Reborn in the Eighties as a Housewife with a Space - Chapter 686 - 680: Exchanging Subsidy for Small Dishes

Rebirth, wear a little girl, do not have to be noisy, open your eyes and split your home, with a space of spiritual liquid, Lingquan! Make a big profit!

All kinds of essential equipment! However, can you not do so much! The dregs and the mother’s baby are too poor!

Farming must be standard! Can you order less? The environment is not safe! The landlord of the seven disasters is too ‘healing’! Which pro, your good prince is not right, what mess! This is a kind of field text, can’t be a palace! You have fished the world!

- Description from Uukanshu translation

Ling Chen was a peerless master hiding within the city hustle as a nobody-courier, until he stumbled into the world of the beautiful CEO, Nanrong Wanqing, the 'untouchable flower' of Donghai City, due to one of his work assignments. From then on, watch as his life is thrown into an exciting disarray!

their example, leading to continuous warfare! However, the aboriginal people of this otherworld who have been blinded by the aesthetics of violence! Rightnow! And in the future! Let me teach you what kind of mecha represents the romance of a man! Let me show you what kind of propulsion is the iron torrent! Let me instruct you what kind of weapon is the deterrence for peace (implied by “nuclear” here)! Let me! Teach you! What exactly is the air-to-ground cluster offensive and the all-round air, sea, and land strike!! Gentlemen! I, indeed, love war! But what I love even more is to stop war with war and bring about a prosperous future where the whole world is unified for thousands of generations! Unite all nations and subdue all races! When the whole world is united as one, it will last forever...

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.”