MTL - Group Pet Eldest Lady, She Just Wants To Be A Salted Fish - Chapter 87 , Lu Xuan & Qi Nuo

Her rebirth gave her a second chance at life. She was back with a vengeance and wanted to make those that had harmed her pay. But to those that helped her, she wanted to repay them. Her evil stepmother? She would slowly pull out her claws, one by one. Her evil stepsister? She would crush her pride. She thought that by getting her revenge for her past life, she would be happy in this life. However, she never would have thought that danger would chance upon her time and time again. The hatred from her clan and whether their bloodline would continue to exist, lay solely on her shoulders. Luckily, on this thorny path, someone had always been protecting her. “Third Prince, have you ever regretted being with me?” That person laughed lightly and peered at her with a loving yet weary look, “As long as I am together with you, I have no regrets.”

If Xiao Yan had never lost his Dou Qi initially.If Yao Lao had died within the Soul Ring due to severe injuries.If Xiao Yan happened to join the Hall of Souls by chance.If a butterfly flapped its wings and altered the course of fate, how would the gears turn?“.... Who are you?”“Hall of Souls, Xiao Yan!”--------------------Worlds: Battle Through the Heavens, The Great Ruler.Tags: Action, Adventure, Romance, Harem, Weak to Strong, Clever Protagonist.Minor Tags: Comedic Undertone, Pets, Reincarnation, Kingdom Building.No System / No Prior Knowledge of the World.

Here, only those with spiritual roots can cultivate while those with mortal roots are destined to stay mortal.

Mo Wuji only has mortal roots, but will he only remain as a mortal?

- 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.”