Only the cult leader accepted my confession. - Chapter 11 - : What Does Bai Rourou Mean? Is She Trying to Seduce Me?

When Gao Ge is awake, he finds that he has returned to the earth before aura reappeared. The world will usher in an era of practitioners soon. Various schools of cultivation and families of ancient martial arts will spring up. As a man who is living a second life, Gao Ge will never let go of the chance to grasp the resources, cultivation methods and treasure places first.

In this era, there are many geniuses and I, Gao Ge, shall be the king of them.

The little snow fairy Tan Mo was about to complete her transformation into a human when she was picked away and reincarnated as the Tan family’s beloved daughter. Only then did she realize that she had become the tragic cannon fodder who died a miserable death after serving as her green tea cousin’s stepping stone for marrying We Keli, and whose life she had once seen before in her master’s mortal world mirror. Her parents seemingly aged overnight, and her three older brothers all suffered ignominy after their attempts to seek revenge for her. Yet with her here in this life, nobody should even think about harming her family! Tan Mo: Wanna play green tea with me? I’ll give you a taste of master level green tea art today!Reporter: Young Master Wei, what do you admire the most about your wife? Wei Zhiqian: She’s kind, cute, pure-hearted, and unpretentious. Reporter: Director Tan, your new work has been praised as a masterpiece. How did you create such an amazing script? Older brother Tan: There’s nothing of the sort. Truthfully, I didn’t write the script. It’s just that the true author is too low key to reveal her true identity. Reporter: Lord Tan, your new song has come out and immediately became the number one hit single on the charts. The lyrics are ingenious. Second brother Tan: You flatter me. The person who came up with the lyrics is someone very important to me. Without her, the song wouldn’t have been successful. Yet she’s too low key to reveal her identity. Reporter: Artist Tan, your painting was sold at a ten-figure price as soon as it hit the market. Where did the inspiration come from? Third brother Tan: It’s all thanks to her. Reporter: …… Oldest brother Tan, second brother Tan, third brother Tan: Our younger sister had always helped us without asking for anything in return. Wei Zhiqian: Without my protection, she would be ruthlessly bullied by those pretentious and innocent-looking Machiavellians.Everyone: Pfft! Who is the one bullying who!

Struggling until the age of thirty-eight without being able to afford a house. Facing the need to pay a dowry of three hundred thousand in order to get married. Living frugally for most of his life, working to the point of his liver breaking.

But, where was his money? Who in the world earned all the money away?

Jiang Qin, filled with countless resentments, is reborn at the age of eighteen. The only thought upon opening his eyes was to start a business and make money.

He snatched back the love letter he had given, flipped it over, and under the shocked gaze of the school belle, wrote three lines:

I shall never work a job again!

I just want financial freedom, never to be a s*ave!

As for love? Not even dogs would bother with that!

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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.”