Magic-Smithing - Chapter 115.1

[Rebirth + Abuse of Trash + Sweet Love] In her previous life, Su Li was blind and helped her husband to ascend to a high position.When he became successful, she abandoned him.Her grandfather's family and her father, the Shangshu, who had lived a clear and upright life, were decapitated and beheaded. She herself died with two bodies and could not close her eyes. God has eyes and she was reborn. In this life, she protects her relatives and steps on scumbags and bitches.When the scars faded, her appearance was stunning.Her medical skills were superb and amazing. ... A certain prince who was upright and elegant outside was clinging to the beauty in his arms: “This prince feels uncomfortable all over, and I need Li'er to check it out.”✨Love this translation? Support me on Patreon for early access, exclusive content, and more! Your support keeps the translations coming—subscribe today!

She is the wife completely ignored by him, yet also the woman he most cherishes. Ultimately, she forces her husband to divorce her by taking on the identity of a lover!She steals vital information and, carrying this man's premium seed, successfully makes her getaway!Six years later, father and son have their first online confrontation. The little bean successfully infiltrates the man's system and sighs at her, “Mom, this person is so dumb. Is he really my dad?”Mu Yiliang pats her son's head and says reassuringly, “He was so terribly fooled by me back then, which shows his IQ is very low. Luckily, you inherited mine!”Unbeknownst to them, the man on the other end of the computer has already listened to the conversation between mother and son. He sneers coldly, “Very low IQ? Mu Yiliang, let's see where you're going to run this time!”

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.”