I Don’t Want You To Be Responsible! - Chapter 88 - Unknown number, the matters of eating vinegar

James Ye is a son-in-law everyone looks down upon, but no one knows his true identity is that of a young master from a top family.Those who scorn him will ultimately kneel before him, calling him 'Master' in awe and fear!

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Gu Muran, the former master of metaphysics, woke up and found that he had become the fake daughter of the Gu family.

The Gu family couldn’t bear the thought of their own daughter marrying into the Qian family, so they thought of the adopted daughter they had abandoned before.

The daughter of the Gu family had a physical problem. The Gu family believed that it was because of her adopted daughter’s fate that her daughter was hurt.

The parents put their ideas on her again: “Since you and your sister’s kidneys are well matched, then give her one of yours, and she won’t die anyway.”

Gu Muran: Auntie’s things are not something anyone can touch easily.

In her previous life, her power of metaphysics was unrivaled in the world. She was once appointed as a national teacher to protect the common people of a country, and she was heard by the heavens. Even the emperor had to respect her when seeing her.

How could she allow these messy people to jump around in front of her.

…

He is a revered god of medicine, with superb medical skills, it is difficult for a thousand dollars to make an appointment to seek medical consultation.

No one knows the depth of her talent for magical calculations. She knows the destiny with one glance, and predicts fortune and evil with one word.

later……

People: “Have you heard that there is a magician in Tianqiao?”

Classmate: “Who said that, our school is really good at it.”

Rich circle: “You are talking nonsense, the real magician is here.”

God of Medicine: “Hold on to dissatisfaction, Mrs. Lu is the most powerful.”

A certain woman smiled faintly: “Low-key, low-key, don’t fight, don’t grab, it’s all me.”

- Description from novelbuddy

Struggling until thirty-eight years old and still can't afford a house, you have to pay a dowry of 300,000 to get married, living frugally for most of your life, your liver is shattered from overworking, but where's the money? Who really took all the money?

Jiang Qin, who is full of grievances, was reborn at the age of eighteen. The only thought in his mind when he opened his eyes was to start a business and make money.

The first step, to take back the love letters he had sent out, flip it over, and write three lines in the stunned eyes of the school beauty:

You must never work for others, better to latch onto a wealthy woman if you can.

You can make more money if you lose it, but if you lose your conscience, you can make even more!

As a corporate slave, never be a servant!

As for love? Even dogs don't talk about that stuff!

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“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.