Everyone Has Four Skills - Chapter 558 - : New Beast King

[Female Lead: Little Princess of the Cat Demon Clan] “Get off of me,” the man's voice carried a hint of helplessness and restraint.“I won't,” the girl shook her head, her arms tightly holding onto the man beneath her.“Be good, I can't sleep like this.”“But I always slept on top of you before.”“That was different... you're a human now.”In Capital City, a decisive, cruel, and cold-blooded mysterious head of the household unexpectedly gets saved by a tiny kitten, hence turning into a devoted slave to the cat, shocking all his subordinates.However, when one day he woke up to find the kitten in his arms had turned into a lovely and soft young girl, the head of the household was dumbstruck.Ask what's going on? Of course, it's a nurture story~Ask what to do? Naturally, continue to spoil her, just in a different way~“Young Master, everyone outside is saying that you have some special fetish. Why else would you spoil a cat to such an outrageously lawless degree?”The head of the household declared, “You know nothing, that's my wife.”This book is free of stale tropes, with fresh material, and is clean in regards to relationships. [The new book “Mr. Lu Has Made the Blacklist Again” has been released]

The most fucked-up separation in the world, is that there is a baby in your belly when you break up with someone.

Bo Yu draws on his cigarette, slowly puffing out the smoke, and looks at the little boy lying in bed with deep eyes.

Two years later, he finally comes back.

- Description from Novelupdates

A man with a lifelong martial arts background, raised in Asia due to his family's profession, moves to the US for education and work. He discovers Historical Medieval Battles through a colleague and becomes deeply passionate about it. He trains hard and becomes skilled enough to represent his country.During a competition, his armor fails, and he's struck in the head with a two-handed axe, seemingly dying. But is this truly the end?

“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.