MTL - Azeroth Shadow of the Moon - Chapter 790 Azshara, you plot against me!

An accident let him have a special ability to turn back time up to 1 minute. When he said the wrong things in front of his leader, he was able to return back to 1 minute before to correct what he said. During jade stone gambling and there was no jade inside, he turns back time to pick another stone. When the woman he likes met an accident, he can return back to 1 minute before to save her…… A small fry’s rise through the ranks of the government service starts……

- Description from Novelupdates

Yaoniang was the concubine of Jin Wang in the last life, but she had only been doted on for a few months before she died.

After her rebirth, she decided to live safely and protect herself. So she would do a job well as a wet nurse and never pursue luxurious life.

However, it never occurred to her that stern-faced Jin Wang who only did things without discussion in her last life would now take initiative.

Everyone in the world knew that Jin Wang had a concubine which was doted by him as early as he lived in original place. After entering the royal palace, she was even more prestigious and Jin Wang only doted her in imperial harem.

There were many rumors in the folk villages about the concubine. The only thing that was well known was that before she entered the royal palace she was a widow and it was said that she also had a son.

During the time Jin Wang became the emperor, he was diligent and managed the country well. He worked hard to improve his governance as a wise emperor. However, he was frequently crazy about the concubine, which made people criticize a lot.

And one of the most absurd things he did was to recognize the son the concubine had as his own kid.

To this, Jin Wang personally came out to refute the rumor:

“It’s my own son.”

……………………………………………………………

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“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.