A Fully-Leveled Bigshot Builds a Farm with Her Family After Transmigrating - Chapter 332: white, lost

When she woke up, Lake returned to the classroom of the third year. The classmates were in class with swords and sticks, and the teacher became a female Taoist.
The little fat man in the back seat, how to put two big hammers under his chair.
Rick found this to be a global era!

- Description from Uukanshu (translated)

Earth's youth, Chen Jichuan, tragically dies in a car accident and is transmigrated into an Immortal Hero world, obtaining the Supreme Skill: [Dao Fruit].Everything starts from ‘Dao Fruit’...

Meng Qianqian, at the age of 15, married into the Lu Family to bring joy to the elderly matriarch.On the wedding night, urgent news arrived from the border that her husband had been commanded to go to war. Six months later, he tragically died at the hands of Beiliang soldiers.Five years later, the husband who had been presumed dead returned, and by his side was an ethereal mute woman named Wan'er.Lu Lingxiao said that Wan'er was the descendant of a loyal and righteous family, entirely different from her—a merchant girl reeking of copper coins. He claimed Wan'er was a true paragon of noble character.Lu Lingxiao also said that Wan'er was an eagle soaring in the heavens, while someone like her was nothing more than a fragile flower, unworthy of comparison.It was not until the land was broken, the city walls fell, and she wielded a Red Tassel Spear to crush countless soldiers that Lu Lingxiao realized he had misjudged her.She was not a delicate flower confined within the depths of the mansion; she was the fiercest west wind of Yumen Pass.

“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.