The Stunning Mad Empress: The Useless Third Miss - Chapter 18 - Call Me Qian Xun

*Slow Burn Historical Fantasy Novel*

Elise had about to change into the dress that was lying on the corner of her bed when she heard a knock lightly calling from her door. Curious, she turned the door knob only to have a tall man towering in front of her.

“Master Ian!” She called.

Ian smiled with the usual mischievous smirk that he always used. His crimson eyes trailing a little over her room and spotted the black dress over her bed and shifted his eyes over to the woman in front of him. He stepped forward and spoke. “Where did you acquire that dress?”

“Mr. Harland gave it to me.” Elise replied and strained her neck to see Ian’s brows knitted in its elegance.

“Do you know why a man would love to give a woman a dress?” He gave the riddle that she always had to think twice before replying. But this time, she found no answer and instead shook her head. “I don’t know.”

His grin grew bewitching as though something had stirred deep inside the scarlet eyes that he had. He slowly slid his hand over the collar of her dress, sending a cold shiver that startled her for a moment due to its freezing temperature. After unbuttoning the first two buttons on her collar, he tilted his head down, whispering to her ears. “Because they want to be the one to undress the cloth.”

He paused and kissed her neck, turning the pale skin to red before retracting his move to fix his eyes on her and leisurely replied. “Unfortunately, you can’t wear the dress over there with this.” He chuckled and passed a box over to her hand. “And the fortunate news is I prepared a dress for you.”

Elise was a cursed little girl who could see ghosts. Her family hated her and threw her from one adoptive family to another. However, misfortune didn't act alone. When she was brought up by her aunt, she was sold as a slave. When she had thought she would become nothing but a sacrifice to the sorcerer, she was saved by a man whose identity was far different than a normal mythical being.

Yun Rong, the mountain demon, had slept for 2,000 years. She could only be awakened by the offering and prayers from the common people. However, one day she was rudely awakened by a weird machine called excavator.

Yun Rong was really angry. Which wicked person dares to move my mountain! She decided to show herself to the person in charge to resolve the situation.

Yun Rong: “Who permitted you to move my mountain?”

Development Manager: “Our company’s General Manager.”

Yun Rong: “Outrageous! Take me to see him!”

The Development Manager disdainfully said: “Do you think just because you want to see our General Manager you could meet him?”

Yun Rong modestly asked: “Then how could I meet him?”

Development Manager: “Minimum you have to be worth 100 million!”

From then on, Yun Rong went down the mountain to raise her worth to at least 100 million only to discover that the world had changed a lot after 2,000 years. Apart from blessing the common people with good weather for crops and abundant harvest, she couldn’t do anything else. She realized then it would be quite difficult to raise her worth to 100 million.

Lu He Nian said pamperingly: “Not difficult at all. What’s mine is yours.”

Yun Rong said innocently: “Wishing your family luck and prosperity!”

( mountain demon is also known as mountain god )

- 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.”

It was in the year 2800 of the Midgard calendar. Back then, there was a Overlord who once reigned supreme and had reached the very brink of subduing the world.