The King of Hell's Genius Pampered Wife - Chapter 1979: Honey Trap

Ling Lang is thirty-two years old and an A list movie star. He is also the youngest to become the king of the silver screen. Known for having a cold and aloof disposition, people nicknamed him king iceberg of the silver screen. His biggest secret? He is a masochist down to his very bones.

- Description from Novelupdates

In a person’s life, three percent depends on hard work, seven percent depends on talent, and ninety percent depends on appearance.

Ding Mu, originally an ordinary person with a little handsome, a little money, and a little smart, could only live an ordinary life with a little luxury and a little glory.

By chance, Ding Mu wanted to download Meitu Xiuxiu, but got a real-life beautification system of aliens.

- Description from novelbuddy

Lin An's life underwent a drastic change.The basketball under his bed had turned into a bleeding head, which would hop next to his pillow and hum softly by his ear at midnight. The subway racing into the station had become a gigantic lizard, opening its gaping maw, waiting for him to line up and feed it.The world was not as simple as he had imagined. Behind the bustle of the city, the Witch Hunter Knights roamed in search of evil wizards to slay.The ordinary worker, Lin An, inadvertently became a member of the Antler Witch-Hunting Knight Order, shouldering the glorious mission to protect humanity.He must be careful, careful, and then even more careful.Careful not to reveal his true identity as a wizard.…“Why Hunt a Cowardly Innocent Wizard?!”

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.”