Stop Bothering Me, Emperor - Chapter 95 Check and Balance

Earth Immortals are cultivated from a blessed land.

Heaven Immortals move to and from the divine mountains.

I have a stalk of plum blossom, and I shall plunder the Will of the Heavens with it!

- Description from Novelupdates

The suicide of a high school girl following the rejection of her crush whom she confessed to roused the soul of a Scorpio* Marshal from her 200 million years of slumber — she reincarnated into the body of Xuan Mo. And so, she decided to live on Earth on behalf of the girl! However, it was quite the miserable situation for an alien to own two different sets of memories. She had to use her peculiar mental power to peep into the previous owner’s memories regarding everyday, mundane matters while trying to rein in her cutting aura pretending to be a normal human…

But her shocking performance during military training definitely must have floored everyone. Okay fine, her incredible finesse aside, what’s with the consecutive bullseye for every single round during their shooting competition? Was this something a normal female student is able to achieve? Shouldn’t you explain yourself a little damnit! And what’s with the multiple grade jumps, and being contended for by the various prestigious universities? What kinda havoc you try’na wreck with your low-key flaunting? I mean it’s a good thing she’s caught the eye of a special organisation and was entrusted with important tasks, but what’s with all aloof rule-breaking gameplay? She’s practically the walking definition of “hated by even the gods”.

What’s even stranger was that Xuan Mo’s only ever interested in warring matters and battling; she’ll only ever pay her ferociously blooming blossom luck as much heed as she minds the passing cloud with the mindset of crossing the bridge when she reaches it (wipes sweat) and can you be less insensitive when handling the various Earthlings’ endless crushing and eye-candying you?!

This all screeches to a halt however when she discovers the existence of someone else from her home-planet, so she’ll be needing a raincheck with the getting a “spouse” part of mortal life on the Blue Planet. Of course, we’re discussing this on the premise that she wanted to return home…

* T/N: 天蝎星 = scorpio; may be referring to the star sign “Scorpio” or the planet called “Scorpio Planet” (to be determined later in the story)

As a villainous demonic cultivator, isn’t it perfectly normal to take a fox demoness as a spiritual pet?As a villainous junior brother, isn’t it reasonable to make the cold and stunning senior sister reveal a shy side?As a villainous disciple, isn’t it my duty to melt the icy heart of my villainous master and save her from the abyss of corruption?…I was wrong.After they fell to darkness, they captured me and ruthlessly “repaid” their gratitude.

“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.