The Martial Artist Turned Movie Mogul - Chapter 45 - Mr. Jing graciously invited me; its an honor

A young man playing games in his basement is struck by a mysterious bolt of lightning, killing him instantly. However, he wakes up in the body of a disgraced young lord, now tasked with managing a ruined, crumbling kingdom. With no experience and a tarnished reputation to overcome, his future seems bleak.Fortunately, he possessed the Omnishop System, a mysterious tool that enabled him to purchase skills and supplies as well as upgrade his existing skills using points. Rebuilding the kingdom is no easy feat, but Alexander has his sights set on more than just survival.With ambition burning in his heart, he dreams of ruling an empire, if he can survive the challenges ahead.

Ou Renjin likes keeping beautiful young men because he likes watching the drama.

Watching them be arrogant and conceited; watching them be obsequious and sycophantic; watching them have ulterior motives and fight with each other, seeing all the evil side of human nature.

Until, he picks up a poor little guy.

The poor little guy is ignorant and helpless, treating Ou Renjin as his whole world, spending all his salary to buy him gifts, standing in front of him in times of danger without hesitation, even…

…saying to him in the calmest and lightest of tones after knowing that their heart matching is successful, “I am very grateful that you have been hiding it from me, but I have long been ready to give my heart to you.”

* * *

036 was born as a test subject, without parents or friends.

As the only successful “petri dish of renewable organs”, he had every organ in his body cut out and transplanted to the rich and powerful countless times.

After getting used to the pain, he met the most special person in the world.

This person was so good that he wanted to cut out his own heart immediately.

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.

[Can the devil’s music bring happiness to the world?]From Jimmy Hendrix to Rachmaninoff, all the historical musicians who he meets in his dreams.The devil that presents itself as a little boy in love with singing.The devil’s blessing, given to such a tiny child.In the blessings of many devils,The boy’s song for the world begins.