MTL - The White-Haired Imperial Concubine - Chapter 49 Meet by the lake

When the human princess, Lareina is sent as a bride for a peace treaty between the demons and humans, she ends up in a political marriage with the second prince of demons, Prince Azrael. Lareina falls for his gentleness that sets him apart from the rest of the demons in her eyes but on the night of their wedding, he is deployed to the war.Years after his abrupt departure, Azrael has finally emerged victorious and returned. However, much to Lareina's dismay, he has brought back a beautiful demoness with him. At the receiving end of his hatred, a heartbroken Lareina tries to save their marriage until all her hopes are shattered. Determined to carve a way for herself, she decides to end the marriage but she is met with a new challenge when her seemingly uncaring husband suddenly refuses to let her go.

When his wife left without a word when they were young, he entrusted their child to his mother and spiraled into despair, drowning his sorrows in alcohol.Sixteen years passed in a blur, and his daughter was diagnosed with depression.As she lay on the hospital bed, she struggled to smile.“Dad, I don't blame you, and I never blamed Mom. If I have another life, I still want to be your child, but please, don't leave me again.”With that, she closed her eyes and departed from this world.It felt like something tore apart in the depths of his heart.Gu Chen fell into a coma.Upon awakening again, his two-year-old daughter was calling him “Daddy” with a sweet smile and a childish voice.He was reborn!This time, he vowed to make up for his regrets towards his daughter, to hold his wife's hand and never let her go.This time, he was determined to change everything!

Zong Shou woke up from a dream and realised that he had time traveled back ten thousand years, to an era before the God Emperor was had appeared in the world.

“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.