MTL - Eight Desolate Sword God - Chapter 1170 Swallowing glaze wood

# gourmet # entrepreneurship # eight years old # younger sister # business

Xu Le transmigrated to a parallel universe into the body of an adorable eight-year-old. Here, there are no delicacies.

His parents went abroad, leaving him behind to earn his own keep.

His parents said, “Son, it is time you become a man and become financially independent. Make your own money and bring up your younger sister.”

Xu Le, “I understand, but at least pay off the mortgage before you leave!”

Forced by his circumstances, elementary school student Xu Le shouldered a burden that was beyond his age.

He begins his life of paying off the mortgage, bringing along his younger sister, Xu Tian, along for the ride.

Just then, the “Culinary God” system was awakened.

He could get all sorts of prizes if he cooked delicious food for people to try.

As such, a food stall started to appear on a busy street. In it was a tiny figure as a cook and a long line of customers.

Freshman student Yang Dingtian possesses the Nine Yang Body, found only 1 in million. His Yang Fire is incomparably vigorous and thus, he cannot be near a female’s charms for his entire life. On the night of his 19th birthday, he decided to bid farewell to his virgin life. After stealing and tasting the forbidden fruit, he spontaneously combusted as the result!

Betrayed by her boyfriend in the most humiliating way, She seeks solace in a night bar that leads to an unexpected turn—she finds herself pregnant with quadruplets, and the father is a gigolo!She thought it was merely a fleeting encounter, she returns home only to discover he's transformed into the city's most influential CEO.Struggling as a single mother, she's caught off guard when fate brings them together again. He recognizes her, and traps her...

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.”