Douluo: Danheng just want to avoid trouble, Gu Yuena Pursues. - Chapter 184: Yu Xiaogang Becomes a Clown Again, A Double Celebration

Nine harmonic zither chords shook the universe, who dared to not acknowledge the lord?

Ji Nai-tang paid attention to Cen Muqi for 12 years. This secret love had been hidden in his heart. When he finally couldn’t hide it, he sent himself in front of Cen Muqi, pretending to be a pig to eat the tiger and step by step planning to trap the golden thigh.

Ji Nai-tang: It is not that I look good, it is that you make me look good.

Cen Muqi: It turns out that it is important to have a boyfriend who will take pictures.

Ji Nai-tang: But you are not my boyfriend~

Cen Muqi: Can I apply for it?

Ji Nai-tang: What are you applying for?

Cen Muqi: Applying to be your boyfriend!

- Description from Novelupdates

When I woke up, I had been reborn as a baby. My mother passed away and I was neglected by my father. Even though I was born in a Marquis family, my life started on a HARD MODE. But I won’t be discouraged. I will eat well, sleep well, move much, get whatever I can get and live happily.

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.”