Death Scripture - Chapter 905 - Everything

Mum ran away, dad’s crippled, and I’m about to be sold to a brothel.

Qiao Xiaomai rolled up her sleeves in anger: If you’ve taken from me, regurgitate it.

If you’ve seized what’s mine, return it.

All scumbags, clear off.

A certain man finished tidying up the mess, rolled up his sleeves and pulled Qiao Xiaomai into a light laugh: “My lady, if you’re this fiery and domineering at night, your husband…”

Qiao Xiaomai raised an eyebrow, patted the spot next to her: “My dear, come warm the bed~”

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Yao Mo Xin, the empress of Da Chu died in a cruel way a day after she gave birth at the hands of her husband the emperor, Ye Hong Yi, and her legitimate second sister, Yao Shu Ran. Ye Hong Yi got the throne because of the smartness of Yao Mo Xin, but he hated her because she made him feel like a useless person who needed a woman to become the emperor.

Her soul got in the body of her illegitimate third sister from the same mother Yao Mo Wan. Yao Mo Wan has the mentality of a child because the legitimate wife of her father fed poison to her mother while she was carrying Yao Mo Wan. Yao Mo Xin wants revenge for everything that happened to her, so she seduced the emperor and began her plan of taking everything away from him. She did that while pretending to still have the mentality of a child. She also wants to repay Ye Jun Qing back for everything he did for her while she was Yao Mo Xin. In the process of revenge, she met many people who will fall in love with her wit and intelligence.

- Description from Novelupdates

Our straight (?) bottom woke up ten years into the future and found himself on the bed of his childhood friend… At the start, the bottom was shocked to his very bones, but he soon quickly accepted this premise and found the whole situation to be rather amusing. Precisely then, the bottom once again went back to his timeline — back to when he and the top were just platonic childhood friends.

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.”