The Detective is Already Dead - Chapter 91 - 1.3

“Can I tell you a secret, sister?” Tang BaoBao whispered to Xiao Hanrui.

“What is it!”

“I have found a superstar girlfriend.”

Xiao Hanrui exclaimed “Female Superstar! What is going on in your head?”

” Am I beautiful? Do I look good? Are my legs long?”

“Do you want to die? Where did you get the courage to even find a superstar girlfriend?”

- Description from Novelupdates

Miss Su had lived a sheltered life focused on learning the three obediences and four virtues since she was young. Before she could marry, she was killed by the autumn rain. Reborn as a peasant girl in the 1980s, Su Danhong became a wife and also unexpectedly got a spiritual spring! She didn’t expect that her previous life’s embroidery skills were master level embroidery skills in this life? The master was not a master. Miss Su didn’t care. What she cared about was that she could use these skills to make money and not worry about clothes and food. Growing precious flowers and plants, embroidering beautiful mountains and rivers, and enjoying the simple life.This is the story of an ancient girl from a noble family who went through rebirth to the 1980s where she farmed and gave birth.

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.”