Rebirth Of The Strongest Female Emperor - Chapter 36: Rite of the Sabbath (1)

(Apocalypse Farming, Sweet Pet 1V1) As soon as she opened her eyes, Su Shu found herself reborn two months before the Apocalypse. Before her rebirth, a certain man watched over her and protected her for three years, almost going as far as dragging her home to swallow her whole. After her rebirth, not only did she have to raise her adorable genius niece, but she also had to take care of a wolfish husband. This Apocalypse was a bit different! The pitiful her from her previous life now not only had a heaven-defying space, but also blood-related family, and on top of that, the indulgent spoiling of Tang Dashao, who sprinkled dog food without restraint. Su Shu thought, even if the heavens required her to reset and start over once again, it wouldn't matter. She would just meet Buddha, kill Buddha; meet a ghost, kill a ghost!

“Ding! Congratulations! You have received 7 billion red pockets!”

“Ding! Congratulations! You have received 50 million yuan!”

“Ding! Congratulations! You have received a Lamborghini Aventador!”

“Ding! Congratulations! You have received 51% stock of a listed company!”

“Ding! Congratulations! You have received a whole tower worth 5 billion!”

“Ding! Congratulations! You have received the skill, Combat King!”

“Ding! Congratulations! You have received the skill, God’s Singing Voice!”

“7 billion red packets? How long will it even take me to open all of them?” Lin Fan complained.

“Excuse me, how long do you think it will take you to earn a million?” a certain random reporter asked.

Lin Fan was silent.

“Sorry, but, why do you keep blinking?” the reporter asked.

“Didn’t you ask how long it would take?”

The happiest thing in the world is to be able to amend what you have done wrong. She who acted willfully because of a game, was reincarnated into a time when she still had her parents’ love.

“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.