The Kitty Became a Cutie and Was Pampered in the 80s - Chapter 811: The Stabbing Broken Needle and the Drugged Milk (12)

In the next life time, he would absolutely not become an author.
He would once again be cursed to the danger of crossing over into a book.
During the time when he broke free of his shell, what he first saw was just the handsome, handsome male lead that he had written.
During the time when the male lead was pinching the small soft flesh of his neck, it was also his first time hearing the male lead’s voice.
“Return goods,” the male lead said in this way toward the vendor stall’s owner.
Pei Bufan: “…… meow?”

- Description from Novelupdates

[Debt collection + metaphysics + cool writing]

Ling Chu is dead.

Inexplicably, he traveled through time and became the eldest girl of Shangshu Mansion.

However, he was not favored. He was ordered by the Taoist priests when he was just born to punish his relatives.

He was sent to a Taoist temple for foster care since he was a child, and was not taken back to his hometown until he was a child.

She thought she would live a happy and beautiful life from now on, but what greeted her was an imperial edict to behead everyone in her family.

In order to save her life, she risked her life and cooperated with Jin Yiwei to ransack her home.

For this reason, everyone rebelled against their relatives.

Others thought she was going to cry bitterly, confess to her family and ask for forgiveness.

But she was busy collecting debts, making money, and helping ghosts fulfill their last wishes and accumulate merit to extend her life.

Just when she was living a happy life as a child, she discovered that her parents were both fake.

Just when everyone in Kyoto was waiting for her to go back and fight with the fake daughter,

But she turned around and joined the frightened Jin Yiwei, and was busy following the God of Death every day to ransack homes all over the capital.

- Description from novelbuddy

“They Call Guys Like Me a Simp.”(Meanwhile, I’m out here living what their favorite MC only dreams about.)You ever notice how stories glorify the ones who feel nothing?The MC who never laughs.Never feels.Who plays women like chess pieces and calls it intelligence.He manipulates a girl? “He’s strategic.”He never opens up? “He’s mysterious.”He never flinches, never laughs, never lives —And you call that strength?Funny.Because to me?That’s just a prison in disguise.You see an “alpha.”I see a boy too scared to feel anything real.While they spend ten chapters monologuing about logic and sacrifice,I’m already making the Saintess scream,drenched in sin,halo cracked,legs trembling from truths her prayers never taught her.And I didn’t get there with cold eyes or control.I got there with laughter and chill. With warmth. With a grin and a hand on her thigh.I didn’t need to dominate her mind —I freed her heart.But that scares people, doesn’t it?Because readers trust the ones who suffer.Who stay quiet.Who kill without blinking and love without showing it.But me?I flirt.I laugh.I take hits and smile back, bloody and defiant, as if too weak to get angry.I don’t need to pretend emotions are weakness.I weaponize mine.Pleasure. Connection. Laughter.That’s my arsenal.And while your favorite MC is still calculating his next five moves,Trying to outwit death and romance like both are math problems,I’m already balls deep in the jade fairy — her sacred yin furnace clenching like it’s worshipping my shaft, her Dao Echo shattered into breathless moans, and her so-called cultivation path leaking down her thighs while she begs me to break her meridians again.You call that luck?Nah.That’s mastery of the three worlds.Because in a world that respects coldness,I came in hot.Where others manipulate, I connect.Where they posture, I play.Where they sacrifice, I seduce.So go ahead.Call me a simp.But while your genius MC is busy monologuing about destiny,I’m the one making goddesses question theirs —with a smirk, a touch, and no regrets.I’m not the hero.Not the villain.I’m just a simp… the kind who leaves your cold, emotionless MC’s woman dripping, ruined, and too stretched to go back to him.

It was understood that this was a capitalist country, where the possession of the greatest amount of capital determined to whom the nation effectively belonged.The smile that had been resting on William Sheffield’s face was abruptly erased as his expression turned cold. In a tone laced with determination, it was demanded by him that the police be contacted immediately so that they could crush those who stood in their way. The reasoning behind his words seemed clear: if such actions had been taken before by someone like Rockefeller, then why should it not also be possible for Sheffield?A sense of irony hung in the air as the sentiment was expressed—this was America, where each day seemed to unfold as though it were part of an ongoing shootout, with battles fought not just with guns but with power, influence, and wealth.