MTL - Being an Author is a High Risk Occupation - Chapter 9

In the foreign world, the martial artists dominate the world and the sword of the emperor controls the fate of hundreds of millions of lives! Long Yu, the number one killer on Earth, after dying, takes rebirth in this new world in an aristocratic family of martial artists but faces rejection because he is unable to practice martial arts.

- Description from Novelupdates

The grand master of Shape-Will Fist, Ning Wufeng, was brought to the Divine Land Continent by a mysterious scroll. In this world, he was an abandoned child and appointed by his family as inferior leader of a small fishing village because he was unable to open up his Spirits Aperture and begin his cultivation.

However, he seemed destined to open up his abandoned with the memories of previous life integrating into his mind. And the scroll guided Ning Wufeng into a vast mysterious hidden world where he was bestowed divine weapons and acquired supreme skills of cultivation.

Deafening thunder indicated the immense changes in the movement of winds and clouds. In a world where people worshiped martial arts, how could the teenage loser be the master of his own destiny? How could he wield his power to control the world, making gods and demons tremble with fear?

- Description from Novelupdates

I’m an imperial uncle; his imperial majesty’s uncle.

Once, someone with nothing better to do took a comprehensive survey of the current dynasty, and summed up the imperial court’s three great cancers.

Wang Qin leads in corruption; the treasury is never full.

Yun Tang favours a few, forming cabals; leading to corruption in our politics.

Prince Huai plays with power, and serves as the head of a hundred poisons — thus causing instability to the throne.

When they talk about the most venomous of vipers, the wicked one who plays with power, the biggest cancer of them all, they’re talking about me: this insignificant prince, Prince Huai, Chengjun.

I can only say that I feel rather hapless in the face of these theories.

In truth, I have been ever dutiful, ever devoted, devoid of intention to monopolise power, and possess even less of a heart to covet the throne. In the entire imperial court, I dare say there is no loyal subject more loyal than I.

But, most tragically, in all the realm, the matter of my being a loyal subject is something that not many would believe.

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.