MTL - Douluo: Wuhun is Actually Bibi Dong - Chapter 165 fox and cat

Once an imperial princess, now reborn among the lowest of s*aves of the nobility.

There is always such a person in the world, his family background is better than yours, his status is higher than yours, while you work hard and think all the way up, but with just a wave of his hand, you are wiped out. What is even more sad is that he doesn’t even know who you are.

Zheng Jue met Han Jin like this but he didn’t realize this truth until he died. In the end, he had found the wrong opponent and ultimately lost his life.

- Description from Novelupdates

Quote:
“Baby, you don’t know, when you look at me with contempt, I’m already sinking into hell.”
-Paranoid male lead

Hearts on fire, unceasing until death.

As a swan demon with a lucky buff, when Gù Yú decided to be a flower on the high mountain ridge, she was destined to attract many people.

First World: Starring as the rich and powerful female villain ( Fiancé and male leads are all begging me but nope )

Second World: Starring as the Entertainment Circle Queen (Gentle Film Emperor and Reborn Villain President step by step paranoid for me)

The Third World: Starring as the Young Empress Dowager (Regent and the New Emperor)

Fourth World: Starring as the Goddess in the campus novel (Childhood friend and school grass daily battle)

*Rejection system

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”