MTL - Guardian of Douluo - Chapter 65

This is the story about the rebirth of a xiao gōng with a sweet steamed bun-like xiao shòu.

In the past life, xiao shòu, in order to help xiao gōng block a poisonous blade, ended up dying due to blood loss.

After the rebirth of xiao gōng, xiao shòu was loved till overflowing.

This is a cliche story which is warm, sweet, no abuse.

- Description from Novelupdates

Eli was transmigrated to a world of magic and became immortal.

He had endless life and could never die.

“Huh? I’m talentless? Then, I’ll just train for as long as I need, even if it takes 1000 years. That should be enough for me to become strong.”

“The skill is hard to learn? Then, I’ll take a few dozens of years to research it. There’s no way it’s that hard, right?”

“What? I can sacrifice my life force to gain spirit power? That’s a bargain!”

“The enemy is here? Hell, I’ll just hide for 10000 years. Let’s see if he can outlive me. I’ll come out once he’s dead.”

This is the story of an immortal who first struggled to live in the world of magic until he became strong enough to slaughter endless worlds.

The night before we obtained our marriage certificate, I asked him, “When did you start to develop feelings for me?”

He answered, “I don’t remember.”

“But, why me?”

“Why not you?”

“I’m very petty, and I get jealous very easily.”

“So am I.”

“I’m afraid I’m not worthy of you.”

“So am I.”

“I haven’t really dated, so I don’t know what love is.”

“I don’t know either.”

He held my hand gently, “But I know this. When I think about spending the rest of my life with you, I feel that my future is filled with hope.”

At 16, we used the same class desk, with less than 10cm between our arms. My peripheral vision was full of him.

At 26, I woke up in the morning, and saw the sunlight softly shining on his face. I thought, this is how I want to grow old – gradually, together, with him.

I guess this must be love.

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.”