My Girlfriend is a Zombie - Chapter 590: A Face Full of Slime

Bibi Dong, once the powerful Supreme Pontiff, never expected to be reborn—especially not as someone else's martial spirit. In this new life, she finds herself bound to a young soul master with great potential but little knowledge of the powerful spirit within him.As Bibi Dong guides her host, she must confront her past mistakes and figure out why she was given this second chance. Is it to correct her past, or is there something more at play?

Deng Shirong was reborn and returned to the summer of 1980.

In the previous life, because I believed the matchmaker’s words easily, several of my children’s marriages were unhappy. My two sons-in-law were unable to support me, and my several daughters-in-law made the family a mess.

In this life, he will personally take action to find partners for his children.

A few years later, when I got together with some old friends, when they talked about whether their daughters-in-law were filial or not, Deng Shirong didn’t say anything. He just posted a WeChat Moments message in front of several old friends, saying Suddenly I want to eat Guilin’s beer fish.

The next moment, several daughters-in-law living in different cities called him in turn:

Eldest daughter-in-law: “Dad, I will drive back to pick you up on Saturday to travel to Guilin. I haven’t eaten authentic beer fish in a long time!”

Second daughter-in-law: “Dad, I happen to have nothing to do right now. I will drive back to pick you up. Let’s go to Guilin for a few days together.”

Third daughter-in-law: “Dad, my company still has some things to deal with. I’ll ask the driver to pick you up first…”

Fourth daughter-in-law: “…”

Young daughter-in-law: “…”

Several old friends were stunned and their eyes were red with envy!

[This book mainly describes the customs and customs of the rural areas of Bobai County, Guangxi in the 1980s. It focuses on matchmaking + food + daily life. It has a strong local flavor, real prices, and a reasonable plot. It requires careful appreciation, and those who are impetuous should beware]

ps: There is an old book “I don’t accept anyone as a matchmaker” with a high order of 35,000+. If you are interested, you can check it out!

- Description from novelbuddy

Of all the characters in this story, it had to be the son of a bitch!?Thanks to the courtesy of Truck-kun, I was transmigrated into the famous yet garbage novel, [Hero's Apocalypse].The character I possessed was a third-rate extra who had the [Talent] to 'plunder' other talents. Yet, as overpowered as it might sound, the conditions to fulfill a successful plundering were extreme, making this character truly befitting a third-rate trash.But that's not what's important right now—it's the fact that this man's role in the original story was his very death, and I opened my eyes after the original body just finished killing himself.“Fuck! Why did you attempt to sexually assault the Imperial Princess?!”Feeling livid, I strongly punched the mirror in front of me, knowing that as soon as I gained a new life through mysterious means, others would inevitably come to take it because of this bastard's unforgivable sin.But I wanted to survive...Motherfucker, can I do it?!

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.”