The Legend of Futian - Chapter 397: When the Music Stops, the People Go

When choosing the companion system, Congliang did a trick, palace fights, house fights, scumbags, counterattacks, and other systems that seemed to be particularly wasteful of brain cells, and pulled a particularly pure-looking “Scum Girl Congliang System”.

Being good means being a good person, and being a good person is simple.
However, after starting the time-travel mission, Cong Liang discovered that her trapping system has another more appropriate name – “Sura Heart Hunting Field”
In other words, how to make a person who was imprisoned by you, humiliated, beaten, abandoned, abused, ridiculed, betrayed, harmed, exploited… fell in love with you and gave you a sincere kiss?
Wait online! Very urgent!

First wear – lame prince
Second wear – Blind man
The third wear – juvenile offender with severed finger
Fourth wear – ghost face fifth uncle
Fifth wear – one-armed tailor

【important hint! ! ! 】
The heroine is a rough man at heart, the hero and the woman got the wrong script series
Every world I will write seriously, so I may wear it slowly
As always, all logical common sense comes from the author’s brain hole, all for the service of the target, you are easy to go crazy
Declined to examine the textual research list, and to take the author’s anger

- Description from novelbuddy

This is the story of a crazy lich who possesses an internal game system and brings catastrophe to the entire world.

Waking up from a big dream, Fu Yu felt that he had been forced into a mouthful of pie by God.

Everything familiar, suddenly becomes virtual.

Working kitchen table, tools used, co-workers, and customers.

All things have become walking NPCs and auxiliary props.

Daily life and work have become the main tasks that need to be completed, and the key clues for advancement.

 …

The customer ordered a piece of loose pork.

Fu Yu took out a piece of fresh tenderloin: [Pork: Freshness: 90%]

Holding an egg with one hand: [Egg: Freshness: 85%]

Heat oil in a pan, prepare starch, and prepare onion, ginger, and garlic.

First fried and then fried, the meat is cooked out of the pan, put on a plate and served in front of customers: [Ding! Complete the task with a slice of loose meat. Get rewards: cooking experience +10, RMB +100, a colander without oil! 】

 …

As a chef who is being chased and fed by God, as long as you cook, you will be promoted!

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.