City of Witches - Chapter 298: A Three-Way Battle (1)

Gu Qingmo began to disguise herself as a man because of a word from her master.

Later, because of the words of my brother, I tried not to open my mouth if I could.

Later, I don’t know why the whole cultivation world is talking about the old master of Wanjianzong, the closed disciple of Xiaoyao Sanren, who is cold-hearted, taciturn, self-restrained and respectful, and who cultivates the ruthless way.

Mo Chuli thought so until she died in her hands.

However, since he was reborn and accepted as a disciple by Gu Qingmo, he discovered that——

Well said, cold hearted! taciturn! Self-denial!

It’s all an illusion!

Small snippet:

The day before Gu Qingmo was going to take Mo Chuli out for a training session, the headmaster made a special trip to Jianfeng and said to Mo Chuli, “Chuli, my uncle told you that if your master wants to go out in the future, you will definitely to follow.”

Mo Chuli: “Sect Master, why is this?”

Liu Qingbai: “Your master’s words are easy to offend people, so you have to keep an eye on it.”

Mo Chuli: “…”

[Woman pretending to be a man to decorate the real world’s first upright and paralyzed heroine × Seizing the house after her death was accepted by the heroine as an apprentice and the former Demon Lord hero]

ps: The female protagonist has a ceiling level of combat power, and the male protagonist is a growth type

- Description from novelbuddy

The world is made up of the five elements, and it could be divided into Yin and Yang.Beneath the heavens, on the ancient divine center continent, billions of lives thrive in the prosperous era of the cultivation.Across its vast lands, happiness, sadness, reunion, and separation played out in the long lives of those seeking immortalhood.Light is always accompanied by darkness, and under the radiance of the heavens, there are silent shadows moving about…

“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 light-hearted love story of a (vampire) zombie and an idiot.