MTL - Bringing Along a Ball and Hiding from Foreign Devils - Chapter 60 Extra 1.2

“Will you marry me, Anais?” The male lead proposed to me. “What about Selena?” “Selena doesn’t matter. You’re the only one I’m interested in now.” Even without a hint of interest in the female lead. “I’m sorry, but I…” Before I could even utter my refusal, the refreshing sound of coins rang in my ears. [asdf has donated 100 points!] Accept and get ten thousand points “Shall we go pick out a ring first?” Forget about conscience; if it’s fun, that’s all that matters.

Ling Lang is thirty-two years old and an A list movie star. He is also the youngest to become the king of the silver screen. Known for having a cold and aloof disposition, people nicknamed him king iceberg of the silver screen. His biggest secret? He is a masochist down to his very bones.

- Description from Novelupdates

Anna Jones, an Australian travelled with her fiancé Lu Jinhu to marry in his home country, only to find out that she has been duped by him and robbed of everything that she owns. A quirk of fate allows her to marry CEO Hou Yi, who was meant to on the same day marry his finance Yang Lin, who in fact married Lu Jinhu. Marriage for Anna, started as a plan to gain some measure of revenge on Lu Jinhu, and for Hou Yi to prevent Lu Jinhu from obtaining the family company however fate had something different in store for them. Not only did they achieve their initially goals, but their relationship turned into something else, that could last a lifetime despite the cultural differences and the trouble Lu Jinhu and Yang Lin caused them.

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.”