MTL - Rebirth of the Godly Prodigal - Chapter 11 Buy a house and raise a dog

She regards him as an elder, respects him and esteems him; he cherishes her to the core, loves her deeply, and spoils and protects her—Shi Nuan married Song Yansheng, the business legend of T City, and this man was once her fiancé's Second Uncle!One day, Shi Nuan invited friends to her home.Friend: “Nuannuan, Mr. Song takes such good care of you, I'm so envious!”Shi Nuan blushed: “It's all for show, in private he's... quite indifferent to me!”That night, Song Yansheng embraced his little wife, his voice magnetic: “I heard you feel I'm indifferent to you?”Shi Nuan: “...”[Heartwarming true love, deep affections not too late, an uncle-loving story with an eight-year age gap, guaranteed quality. Recommended past works: 'World's Deepest Love', 'First Warm Marriage of the Noble Family', 'First Marriage of the Rich', new book 'Mr. Gu, You're Missing Me!']

Exile Ren?

The start is hell mode?

Fortunately, there are crossing benefits, and it is still a stitched monster sandbox game system!

Liver Emperor Ren? Hamster Ryan? Isn’t this basic operation?

- 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.”

“As if I’d marry an ugly woman like you!”