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... n! Your hospital is full of quacks, you treated my grandson to death! You owe my grandson!"

The horrendous screams reverberated endlessly through the hospital corridors. Xiao Yifei slightly furrowed his brow and could only vaguely see, through his exceptional vision, a child with a cyanotic complexion in the old woman’s arms.

"Can we please not panic? Let’s all calm down first, and talk slowly about what exactly happened; there is no need to be so drastic."

However, the d ...

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People all say that the fourth daughter of the Marquis of Jing’an is really lucky. She is favored in the palace, has heirs and has a good family background. That is really a great thing! In fact, Shen Chuliu himself didn’t know how he got to this point.

It was like this at first. The concubine next to her was playing the piano and dancing. Shen Chuliu said that I was not a performer.

The concubine next to her was writing poems and painting, and Shen Chuliu said that I didn’t want to take the imperial examination. People laughed at her and said she was not favored. She smiled slightly and said, “I have a family background.”

The emperor really has no choice. If the concubine doesn’t come to please her, he still has to see her! Who said someone’s mother’s family is really awesome? Shen Chuliu really didn’t care. Those bastard relatives liked him so much that he started to let himself go as soon as he entered the palace.

It feels good to let go for a while, and it feels good to keep letting go. As a human being, the most important thing is to be comfortable. If you are too frustrated, even the emperor will not be able to use it!

- Description from novelbuddy

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In a certain empire, a young prince was born with a golden pickaxe. It should have been seen as a miracle or a blessing, but instead, the emperor wanted nothing to do with the child. He refused to accept a prince blessed with what he considered a commoner’s job, fearing it would taint his royal bloodline.Abandoned by his own parents, the young boy, Shennong, was taken in by a succubus.But neither the succubus nor the emperor knew the truth about him—Shennong was no ordinary child. He was a reincarnator.This is the story of how the world of Matay reacts to the birth of the first Sandboxer, a class unknown to many. Will Shennong forgive those who abandoned him? What was the purpose of his reincarnation in this world? What is the true nature of the golden pickaxe, and what does it mean for Shennong?One thing is certain—Shennong is not alone in this world because he had a true sandbox system and people to support him even in this world.Join him and experience a true sandbox adventure!

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“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.