MTL - What Should I Do if the School Bully is Interested in Me - Chapter 13 Who is just taking you?

An Xiaojiu stepped on the soap in the bathroom and fell directly to ancient times!

Crossed, or with Taobao, An Xiaojiu determined to become the ancient Jack Ma!

Just when I first wore it, I met grandma, grandma, and auntie. She either wanted to kill her or sold her!

These are nothing, we have Taobao! The ancient broken bowls can sell a lot of money on Taobao. We also double the eleven in ancient times!

I was thinking of being casual and doing myself well, but I was pregnant while unmarried. Only then did An Xiaojiu know how lowly the status of an ancient merchant girl was!

Low enough, she won’t be recognized by her future mother-in-law for buying one get two!

The secret of identity, whose conspiracy?

Love chase, whose life and death?

Looking back, my affection remains unchanged, can you still hold a sword to protect me?

- Description from Qidian

“Even if this universe is truly nothing more than a brutal bloody shadowy forest, we Cultivators will burn all that we have just to give off a single weak flickering spark in the darkness!

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.”