I hate being in pain, so I think I'll make a full defense build - Chapter 497

This is the story of a graduate student majoring in ancient Chinese who was repeatedly ravaged on the way to employment. He returned to the middle of the Ming Dynasty and entered the body of a young child in a mountain village.

The dull father and the pungent mother, Yishui’s best relatives, have a lot of troubles in the small farmyard. Fortunately, we have thousands of years of historical accumulation, four books, five classics, stereotyped essays, and professional counterparts.

The national power rises vertically and governs;

  Legal discipline is loose, official discipline is lax;

There are a few treacherous ministers, and some Japanese pirates;

But generally speaking, it can be said that this is a fertile ground for the free breeding of scholar-bureaucrats.

A legend of the rise of a poor family grew from here.

I would like to pay tribute to all time-traveling classics with this article.

PS: Rise of the poor family book friend group: 219,803,021; Rise of the poor family full subscription group: 254,292,459 Welcome everyone to join the group and communicate with each other, and welcome everyone to communicate with me.

- Description from novelbuddy

Mo Chou is the no.1 ranking female assassin in an illusive organization. One day on the way to the organization after completing a mission, she dies. She is shocked when reincarnates into her favorite novel but as a villainess who is the protagonist's step sister and dies a miserable death. She just wants to live a cushy and comfortable life so she decides to completely avoid the red flags aka the main characters and live like a saint (well a saint who is an assassin) But why does she keep stumbling into the main characters especially that infuriating villain and why the heck are they clinging onto her?

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.”