MTL - Low IQ Supporting Female, Waiting for Death Online - Chapter 62

What is a genius? Capable of comprehending any battle skill regardless of the skill itself and sweeping away the bottlenecks while cultivating a new technique; this is a true genius! He Yiming was originally an ordinary youngster in the He family’s estate with not too extraordinary aptitude in learning martial arts.

– Question: “What is scarier than the personal experience of transmigrating into a horror movie?”

Anonymous: “Transmigrating into a movie you’ve never seen before.”

– “Poor comment! There’s nothing scary about that!”

Anonymous reply: “You sure? Can you be sure your dad isn’t a murderer? Can you be certain your spouse isn’t out to kill you for insurance money? Can you even be certain there isn’t any hidden lethal weapon in your son’s lunchbox? The scariest thing is that you have never seen this movie before so, you have absolutely no idea of any ‘surprise’ that awaits you ahead!”

Hence, this novel is also called .

A line to sum it up: The female lead transmigrates into various movie adaptations of real stories, and conquers the audience.

- Description from Novelupdates

Unconditional obedience to him? Dream on! Regrettably, after marrying Tang Yuchen, An Ruo's daily thoughts were of escape, escape, and more escape! Someone grew furious, “You want to flee? The only way out is if you die, or I perish!” Fine, she chose death! Yet he laughed wickedly, “Woman, do you intend to kill the son in your womb?”

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.”