Fortunate Eighties: The Bewitching Female Rival Who Tamed Her Husband with Skill - Chapter 138 - My 50 yuan is still here what about

Have you ever seen exposing holy vein?

Have you ever seen revealing a Divine Ranked Martial Technique?

Have you seen all the women in the world go crazy for a man alone?

“Carrying the dragon slayer on his shoulder and holding the Zhuge sword in his hands, he asked,” “Fuck, who else is there?”

The nerd Long Fei brought a type of Striking System and teleported here. Killing monsters and levelling up, killing people as well as levelling up, suppressing the Three Realms and destroying all those who were unconvinced!

- Description from Novelupdates

Once transmigrated, the Mob Queen became a small peasant girl and was given a small bun.

Her parents were biased, while her siblings disliked her. Her father, aunt, and brother bullied the weak and feared the strong. Was her eccentric grandfather trying to sell her for money? She also wanted to get involved …

What should he do? The Queen rolled up her sleeves. Don't be afraid, just do it.

However, he had accidentally provoked the man he had picked up from the mountain.

“I will raise you and you will belong to me,” the mountain man said.

Hehe, raise your ass!

He started a fertile field, raised livestock, and his days became more and more popular. He even collected the mighty and domineering Han warm bed in the mountains for his use.

However... How did you become a general in this mountain?!

Everyone knows that the eldest young master of the Fu family is cold and noble, sinister and cunning.Few people know that he has loved a woman for over ten years and even has a child, making him a true hypocrite.Until one day, in front of the media and under the spotlight, he holds the woman firmly in his arms, tender and affectionate—“Marriage, children, the whole package. After so many years, you still refuse to take responsibility for me?”

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.”