The General Loves to Collect Little Red Flowers - Chapter 33

Married for three years, they appeared to be deeply in love in public, but behind closed doors, he treated her with cold indifference.Having had enough of his neglect, she handed him a divorce agreement and left him.Unexpectedly, the usually aloof Chairman Xu began acting like a rascal post-divorce, visiting daily to mooch food and drink, and even wanting to share her bed?Outsiders all say, “Chairman Xu has deep feelings for his ex-wife, even after divorce he can't forget her and spoils her to no end.”

Holographic viewing technology allowed audience members to enter a movie and personally experience it for themselves. Naturally, romance movies were the most popular and well-received, while nobody was interested in horror movies.

On their third wedding anniversary, Qin Xi excitedly told Lu Bochen about her pregnancy, only to receive a 1 billion yuan check, an order to abort the child, and divorce papers in return.To protect her child, she fled.Five years later, she returned with her adorable twins and had become a revered miracle doctor in the medical field, with countless admirers.He regretted it. Qin Xi coldly watched as Lu Bochen, the CEO, apologized publicly on a live stream, “Weren't you the one who wanted a divorce and didn't want the child?”He humbly begged, “Xi Xi, I want to remarry and have the child.”“In your dreams.”“Xi Xi, the kids need a father.”The adorable twins stood with their hands on their hips in unison, “We don't need a daddy who bullies mommy.”Lu Bochen, who had even his bedding and luggage thrown out of the room, didn't dare lose his temper, “Take a good look and see who's really bullying whom!”

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.”