The New Gate - Volume 11 - Chapter 3 – Part 3

Ever since she was a child, Ye Jiao was treated as trash in Chen Kingdom. Suffering from countless beatings and endless humiliation, Ye Jiao endured the harsh life without being able to do anything. Only a rare few cared for her and showed her warmth in this cruel world.But the Heavens didn’t give her the chance to live peacefully.It took the little things she had and pushed her over the edge into the bottomless abyss. Filled with despair and sadness, she had to hide and bide her time as a lot of people wished for her death.“I have lost everything; you can’t take anything else from me. But I will gain much from this in my path as Eon Energy Master---I’ll not give up and someday, I’ll reach the peak.”Her small hand plucked the stem of the white lily flower and gripped it tight, with determination flashing across her eyes. Trash? Her small lips curved up, tinged in mockery.Even if everyone around her wished to kill her, she would never give up.She will show them who the real trash was and become the greatest genius in the world!Even if the entire world was against her, she would not cower.She will reach the peak.

Also known as: Sky City

What exactly is love, and where does it come from? I can’t figure it out, maybe the so-called love is just a colorful butterfly, it looks beautiful, but it can never be approached, if you really want to hold her tightly in your hand, she will struggle, and then rub against each other in the struggle Lost all the colors, pale from now on.

I seem to understand a little bit why I was so cautious, because I was afraid of not touching her soul, but wiped off that beautiful color!

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A pure love story between a three-none man and a beautiful female tenant.

Sina Weibo: Search (I have medicine to sell)

WeChat public account: tanke17k

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”