He Is Warmer Than Time - Chapter 2112 - 2172-I hope so

There are three treasures in the imperial city: Me, my husband and my mother-in-law.Su Guifei¹ was favored and envied by countless imperial consorts in the harem. Chen Wang² grew up with His Majesty showing favoritism to him. However, anyone, who was more or less educated, would sigh with regret and say that this pair of mother and son were sure to come to a bad end in the future.Ming Jiuzhu, who was about to marry Chen Wang: Really? I don’t believe it.Chen Wang in Jiuzhu’s eyes: a beautiful and kindhearted little fairy boy vs. Chen Wang in the eyes of others: His Majesty and his favored consort’s hedonistic son.Jiuzhu often wondered why people always gazed at her and Chen Wang with a ‘you are doomed one way or another’ look. Could this be the ugly side of jealousy?Aiyah, the hearts of these people are so dirty.————–¹ Guifei – Noble Consort² Wang – Title given to adult sons of the Emperor.

Lin Chen transmigrates to the Dragon Ball world and unexpectedly awakens the Strongest selection system.“Defeat Frieza and prevent the destruction of Planet Vegeta. Reward: Legendary Saiyan bloodline.”“Choice 2: Defeat Supreme Kai. Reward: Supreme Kai’s powers..……

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.”