Second World - Chapter 1713 . Chris Memory Stone

Chen Ye transmigrates to the Great Wu Dynasty and binds himself to an orphan cultivation system. As long as he nurtures orphans, he earns points, which can be used to draw skills to bestow upon the orphans.But…Chen Ye always feels that these traits are a bit strange.[Strong Physique: Increases strength growth rate; but can only use heavy weapons] [Dexterous Hands: Enhances talents in cooking, sewing, and other life skills; greatly enhances talent in mechanisms and manual techniques] [Perseverance: As long as there is determination, nothing is impossible; but thoughts must be clear and unobstructed] [Draw Lots: The things drawn will accompany for a lifetime; but…]

“Lin Changan, you don’t want to get forced to marry a person, right?” a gorgeous young lady asked as she put a Slave Contract in front of Lin Changan.

Lin Changan was in complete desperation when he received the Emulator System which allowed him to simulate his life.

After each simulation, he could choose to either gain a talent, a realm, battle experience, cultivation, or part of the memory from the simulation.

“You have rejected the Slave Contract and were killed in the Underground City by a love rival.”

“You have chosen the talent, Live a Hard Life.”

“At age 22, your sick junior confessed her love to you and you rejected her. That made her hate you and she poisoned you to death.”

“You have chosen the talent, Complete Poison Immunity.”

“At age 24, you were killed during the monsters’ attack.”

“You have chosen the realm and have gathered the Star Power.”

“At age 24, you fought the monsters’ attack as a general but still died in the end.”

“You have chosen the talent, Restlessness.”

“At age 24, you fought the monsters in the front line but you have exhausted your spirit energy…”

After countless simulations, even the slightest move Lin Changan made could shake the entire world.

“Simulation begins.”

“You are now invincible.”

Catching arrows, running up walls, crushing boulders and bending metal, these are but petty parlour tricks in the eyes of martial artists. But where can a genuine martial artist stand in an era where martial artists are nothing more than a myth?

“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.