MTL - Being an Author is a High Risk Occupation - Chapter 77

At the age of ten, Jiang Qi had black hair, shallow pupils, and a pale, delicate appearance. He often got injured, with blood flowing from his head. He was the son of a ‘notorious’ mu*derer in Chen Kong Alley, and people cursed him, saying that he had vile blood running in his veins. Except for Zhi Qi, no one paid him any attention.Zhi Qi often cried while bandaging his wounds, her voice soft as she asked, “Why do you always get hurt? Does it hurt a lot?”Jiang Qi smiled, the cold and rebellious boy appearing particularly obedient in front of her: “If you comfort me, it won’t hurt anymore.”By the time he reached high school, he had become the most famous madman, cold and ruthless in all Lin Lan. Zhi Qi remembered Jiang Qi once saying that most of his life was lived like a dog. He would rather have everyone fear him than let anyone bully him.Even though everyone feared him, Zhi Qi was not afraid.Unfortunate people spend their entire lives healing from childhood, and Zhi Qi wanted to heal Jiang Qi with her own efforts. She would make a promise to him on the rooftop of the school, where he brought her to the top: “Jiang Qi, take care. When I reach the legal age, I can marry you.”The boy’s response was a faint smile, his gaze clear and clean like the stars in the sky, filled with rare yearning for the future.Zhi Qi didn’t know that a simple promise saved Jiang Qi’s life, pulling him out of hell.Unfortunately, ‘redemption’ has an expiration date. When the clock strikes twelve for Cinderella, he remains the sick dog with nothing.A crazy boy, and all the sweet names in his obscure life are called ‘Zhi Qi’.

Suddenly, the mysterious book I received turned out to describe my own life?Once I chose to change my destiny, the life within the book changed as well.In the book, I encountered insincerity, spent ten years behind bars, and witnessed viruses laying Siege...Cancer, bus plunging off cliffs, plane crashes, senile dementia ... even the end of days – a variety of deaths; was this fate's punishment for the rebels?No one is a hero; it is just that this disaster-ridden fate forcibly made me into a warrior charging into battle.Those who killed me over and over will ultimately make me stronger!Through numerous life simulations, I amassed wealth from the financial markets, rescued innocent girls from felons, and acquired advanced technology from the future...Although I always encounter various disasters and accidents, I still strive to flutter the butterfly's wings, changing my original fate little by little.After countless simulations, the world too embarked on a completely different path.However, where did this autobiography come from?Behind it all, what kind of unknown conspiracy is lurking...[A literary man's laid-back daily life of unlimited simulations to save the world]

“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.

She is the legendary queen of mercenaries whose name daunts even the big shots in society. With an ancient jade pendant in her hand, she is great at almost everything, be it seeking the truth or the art of healing.