Against the Clock: The Team Leader's Pursuit of Glory - Chapter 123 - Even if they say it’s not interesting

Chen Mo was told by a fortune teller that he had a suffocating aura, and was ordered to commit murder, and then inexplicably traveled to a world of high martial arts and became a fake eunuch serving the queen’s concubine in the harem of the Song Dynasty.

One day finally ushered in his golden finger…

Immortal Cultivation Simulator!

[Choose the talent to complete, do you want to start the simulation? 】

“Yes.”

[Day 1: The great turmoil came, and the horns of uprisings were raised throughout the Song Dynasty. The sky is dead, and the yellow sky stands. You are in the palace, which is the safest place in the Song Dynasty. You are ready to grow up in a dreadful way, and then surprise everyone. 】

【Day 2: You were promoted from the third-class eunuch to the first-class eunuch by the empress. 】

[Day 3: A palace maid accidentally discovered that you were having an affair with the Empress, and you died. 】

…

- Description from novelbuddy

Sheng MuMu was transmigrated into a novel.

While others transmigrate to become celebrities, she ends up becoming a stepmother to a 17-year-old young master of a prestigious family?!

She wants to escape! But wait, what’s this? Pretending to be his wife for a monthly allowance of 500,000 in pocket money that can be freely spent on her card? Suddenly she doesn’t mind so much!

Everyone guesses: “She’s just a stepmother, how much could he really care for her? President Qi just brought a woman home to take care of his son.”

On the day of the banquet, surrounded by the media, Sheng MuMu hooks her arm around the man’s neck and sweetly calls him: “Dear~”

The man’s eyes darken as he pulls her slender waist closer, naturally dispelling the rumors.

Then people say: “She’s just a brainless trophy wife, just a pretty face.”

Sheng MuMu: “You dare call this 700-scoring top-scoring beauty from the city just a trophy wife?”

She opens a flower shop, becoming an internet sensation with people lining up to take photos, earning pots full of money; she starts a brand, appearing on the cover of financial magazines’ annual rankings.

And after that…

Tsundere stepson: “Better than a real mother.”

Vicious mother-in-law: “Daughter-in-law, when are you taking me square dancing?”

Until one night, Sheng MuMu’s earlobes blushing as she pushes away the man pinning her against the wall.

“President Qi, our agreement is just a contract marriage. ”

The man’s eyes narrow as he loosens his tie and leans down:

“The agreement? I tore that up long ago.”

Sheng MuMu: “You…mmmph”

For He Yi, life was like a coffee table laid with all sorts of coffee mugs resembling her misfortunes. She lost her virtue and had a premarital pregnancy—without knowing the father’s identity—right before her engagement. Her father passed away due to a heart attack when his company wound up. At that point, He Yi’s child was one-month-old and the culprit behind these tragedies was her trusted husband.

Under despair and rage, she drove toward her nemesis to knock him down. That had resulted in her becoming a destitute divorcee who could not afford proper meals after she had finished serving her sentence in prison five years later. She lost everything and her child was snatched away by her nemesis.

Her ex-husband eventually married his mistress who was contemptuous of her. “How are you able to live with this? I’d die much earlier if I were you.”

He Yi only gave a slight cold smile. “The reason I’m still alive is to witness how you go to Hell!”

“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.