MTL - Happiness Consist in Contentment - v17 Chapter 22

“Ah……painful”

Lying on the cold operating table, the girl’s sentimental feelings faded, a mysterious man took her innocence.

Meeting again, the mysterious man was actually a black bellied VIP, capturing her home, wanting to spoil her.

“Reporting to the Boss, some slag man came looking for the madame.”

“Directly bury him alive.”

“Reporting to the Boss, some slag lady was jealous that the Mrs. came first in a medical contest, and slapped the lady in the face.”

“Her slag face will be broken, send her straight to hell on earth to die.”

“Reporting to the Boss, the enemy is going to catch your wife and use her as a military doctor.”

“Immediately dispatch the armed forces, and bomb the enemy!”

“Reporting to the boss, the lady ran away from home, she said to tell the president she wants to give him a child……”

“F***, I did not feed her last night! Catch her, the army has seven days and seven nights of holiday, I have business to attend to!”

- Description from Novelupdates

As an author who transmigrated into her own abusive novel, Shi Luo didn’t feel any pressure from it. Besides, it’s not like she transmigrated into the female protagonist who got abused physically and mentally anyway. And so she decided there was nothing she had to do, all she had to do was just to watch it unfold in front of her eyes.

But this development seems a bit wrong! Wasn’t this supposed to be an abusive novel? How unlucky!

- Description from Novelupdates

Yang Feng somehow transmigrated into a different world and received a legacy of an ‘ancient high tech’ family, which does not directly raise his power, but gives him the technology to build things which are way more advanced than the seemingly medieval world.

I once believed I was the heroine of a modern fairytale, blessed with beauty, wealth, intelligence, and a powerful legacy. Men adored me, women envied me, and I was engaged to the most desirable man, Cole Fay. My life seemed perfect, a dream where I held the starring role. But on my eighteenth birthday, that illusion crumbled. The truth hit me hard: I wasn’t the protagonist, nor even the villain or a side character. I was just cannon fodder, a disposable part of someone else’s story. But when fate recognized the cruel joke of my life, I was granted a second chance. This time, I’ll write my own story, living for myself. And this time . . . I will never love you again.