MTL - Pirates: Opening Nine Tails Bombs Mary Joa - Chapter 129 Make a reservation for Ah Xing who eats the fruit of the Buddha

I was nothing. A lowly omega, destined to live in the shadows of stronger wolves. But on the night of my eighteenth birthday, the moon had other plans for me. My mate was an Alpha’s son. The problem? He wasn’t the only one. The Blackwood triplets—Kael, Ronan, and Darian—each bore the same mark that bound them to me.To be Luna, I would have to survive the chaos of three powerful mates, a jealous rival who wanted my place, and a secret buried deep in my bloodline.Because being chosen by the moon was never a gift. It was a curse.

If you can reincarnate or transmigrate into a cultivation novel world and you have a choice, would you be a protagonist, an antagonist, a side character, or a mob character?

And what would you do if you are aware that you’re a character in a cultivation novel?

Mao Miaomiao, a 60-year-old retired professional MMA fighter got transmigrated into a mysterious cultivation world with modern technologies. He found himself in his youthful body, and he got a system as a bonus.

Cliche, right?

The Wilds relentlessly reclaim all things. Humanity shelters within their ever-dying cities. Mages create the only path forward.Tala had to fight tooth and nail in the Magic Academy to forge a path to power that was her own. She knows it’s her duty to use that power to serve humanity, defending them against the creatures of the untamable wilds. However, she skipped a few steps in her education, like apprenticing to someone who actually knows what they’re doing.Now, Tala has to balance learning as fast as she can with paying off the veritable mountain of debt the Magic Academy dropped on her shoulders for the opportunity; not to mention staying alive.Even though she should only be a Mageling, the world considers her a Mage. Bless the stars she directed most of her magic toward survival.

“They Call Guys Like Me a Simp.”(Meanwhile, I’m out here living what their favorite MC only dreams about.)You ever notice how stories glorify the ones who feel nothing?The MC who never laughs.Never feels.Who plays women like chess pieces and calls it intelligence.He manipulates a girl? “He’s strategic.”He never opens up? “He’s mysterious.”He never flinches, never laughs, never lives —And you call that strength?Funny.Because to me?That’s just a prison in disguise.You see an “alpha.”I see a boy too scared to feel anything real.While they spend ten chapters monologuing about logic and sacrifice,I’m already making the Saintess scream,drenched in sin,halo cracked,legs trembling from truths her prayers never taught her.And I didn’t get there with cold eyes or control.I got there with laughter and chill. With warmth. With a grin and a hand on her thigh.I didn’t need to dominate her mind —I freed her heart.But that scares people, doesn’t it?Because readers trust the ones who suffer.Who stay quiet.Who kill without blinking and love without showing it.But me?I flirt.I laugh.I take hits and smile back, bloody and defiant, as if too weak to get angry.I don’t need to pretend emotions are weakness.I weaponize mine.Pleasure. Connection. Laughter.That’s my arsenal.And while your favorite MC is still calculating his next five moves,Trying to outwit death and romance like both are math problems,I’m already balls deep in the jade fairy — her sacred yin furnace clenching like it’s worshipping my shaft, her Dao Echo shattered into breathless moans, and her so-called cultivation path leaking down her thighs while she begs me to break her meridians again.You call that luck?Nah.That’s mastery of the three worlds.Because in a world that respects coldness,I came in hot.Where others manipulate, I connect.Where they posture, I play.Where they sacrifice, I seduce.So go ahead.Call me a simp.But while your genius MC is busy monologuing about destiny,I’m the one making goddesses question theirs —with a smirk, a touch, and no regrets.I’m not the hero.Not the villain.I’m just a simp… the kind who leaves your cold, emotionless MC’s woman dripping, ruined, and too stretched to go back to him.