Starting to Gain Experience from Push-Ups - Chapter 84 - 82: The Prodigal Son Returns

In the eyes of Chi Zuxu, Chi Yi is a typical delinquent with the three big ‘NOs’— no morals, no virtues, no principles. To her, though, he is a classic baddie who is heartless, soulless, and inhuman.

After the girl breaks and climbs through his glass window on the second story, she peeps at him with an innocent demeanor.

“Chi Zuxu, lend me the other half of your bed!” she wolf-whistles at him blatantly. The man admonishes with a scowl, “Chi Yi, aren’t you shameless!”

Inside the cinema, as Chi Yi’s little hands restlessly grope the man’s body without chagrin, she tells him smilingly, “Chi Zuxu, I want to do bad things with you!” Holding a look of woeful disgrace, he knocks her head. “Chi Yi, aren’t you embarrassed!”

It is a lovely love story between a barefaced and a reticent. But, Mr Reticient, please don’t cry when Miss Barefaced finally slips away.

Eight hundred years ago, Zhang Ruochen, the son of Emperor Ming, was killed by his fiancee, Princess Chi Yao.

Eight hundred years later, Zhang Ruochen came back to life, only to discover that the fiancee who once killed him had unified the Kunlun realm and opened up the first central empire, known as “Queen Chi Yao”.

Empress Chi Yao – ruling the world, she is powerful in all directions; youth is eternal, immortal and immortal.

Zhang Ruochen stood outside the ancestral hall of the emperors, looking at the statue of Empress Chi Yao, with a raging flame of hatred burning in his heart, “When I rebuild it for thirteen years, dare to call the empress to Huangquan.”

- Description from novelbuddy

SynopsisElian was once a healer—a rare one. His body fluids could cure any wound, and because of that, he was treated not as a person, but as a tool. Abused and violated by both men and women in his own guild, Flameborne, he endured unspeakable horrors in silence. In their final battle against the Demon Lord, they abandoned him like discarded trash.But death was not the end.The gods took pity. Reborn as Caelan Virelith and blessed by a goddess, he awakens in a new world with a powerful gift: the ability to form Essence Links—magical bonds forged through intimacy that unlock skills, power, and potential. Still a healer, but no longer powerless, Caelan begins his journey not only to grow stronger, but to hunt down those who broke him... and make them kneel.This time, he decides who gets saved.--Content Warning:This story contains mature themes, including sexual content, abuse, and revenge. It is intended for readers 18+ only. Reader discretion is advised.

“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.