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The True Heiress Is The Real Bigshot

Former bigshot, Ying Zijin, woke up one day as the lost daughter of the Ying family, who had been missing for fifteen years. The Ying family promptly adopted another child to replace her. Upon returning to the wealthy family, everyone mocked her for not being as clever, capable, sensible, and elegant as a fake heiress. Her parents considered her a stain on the family and warned her not to harbor any illusions of being a lady of the family. They said she should be grateful for being a foster daughter, or else they would send her away. Ying Zijin: "I'll leave then. No need to see me off." While the Ying family celebrated joyously and others waited to see the real heiress make a fool of herself, influential figures from various fields took action. The top-rated idol with the most influential fans said, "Miss Ying, just let me know if you need anything." The heir to a global economic monopoly said, "Ying family? What's that? Boss, should we just wipe them out?" The number one martial artist in the country asked, "Who dares to bully my master?" The genius teenage boy with an IQ of 228 said, "That's my sister." A man with an incredibly seductive appearance smirked lazily and casually, saying, "Sure, then call me brother-in-law." The influential figures were confused. When the real heiress' true identity was restored, it caused a sensation on the internet. The Ying family went crazy and knelt, crying and begging her to come back. The international powerhouse family said, "Sorry, let me introduce her. This is our real heiress." Reborn as a king, making a strong comeback and launching a counterattack!

Qing Qian · 综合
分數不夠
417 Chs

083 Global Shaking! [1 update]

The force was very light, almost non-existent.

But as a sharpshooter who roamed around the world, his senses were extremely keen.

Even the slightest rustle of the wind or grass, he could detect.

The spine of the sharpshooter tensed in an instant, cold sweat appeared on his forehead, and his heartbeat quickened.

But in the end, he still turned his head.

The crescent moon hung high, with sparse stars scattered thinly above.

The cold and faint moonlight cast upon the girl's features, adding a touch of chilliness to her appearance.

She was even wearing slippers, her long hair loosely draped over her shoulders.

Her phoenix eyes were hazy, misted with a faint vapor.

As if she had just woken up.

Yet the heart of the sharpshooter abruptly seized, because he saw what the girl was holding in her right hand.

A Desert Eagle.

A hunting rifle.

He seldom used it, only keeping it in his backpack.