Pampered by My Secret Husband - Chapter 832 - 834: Why Should I Help If She’s Not My Woman?

It was only last year that I realized that the world I had been reincarnated into was the world of the Romantic Comedy book. What's worse, the person I had reincarnated as was someone featured in the book.A running gag character who the Main Characters ran into at the most random times, of no use, and who would disappear as quickly as he appeared—an Extra C.Last year. A year before starting High School.It was already too late.Extra C had already become...

When I entered for the Film Academy, the examiner arranged a crying scene for me. I pinched my thighs blue but still no tears came out, but now, oh.

Chen You held a cigarette with his mouth, give me ten seconds, I can cry like a dog, a dead dog.

444: Film Emperor, it’s time to go to the next set.

- Description from Novelupdates

The once most powerful ancient forbidden divine art, the Ancient Dragon Elephant Technique has been lost for millions upon millions of years.Countless years later, youth Lin Feng who was down on his luck, managed to obtain the number one ancient forbidden divine art, the Ancient Dragon Elephant Technique by chance.When Lin Feng departed from a tiny city of the northern-most area in the world, a legendary story would begin.This is a world with experts as many as the trees in a forest, a world where different races vyes for supremacy.Who shall rule over destiny in this boundlessly vast land?Depending on the Ancient Dragon Elephant Technique, Lin Feng battle the heavens and fought the earth, sweeping aside all experts with dominance, tyrannically ruling the myriad realms.

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.”