On The Path Of Cultivation To Become God - Chapter 173: Useless tricks

As a top manager, everyone constantly tries to curry favor with Li Xiwu. And due to her identity as Mrs. Pei, the rich and the powerful would always greet her politely. A celebrity instructor, and the wife of a man from a rich family… Is there anyone who would not envy her? However, only Li Xiwu knows that she is a substitute for Mr. Pei’s unrequited love, and none of her titles or privileges have anything to do with her.***

Losing yourself after being someone else’s substitute is a tedious thing. Having gained that epiphany, Li Xiwu began to ponder how she should claim alimony of astronomical proportions from Mr. Pei. However, while she was obsessing over how to get rich from the divorce, her mother-in-law, who had always disliked her, invited her to take part in a variety show, while promising to make her rich. Li Xiwu’s lips curled into a grin. “Fortune favors the brave!”At first, her mother-in-law constantly attempted to embarrass her, and netizens were all moaning about how she was the most pitiful rich daughter-in-law! Later, her mother-in-law was inseparable from Li Xiwu, and would keep bragging about her to everyone she met, leaving the netizens cheering: Leave the face-slapping to Mrs. Pei! Li Xiwu did not expect herself to shoot to fame in the variety show either. However, while she was convinced that she could get a smooth divorce afterward, her mother-in-law called her son immediately as soon as the variety show ended.“Divorce my baby, and I will disown you!”Mr. Pei: ???

A mental patient, or a born policeman?

A peerless genius, or a master of crime?

There are cops who are least like cops, and there are criminals who are least like criminals.

Neither good nor evil is absolute.

It is a grey world we live in.

- Description from Novelupdates

This is a world where a king is the most powerful.

“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.