Iron Blooded - (B2) One: Across the Plains

Transmigrating to the Cultivation World, Chu Ning, who was born with mediocre talent as a mortal, could only start as the most laborious and exhausting Servant Disciple.When Cultivating the most basic Nine Tigers Body Refining Art, he unexpectedly refreshed the talent [Yin Wood Spirit Body]:1. Greatly increases the cultivation speed of Wood Attribute Cultivation Technique and Spells;2. The cultivated Wood Attribute Cultivation Technique can shield from prying, freely revealing the strength of Magical Power.Seeing this talent, Chu Ning decisively chose to become a Servant Disciple cultivating Spirit Plants, preparing to develop steadily and survive until immortality.However, he discovered that his talent was still refreshing.

Writing, drawing, and occasionally pretending to be a master of calligraphy, fooling people into paying customers with a lot of money…

This is Lin Zhishui’s light and comfortable little days.

However, he didn’t know that the guests of his calligraphy and painting shop who loved the ancient style and traditional culture were actually strange people who practiced in the world.

The guests never thought that the most mysterious and unpredictable figure in the cultivation world was just a mortal who liked to play dumb puzzles?

so-called-

Cross-server communication is barrier-free, and you can rely on your brain for guidance!

After many years, Lin Zhishui finally understood the truth. Looking at the brush that had accompanied him for many years, the corners of his mouth twitched:

“This is poisonous!”

…

[ps: When you are bored, you can look at the other two works by author Jun, “I heard that I am super fierce after my death” and “The Strongest Internet God”, which are relatively short, light spray, orz]

- 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.