Empire of the Ring - Chapter 760 - Putin’s Proposal (2)

A gas explosion caused Bai Xue to be reborn on Bai Ruxue’s body.

Fortunately, her department store followed her. Rice noodles, grains and oils, vegetable and fruit snacks, clothing and department stores are all available.

She took the supplies in her hands and exchanged money for a house, a car, a job, and gold!

Threatening, with the supermarket in hand, I have the world.

Zhang Mou came to the door: How to repay the grace of saving life?

If the handsome man is like this, the grace of saving his life should be promised with his body!

- Description from novelbuddy

Chu Yang, the Ninth Master of the Nine Tribulations Sword, sacrificed almost everything he had for the sake of improving his martial arts, including the love of his life. After spending three years locating the fifth fragment of the Nine Tribulations Sword, he was ambushed by all sides at that very place. Mortally injured with no means of escape, Chu Yang executed a sacrificial technique by plunging the Nine Tribulations Sword into his very own heart. “With the blood of my heart, ten thousand tribulations will collapse!”

After witnessing the death of all his ambushers, Chu Yang’s vision began to darken. At a distance, moments before his death, he saw the mastermind who had plotted his downfall — Mo Tian Ji. With that, his eyes finally closed.

However, with a start, Chu Yang once again awoke to find that he had returned to when he was sixteen years of age! Furthermore, the Sword Spirit of the Nine Tribulations Sword now resided within his Dantian, the energy center of his body! From that very moment, Chu Yang would then begin to right all of his past regrets, and carve his very own legend by fulfilling his destiny as the final Master of the Nine Tribulations Sword, and defeating the Heavenly Devils beyond the realm of the Nine Heavens Continent.

- 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.