My Three Wives Are Beautiful Vampires - Chapter 451: Victims of their own whims.

“I’ll say it again, I’m not really a genius singer, nor a genius creator! I have no love for singing! My ideal is to be a carpenter!”

“But Mr. Xu, you have won the Grand Slam of awards, and your albums have accumulated the world’s number one sales! Your lyrics and production have won so many kings and queens with one hand! You are considered by everyone to have crushed one by yourself. era!”

“Didn’t you agree to talk about woodworking? Don’t you want to do it?”

“No, boss! But this is your TV station, you have to think about the ratings! Everyone just wants to hear how awesome you are, not your woodworking hobby! The story of being banned?…Okay, okay, can we talk about last year’s rich list? We all know that there are four Chinese women in the top 50 of the world’s richest list, all of them are single, and it is rumored that they are all single with you…”

“Actually, woodworking is very interesting, let’s talk about woodworking!”

“Why don’t we talk about An Xiaojing An Tian? Everyone is very curious. She is not married, but her three children are all surnamed Xu, and…”

- Description from novelbuddy

The six prefectures of Zhongbo were offered to foreign enemies on a silver platter, and Shen Zechuan was taken into custody in the capital, reduced to a drowning dog—loathed and condemned by all.Xiao Chiye followed the scent of the furor and made his way over. But instead of setting others on him, he kicked Shen Zechuan with his very own leg, rendering the latter an invalid. Who would expect this invalid to turn around and bite him in a counterattack until he was all drenched in blood?That was the start of an epic feud between both men who tore at each other every time they come face-to-face with one another.“Fate wants to bind me here for life, but this is not the path I choose. The yellow dust submerged my brothers deep under. I have no wish to bow in submission to an illusory fate. The imperial edict can’t save my troops, and the imperial court can’t fill the stomachs of my mounts. I’m no longer willing to lay down my life for this purpose. I want to surmount that mountain. I am going to fight for myself.”Note: A ‘drowning dog’ is someone who is down and out, having lost favor or power.

A frail and often ill son of a wealthy merchant unexpectedly embarked on the path of cultivating immortality while seeking a way to prolong his life!During the Tang Dynasty’s Golden Age, the world was at peace, the climate was favorable, and the people lived in tranquility.One thousand years later, demonic beings devoured the sky, demonic ghosts rampaged, and sorrow-filled cries resonated everywhere.The Journey to the West reappeared, the Great Sage fought against the heavens, the Heavenly Stem descended to the mortal world, reincarnating anew.Mysterious transmigrations and reincarnations, reality and illusions intermingling, truly extraordinary!Is it just a dream predicted in the prophecy? Or a reality that has yet to occur?Can he eradicate the predestined demonic barrier, eliminate the catastrophes of the Three Realms that have yet to occur, and save the people from utter destruction?

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.”