Snowstorm: I'm Super Rich in the Apocalypse - Chapter 139 - Cant Pour the Water Out of My Brain

‘Less than a month old… I became the the great empire’s treasured princess…!’

Li Xiaonian dies as a result of his girlfriend’s betrayal. Luckily, he has the chance to start all over again and is reborn with a mysterious space battleship he accidentally acquired in his previous life—”Shadow”.

Returning to the virtual online game “Star Wind’ that everyone is crazy about, he finds himself to be a little different in this life. The gift “Shadow” bestowed on him this time turns out to be Memory Instillation. With this gift, it only takes him a moment to master any kind of skill.

Ding… System: You’ve acquired primary shooting skills and gained 10 years of shooting experience.

System: you’ve acquired mechanical modification technology and gained 10 years of mechanical assembly experience.

Playing the game, unconsciously, Li Xiaonian has become a zillionaire and a man of great wisdom in the real world.

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MC (female protagonist) dies in a plane crash and wakes up in the body of a beautiful but corrupt and lascivious prime minister in ancient times, Zhang Qinglian. As circumstances decree, he (she) cannot reveal that the original owner’s soul is gone else calamity might occur. So he (she) decides to walk a righteous path, determined to help the lovely but simple little emperor rule the country. Not backing down after facing torture, not losing courage, destroying rebellions and facing off with scheming princes.

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.”