each other, feasting on the feast called the world, hanging on the wall Van Gogh’s self-portrait with waltz in his ears.

Suddenly the music turned into a march, and the picture also turned to the battlefield. Soldiers marched in a neat line, walking towards the machine gun barbed wire.

A shell fell on the ground, and after the smoke passed, countless cavalry rushed to the artillery position.

Accompanied by a loud noise, a wooden plane flew close to the ground, then pulled up rapidly, broke through the clouds, and shone brightly.

- 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.”

Su Mian, the forgotten bride, has endured three years as ​Fu Tingzhou’s invisible wife—a man so coldly abstinent, he never even glanced at her. Branded a “murderer’s daughter,” she’s spent her life as a human blood bank for the Su family’s pampered heiress, her true worth buried beneath lies.When Tingzhou finally meets his timid wife, he sees only a gold-digging burden. Her quiet devotion? Ignored. Her shattered heart? Dismissed. He hurls divorce papers at her, snarling, “Disappear.”She obeys… and unravels his icy control.Now, the untouchable CEO is on his knees.Her absence ignites a frenzied, scorching obsession. Fu Tingzhou hunts for the wife he never wanted—only to discover her vanishing act hides earth-shattering secrets: ​switched identities, a hidden lineage, and a woman who’s no longer the meek shadow he discarded.