Cultivation Nerd - Chapter 184: Red Bronze

My Shenhao system can only be upgraded after completing tasks.

With the Shenhao system in hand, you can go all the way to a radical life!

This is the rhapsody of a thirty-year-old man!

Book Friends Group: 1102095280

- Description from novelbuddy

An Jing had transmigrated into the body of an ancient farm girl whom everyone could bully.On the day she crossed over, she was sold. Alright, seizing the servitude contract, stepping on her good-for-nothing parents, she held her freedom in her grasp, she was in charge of her marriage, she called the shots for her future—nobody could point fingers at her!An Jing assertively slapped her servitude contract onto the man beside her, “Keep it safe, from now on I belong to you.”The man: “......”The man doted on her. Whatever she wanted to do, she did, and they even teamed up to torment all sorts of scum. The couple's life was incredibly satisfying.It's just that the man's identity...(A gratifying story, with both strong male and female leads, 1v1 pampering)

In her previous life, as Yun Xi lay on her deathbed due to a terminal illness, her famous painter husband said to her heartlessly, “Yun Xi, let’s get a divorce. I would never marry you if I knew that your sister was the one who saved me.” Yun Xi was dumbstruck. It was actually her who saved Mo Ran! She struggled to look at her sister, Yun Lian to see what was going on. Yet, what she saw made her heart sink into her stomach. Yun Lian lowered her gaze as she said, “Sister, I’m sorry. My Brother-in-law and I truly love each other. I’ve been hiding this for so long now, and I can’t hide it any longer.”

“Villains aren’t born, they’re made...blah...blah...”Cute quote. Stick it on your Tumblr header next to your anime pfp.You boys love your villain stories, don’t you?You want carnage. Chaos. Control. You want a dark throne, a cold smirk, and a woman kneeling at your feet begging for mercy.But you?You don’t want to lift a damn finger.You’ll cheer for the villain as he kills a god, but cry when he gets betrayed.You call it “plot armor” when the hero survives—but call it “art” when the villain does the impossible.You’re not fans of villains.You’re fetishists.You want the violence, but not the silence after it.You want domination, but not the burden of being hated.You want power, but only if the story forgives you for it.You don’t read these stories to understand evil.You read them because you think you're too good to win the normal way.“Villains don’t play fair.”Exactly. That’s why you love them.Because you wouldn’t last a day in a world where strength mattered and excuses didn’t.You don’t want a villain’s life.You want his results.You want to watch him burn the world for a woman.But you’d cry if a girl left you on read.So tell me—What exactly are you rooting for?At least unlike you, I support heroes—the ones with boobs.You know the type.Tits squeezed into latex, thighs tight in spandex, preaching virtue with cum-drunk eyes the moment they fall into my arms but always end up screaming my name instead.She flies above cities, saving lives like it’s her job.But at night? She crashes into my arms, trembling, moaning, clawing at my back like I’m the only real thing she’s ever touched.Her cape drops before her guard does.But I don't need to tear it off.She hands it over herself—bit by bit, kiss by kiss, lie by beautiful lie.You ever felt a heroine's breath hitch in your ear as she begs you to stop pretending you're the bad guy?Ever watched the symbol of hope ride you like you're the last man left after the world ended?That's not conquest.That’s devotion, baby.Unfiltered. Undeniable.And the irony?They fall the hardest.Because no villain ever tried to understand them. No hero ever dared to see past the shine and into the ache beneath.But I do.I whisper into the cracks of their perfection.I plant kisses where they hide their pain.I fuck them where they forget to wear their strength.And when they break—when their moans turn to prayers, when their strength melts into submission—That’s when I rise.I’m not just some brooding misfit out for revenge, or a misunderstood loner sitting around hoping for a shot at redemption.I’m not a villain.I’m the SUPERVILLAIN—the kind your heroines moan for when the cameras are off and the capes are crumpled on my floor.