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[Congratulations! Your descendant, Li Xinghuo, has wed Zishu Wandong!]

[Your descendant, Li Xinnian, has wed Nangong Qingya!]

Amidst the world of ice and snow, there were festive red adornments; within the hall, the guests’ faces were filled with joy.

Regardless of where they were, Li Wei and his clansmen sent their heartfelt blessings for the children’s weddings.

"Good, good, good."

In this pitch-black sea of stars, Li Wei actually felt a stinging se ...

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She was an unprecedented assassin, a trump card deadly agent, but transmigrated through into Ye City’s number one prodigious good-for-nothing young miss.

I am an ugly woman? I will break out from my cocoon into a gorgeous butterfly that will blind your snobbish eyes!

I am useless piece of heap? Lightning in my hands, I will smite you to a well-cooked crisp!

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The person smiled with perked brows, “Little Ninth, it looks like I have to let you become occupied!”

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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.”