Medical Master - Chapter 1959: Touching it can dispel calamities and illnesses…

Tunnel Rat is being revised. I have finished the revised manuscript for Book one, which comprises Chapters 1-60.

At some point, the first book will be published on Amazon. A few chapters and an outline of the first book will be left here on RR, and the bulk of chapters 1-60 will be removed, stubbing the book. I will give warning before that happens.

Milo lives in a steel cave within a man-made mountain of steel and concrete. He spends his days repairing the machinery that keeps the habitat livable and tinkering with the prosthetics that help his twisted body move about through the small tunnels and air shafts that are his world. He's as much a piece of discarded machinery as the equipment he keeps running.

Given a chance at being someone different will he become a hero and live in the sunlight? The light beckons, but there are secrets buried in the ground. Ancient mysteries left by races that delved deep and stayed below. Maybe only a tunnel rat could find them?

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The most beautiful old ancestor of the immortal sect, who lived for five thousand years, repeatedly broke the rules of immortality and was punished by the Heavenly Dao.Upon opening her eyes, she became the true daughter of the Xia family, who had been kidnapped into a mountain village as a child.She thought she would have to suffer through all the hardships of the human world, but who knew that when she woke up she was directly 14 years later, on the very day she was rescued—She wanted to run wild and be beautiful on her own, but her whole family pampered her to the heavens!Want to do scientific research? Three big brothers donate a research institute.Headache and cold? Powerful parents gather authoritative experts overnight, starting the examinations from cancer.Rumors in Capital City are never-ending: The Xia family's daughter is a spoiled and arrogant waste!The Xia family rose in defiance, but Xia Ye just laughed: I'll handle it myself.The foremost classic instrument of China, she made it casually 500 years ago.The ancient texts that students memorize until they're bald, necessary for the college entrance exam, were written by her 700 years ago in a drunken stupor.The world's seventh greatest unsolved mystery—a relic Sky Pit with a diameter of 7,300 meters—was created by her 1,000 years ago during a quarrel with Heavenly Dao.Everyone was waiting for her to show off and fail miserably, but the Xia family kept receiving calls from the Mutant Plant Association, metaphysics masters, supernatural organizations, cultural archaeology bureaus... “Has the old ancestor returned?”Later, Xia Ye ascended to the second spot on the global rich list. At the award ceremony, she raised an eyebrow: What happened to the divine retribution and punishment, it seems quite nourishing?By her side, the world's richest man, the Heavenly Emperor in a suit and shoes: How could I truly punish my own wife...

“You’re my wife in name only, on paper only. My heart and love will never be yours.”

Edward made it clear to Daisy that she was nothing to him. They were both victims of family greed -- the marriage was arranged for them.

Six years passed. She remained quiet, gaining a reputation in the army as a tough-as-nails colonel. When she walked into his life again, Edward fell in love with this woman, unlike any he had known. She surprised and delighted him. But will Daisy take him back? Can their son keep them together? Can the rift between them be healed? Pick this one up and find out!

“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.