MTL - My Two-sided Cultivation: Starting From Collecting Experiences - Chapter 267 Wang Wei's cage! The emperor is out! (four k)

At his best friend’s memorial service, Bai Yan almost burst out laughing and got beaten to death.

Along the way, Bai Yan’s fits of laughter turned into ones of anger. His joy quickly turned to sorrow as he met his punishment that night.

He curiously opened the app that he had never seen before on his phone and was suddenly pulled into a terrifying world of reincarnation…

An infinite stream of horror flowed into his mind, ominous descriptions, breakthroughs, and storylines.

The main character should not be taken lightly. Be careful if you dare!

What kind of experience is it to travel through time and become an AI?

Li Wenyuan, who was hit by the meteorite, successfully experienced this feeling.

Fortunately, he discovered that the planet he controlled… seems to be a little bit special.

“Precious living metal? Any wall here is living metal!”

“Zello? You said that omnics don’t need this? Sorry, psionic machines are being produced.”

“Interstellar colony? Isn’t it good to build a ring world?”

This is a story of farming, and it is also a story of human exploration of the universe from the past.

There are space wars, interstellar adventures, civilization observations, and galaxy epics.

“So…” A few years later, facing the disaster that was about to sweep across the entire galaxy, the unmanned fleet controlled by Li Wenyuan stood up helplessly.

“They all think that I am a lost empire, and I can only do what the lost empire should do.”

PS: space opera

- Description from novelbuddy

I once believed life a simple equation: the wealthy thrive, the impoverished endure, the unburdened soar. Yet, even the freest of birds find their wings clipped by unseen cages. In this world, no station offers sanctuary; suffering, an inescapable shadow, finds all. And in its grim embrace, all paths converge upon death.This is not a chronicle of fleeting hope.This is not a legend whispered of redemption.This is the harrowing saga of a man twice shattered by the cruel hand of fate.... crushed, betrayed, mutilated. A soul condemned to an endless cycle of reincarnation, dragged back to a world that refuses to release its grip, only to fall, again and again. Each return a fresh descent into the abyss.But will he forever kneel, a puppet to his torment? Will he remain the naive fool who clung to the illusion of kindness? Or will the fractured remnants of his being coalesce into a force the world has never witnessed? A mastermind forged in the crucible of despair. A monster destined to unravel all, even himself.This is the tale of Veythor: the man who defied the quietude of death.And perhaps… the man who will shatter fate itself.

“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.