Flowers Bloom from Battlefield - Chapter 382: Trade

Struggling until the age of thirty-eight without being able to afford a house. Facing the need to pay a dowry of three hundred thousand in order to get married. Living frugally for most of his life, working to the point of his liver breaking.

But, where was his money? Who in the world earned all the money away?

Jiang Qin, filled with countless resentments, is reborn at the age of eighteen. The only thought upon opening his eyes was to start a business and make money.

He snatched back the love letter he had given, flipped it over, and under the shocked gaze of the school belle, wrote three lines:

I shall never work a job again!

I just want financial freedom, never to be a s*ave!

As for love? Not even dogs would bother with that!

……………………………………………………………

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Lin Fu's biggest regret was being born into a military police family, yet due to physical limitations, she could only sing and dance in the cultural troupe, serving as a qualified vase.Accidentally traversing to the interstellar era three thousand years later, she was thrilled to discover she possessed a rare S-level psychic power, inherently cut out to be a fleet commander.She would attend the military academy, join the Marine College, command a cosmic fleet, and become a gallant female general.**However, her new identity was just the daughter of a remote star system's farm owner. To achieve her dream, she aimed to marry into the family of the empire's youngest space fleet commander.Commander His Excellency was cold and abstinent, with an imposing presence, yet devastatingly handsome enough to break hearts. Lin Fu fell for him at first sight.She wanted to have him, and even more, she wanted to stash him away secretly.**Later on, the whole interstellar space finally learned that the always ridiculed incompetent bumpkin was actually the commander of the Empire's Third Fleet.She was also the former most noble and adorable Princess Freya of the royal family, as well as the fearsome star thief that made people tremble.The entire interstellar was boiling with excitement.The handsome and noble commander His Excellency was not happy: What happened to the promise of stashing me away privately?

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.”