Martial Cultivator - Chapter 919.2: In This World, I’m the Hardest to Mess With - Part 2

(Marriage first, love later, short-lived parents, 1v1 double cleanliness)

Du Jingyi braved his fate and married into the Duke’s mansion, becoming the daughter-in-law of a wealthy family.

The husband is Shang Shaoyu, the most popular god of war in the Daxing Dynasty at that time, but it is widely said that he is known as a wife-suppressant.

I thought it was a match made in heaven.

Unexpectedly, on the night of the wedding, Shang Shaoyu only had time to lift his hijab, leaving a sentence of “Cezhou is in danger” and left in a hurry for three years.

After the master returned to court, he remembered that he had a lovely wife in his house.

I thought she had been wronged, but I found that my beloved wife hiding in Xitang Courtyard was living a better life than anyone else.

Everyone in the Duke’s mansion was going through so much trouble, but she was the only one who was pampered…

Du Jingyi just wanted a stable retirement, but he was forced to kill everyone in the back house.

First, half of the bed was given away, and then someone squeezed into my heart for no reason.

Just before her fall.

The general, who had a hard face and a cold heart, had a gentle and charming smile.

He whispered in her ear: Madam, please have mercy…

- Description from novelbuddy

The first time they meet, she bumps into him. The second time they meet, she agrees to a marriage contract in exchange for his help in her bid for revenge. But… he becomes addicted to loving her.

During his first attempt, he flies a helicopter domineeringly; in his second attempt, he arrogantly removes all his love rivals; in his third attempt, he tries to tie her down using a cute child. Youxuan replies with a plain resounding ‘no’ all three times.

In the end, Shan Hanjie takes one look at her, grits his teeth, and plops onto the ground. “Babe, you dropped your prince charming, please bring him home!”

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.”