Star Martial Era: The Way of Star Light Cultivation - Chapter 517 - 219 Flying Sword Star Artifact_3

The system says that curing a person will get good doctor points, and killing a person will get bad doctor points. When the 100 points are reached, the skills of good doctors or bad doctors will be randomly selected.

Why do I always feel that bad doctors are better than good doctors…

Nani?

Does the captain’s orange count as a bad doctor’s skill?

You lie here and don’t move, I’m going to buy some oranges.

- Description from novelbuddy

Ripped from a dead-end life and plunged into a world where danger lurks behind every smile, Xiulan must learn to thrive in a realm ruled by ruthless ambition and deadly secrets. When Li Mei dies in a traffic accident after another soul-crushing retail shift, she awakens in a familiar yet dangerous world—inside her favorite game, . Now inhabiting the body of Lin Xiulan, the scorned second daughter of a noble family, she finds herself thrust into a nest of vipers where her very existence is an offense to those around her. Armed only with her knowledge of the game and the wounds from a lifetime of dealing with entitled customers, Xiulan refuses to play the role of the family’s punching bag. Determined to rise above, she’ll need to master immortal alchemy, tame arcane spirit beasts, perfect her martial arts, and face off against her scheming sisters and stepmother. But in Arinthia, a land where power reigns supreme and the weak are swept aside, Xiulan must do more than just survive and fade into the background. With the knowledge of a devastating future that awaits the realm’s beloved Crown Princess, she’ll need every ounce of her modern wit and growing abilities to prevent a catastrophe that would ruin the entire realm—assuming she can survive her own family long enough to do anything about it. Only by transforming herself into a force of reckoning can Xiulan hope to protect those she comes to care about—and survive the darkness that awaits.

All Amy needed to do was get away from her pursuers. The last thing she thought she'd encounter was being kidnapped, drugged and offered to some smelly fat old man.

But no, he wasn't any of that. Zach was simply a god. And he was drugged, just like her. It could be the drugs or she just genuinely found him irresistible. And to her luck, he didn't resist her when she made a move on him. When she found out how much of a beast he was in bed, she wasn't complaining.

But she knew they were not supposed to cross paths. So when she finally left the next morning, little did she know that fate had a 'little surprise' in store.

“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.