The Big Boss & His Dainty Wife - Chapter 641 - : Still Remember His Number_1

Suddenly finding herself in a rural setting, Lin Caisang became the village's renowned 'Star of Wealth and Honor'. Surrounded by unique relatives, they treated her as if she were a rare panda—held preciously in their palms for fear she would fall and gently kept in their mouths lest she dissolved.Meet the exceptional relatives:The Powerhouse Father, who declared, “You want Sangsang to get married? You'll have to get past me first.”The Stingy Mother, questioning, “What does she need a husband for? She can have all the fine food and a carefree life with me!”The Sly Grandfather, suggesting, “Girls shouldn’t have to do the dirty, tiring work. Quick, call over your brother!”The Majestic Grandmother, fiercely proclaiming, “Who dares to bully Sangsang? Let them face a fight to the death with me!”The Protective Brother, assuring, “Little sister, all the good food is for you. I am not hungry!”Holding her flabby flesh, Lin Caisang wept without tears: “Let me go! I need to lose weight!” Meanwhile, the strikingly handsome, icy man next door not only protected and spoiled her in secret but also had a not-so-simple identity.....

Jiang Xinyu transmigrates into the 1950s without parents. In a time of famine with nothing to eat?But she just wants to live the life of a happy-go-lucky slacker...So she has to roll up her sleeves and fight!Carrying space, full of blessings!Heaven's favor, what you think is what you get.While others starve, she gains weight, determined to live out the luck she didn't have in her previous life.

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.”