Transmigration: Getting Rich with My Space and Supplies - Chapter 279 - 239 Jaw-Dropping_2

This is a game that surpasses dimensions.

It is also a competition for the search of truth.

Unknown seals, a game of chance with ghosts and gods…

The digital struggle, the redemption of humans…

In the virtual world that links with reality——It consciously decided us. It consciously chose us. It consciously decided our consciousness.

And now, throw away your fear.

Throw away your selfish thoughts, questions, and resistance… Free your mind.

Welcome to: Thriller Paradise.

- Description from Novelupdates

They say the greatest blessing is marrying the idol you always dreamed of.

But Qiao Lian knows that reality is different…

The Internet claims that Best Actor Shen Liangchuan is a male god who is unaffected by any sexual drive, but Qiao Lian vehemently disagrees. It’s a lie!

After finally carrying out the contract, Qiao Lian burst out, “I want a divorce! I don’t want such a life!”

Le Yao became a cannon fodder wife for the *sshole CEO, Nangong Jue. As she cherished her life, she quickly signed the divorce agreement and walked away. After she got far away from him, she let herself fly free. Strongly determined to succeed, she returned to school and became the most beautiful scholar on campus. To turn her life around, she started cooking delicious food. When she started to live-stream her cooking sessions, she became a popular cooking goddess. Plus, she even taught line dancing to older ladies, becoming the sassiest dance goddess as she twisted her hips.

Le Yao was speechless. She unintentionally let herself fly free a little too quickly, huh?

Nangong Jue: “It’s fine. No matter how far or fast you fly, you’ll never fly out of my palm.”

A bunch of big shots who want to hug, kiss, and pamper the heck out of Le Yao: “…”

Le Yao: “…”

“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.