Cultivation! My Augmented Statuses Have Unlimited Duration - Chapter 847 - 847 First Level of Hell (2)

A filthy, idiotic, hypocritical alcoholic degenerate, known to most as Ricky Freeman, died in a tragic car accident when his lower half was crushed by a drunk driver. Coughing out a bloody mourning for his balls, Ricky finally dies only to wake up in his next life. Reincarnated in the 1920s as a orphaned kid, how will he live in a universe filled to it's brim with cosmic beings-*DING*'Huh?'[Congratulations Host for receiving the Impregnation System]

Hey, let’s have a crush together.

The nervous student Xu Jingjing has a crush on the school grass Gao Zhan, and the academic tyrant Kang Jiawei nicknamed “Instant Noodles” has a crush on the goddess Xu Jingjing.

In order to get close to her favorite male god, Xu Jingjing separated Gao Zhan and Xu Jingjing, and formed a “secret love front alliance” with Kang Jiawei – she urged him to lose weight and inspired him to pursue Xu Jingjing;

And Kang Jiawei helped her review her homework, which made her grades improve by leaps and bounds. The relationship between the two has undergone subtle changes in the process of helping each other, which seems to go beyond friendship…

Until the death of Kang’s father, Kang Jiawei left without saying goodbye to the United States, and this hazy relationship ended without a trace.

At the class reunion eight years later, “Instant Noodles” counterattacked gorgeously and turned into a tall, rich and handsome real estate developer. He decided to make up for the regrets eight years ago and made a belated confession——

Kang Jiawei: “I like you, Jingjing. Be my girlfriend.”

Xu Jingjing: “Why do you think that I will be your girlfriend in eight years? What if I have a boyfriend?”

Kang Jiawei: “It doesn’t matter, if you have a boyfriend, I will find a way to make him an ex.

- 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.