World of Cultivation - Chapter Eight Hundred and Eighty Four – Advance!

The 27-year-old genius beauty doctor Xia Qing dies in surgery!She is reborn!She is reborn in the ward she’s most familiar with, in the body of a 200-pound pregnant woman—a woman who had died from pain during a Cesarean section due to her requests to not use anesthesia.She can’t help but worry about herself. This body was useless except for being young.How could Xia Qing tolerate this?On the menu are—revenge, losing weight, and snatching the idolized man of a scumbag girl in passing. Although she’s overweight, she strives to live well. Being overweight isn’t the end of days. They still deserve love.“Have you heard? Boss Pei has a child out of wedlock. He’s getting married!”“Who’s he marrying? Who?”“That 200-pound fatty from the Lin family of South City!”“Is Second Master crazy?”Lin Xiaqing turns her head to look. “You think I’m fat?”

Knights of the Round Table, Dino Fighter, King of Fighters, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Metal Slug, Street Fighter, Samurai Shodown, Journey to the West, countless arcade games, have made their debut in the form of special copies.And the adventurers who take risks in these games are destined to have every journey as a life-and-death contest, except…A white dagger and a white pistol are fused to a green pistol.A green pistol and a green pistol are fused to a blue revolver.A blue revolver and a blue BOSS exclusive equipment are fused to Terhune’s wife… Hey?!Looking at the upgraded new equipment in his hand, Qin Ming was a little dumbfounded.No! Director! This is different from what was agreed!

“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.

The world was destroyed, the apocalypse descended, a new era began, and the right to survive as a Lord was granted to every person.Domains, Heroes, Troops, Treasures, Resources—all of the countless servers constructed by the myriad continents were opened up.Qin Muye looked at his panel, which was akin to cannon fodder, and his domain with its damaged suffix, and felt a strong urge to cry but no tears would come.No divine talent, no hidden hints, no overpowered Profession.“If that's the case, then I'll just have to adapt and live in a different way.”