Foreign Land Reclamation By a Vegetable-growing Skeleton - Chapter 772 - 442: Recording Some Things in the House of the Deceased_2

Chen Fan’s father sent him to the Spring Autumn Sect when he reached a suitable age to learn martial arts. For close to three years, he was often a target for bullying due to his lack of talent. He was helpless about it and had no choice but to accept his fate, until one day he gets struck by lightning and everything changes.

Things weren’t smooth-sailing from then on, however. Every three years, a grand event is held in Spring Autumn Sect and some weaker members will be expelled from the sect. Chen Fan is lagging far behind his peers and has to catch up quickly or he’ll be in trouble. It won’t be easy with many people standing in his way. To be stronger than them all, Chen Fan engages in both body and qi cultivation in a world where body cultivation has long gone into decline, and he will need to endure much greater pains than others to obtain the corresponding strength. On his quest to great strength, he will run into many dangerous situations, but luck is also often accompanied with the dangers. Follow Chen Fan on his journey to becoming the strongest martial artist!

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Eight years on battlefield and returning in triumph, only then to realize that the important army general is a woman?

Empress Dowager pass an imperial decree, bestowing An Wangye younger brother Xia Yujin as Nanping Junwang and to take the great general as the wife.

In front of the person that kill people like flies, iron mask ruthless of the wife.

Talent-less Jun Wang, in a world of ice and snow fraught with emotional and lake-like tears, request for help, “How to uphold the man principal?”

- 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.

Ning Shu had dropped dead. But in a burst of good fortune she became a task-taker in charge of counterattacking for pitiful cannon fodder. Thus, Ning Shu, in one world after another, took all kinds of life roles, encountered all kinds of ‘you’re heartless, you’re ruthless, you’re making trouble for no reason’ people. She encountered all sorts of white lotus flowers, green tea b*tches, scheming b*tches, by the batch.