Crownless Reincarnation: New World? Nah I'd win - Chapter 152: Situation.

She comes from the top of Zhongshan Mountain, she is covered with frost and snow, she is unparalleled in beauty, but she has no talent for “love”, and she likes nothing more than a cup of tea in her life, watching the excitement.

It is said that she was young and ill-fated, with a weird personality, but in fact, she can also be obedient and docile, with a smile like a flower.

It is said that she has a mean tongue, arrogant and rude, but in fact, she can also smile sweetly and be gentle and amiable.

but–

She… is… is… no, happy, willing!

Until that day, she met a boy.

Half of the city is full of wind and moon and half of the city is snow. All the scenery in her life are brilliant because of him.

…

- Description from novelbuddy

"Uncle, I was punished for being late! " "Buy the school. ""Uncle, I was bullied! " "SEND THEM TO HEAVEN! "In this era of competing for fathers, Qin Sheng never competed for fathers. Those things were too extravagant. She didn't have them, she only competed for uncles!Ever since she had a rich uncle, she lived a life of fighting and being cleaned up by others, causing trouble and being scapegoated by others.Her three big goals in life were to make him fall in love with her, fall in love with her, fall in love with 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.”