MTL - Luxurious Life After Swapping Body With Unconscious Husband - Chapter 21 you! Do not! Row!

Even though he lived in America, Tang Cu had been deemed the “godly author” since his debut 8 years ago on a famous Chinese online novel website. However, many people did not know he had a severe social anxiety disorder which caused him to be considered “cold.” After being invited to do an interview for the company’s 10 year anniversary celebration in China, he finally gathered his courage to meet with his #1 fan, Pian Yu.

Pian Yu had been following Tang Cu’s novels for his entire career and, after noticing the lack of romance in Tang Cu’s popular novels, they wrote fanfiction for his novels to include the ‘romance’ Tang Cu left out.

However, Pian Yu turned out to be a male college student named Lu LianGuang.

- Description from Novelupdates

I am a female secretary of an overbearing president in a typical dog blood drama text.

The kind of person who doesn’t have a name at the end of the day, and could only be called “secretary”, one who wears a tight fitting black dress and a pair of 10cm high heels every day, running around in front of the president, humbly praying for the president’s attention, and hating the heroine.

In fact, I really don’t. If I like the president, I’ll be struck by lightning.

I’m getting more and more sick of the president lately. Except for the outstanding appearance that the author forced on him, this person is really useless from head to toe, low in EQ, and low in IQ.

A legendary business genius who is all-powerful, but he doesn’t even understand anything, chickens know more than him.

I had to reject all of his unreasonable demands every day, and on the way, teach him relevant knowledge of economic law and finance, and gradually…he became a master.

I’m so tired, I really want to quit my job.

- 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.