Rebirth: I Became Mr.President's Beloved - Chapter 40 - In the End Its Lai Yuaner

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

An accident happened on the eve of the prize redemption day, and when Su Li opened her eyes again, she realized she’d become a hunter’s wife.

Not only was everyone in the family lazy, but they also caused much trouble.

To live a better life by being away from the family, she agreed to many of her mother-in-law’s unreasonable demands.

Due to such unreasonable demands, her life wasn’t easy after the separation. They were nearly running out of rice!

Her husband even spent most of the month on the mountain.

The only thing Su Li was thankful for was that she had a pair of adorable twins.

To raise them well and give them a fair chance at life, Su Li decided to change their living environment. She strived to make a fortune.

In order to keep their mother around, the two children worked very hard. At some point in the future, one of them became a top scholar, while the other became a mighty general.

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An anime otaku who has traveled to the world of full-time hunters, in order to live well, he can only keep getting stronger all the time, burying the strong one after another. Your withered life will be continued by me.

- 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.”