MTL - Aunt Qin Save Me - Chapter 78

Master martial artists were beings that no one can obstruct. A martial arts expert has been reborn into the body of a genius whose cultivation has been abolished and has been abandoned by a woman. Therefore, he starts cultivating the art of Xing Yi Quan, producing a solar system within his dantian. His innate talent tramples over all the geniuses, and even the geniuses among geniuses.

His powerful spirit and ruthless and ambitious nature, no matter who he is reborn into, will never change! Slaughter is instinctive, being cold-blooded is his personality, exterminating an entire family is only a means towards a goal, cruelty means infamy, and chasing after women… is just an interest.

- Description from Novelupdates

[Would you like to reverse time?] [All stats will be reset.] [Please pick a date.]

In his last life, Xue Yan had been a powerful minister all his life. When he returned to seven years old, he didn’t want to be any more. In the same way, he has all the power in the world, but his family cannot end well.

Unexpectedly, his father suddenly picked up a baby girl, saying that he had raised him and would be his daughter-in-law.

The daughter-in-law is all good, but not good at all. She can’t be allowed to sneak out alone.

Otherwise, she will bring you back a great general this time, and next time she will bring you a different surnamed king, and even the queen mother of the dynasty will be rescued…

Not long after, I’ll bring you a little emperor again…

*

Jiang Yue, the supreme commander of Area A in the end of the world, actually dressed in ancient times and became a three-and-a-half-year-old girl.

No matter how she lived her life, it was just that her future husband didn’t know what was going on. Every time she kindly rescued a person, he would be disgraced.

(Sweet pet text, one-on-one, double clean)

- 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.