MTL - Peasant Woman’s Decreed Life as a Wife - Chapter 2539 Prosperity as he wished

In the rural northeastern mountainous regions stands a tiny Buddhist temple, named One Finger Temple. It isn’t a large one but it is extremely miraculous.

The temple has rice that emanates an aromatic fragrance.

The temple has sweet and refreshing water that rivals ambrosia.

The temple has Buddhas that grant wishes to the sincere.

The temple isn’t large but it has everything. The temple isn’t large but it has flourishing incense offerings that far exceed all temples. The temple isn’t large but it attracts both citizens and foreigners that line up overnight…

The temple has a bald but handsome monk. Every day, he would bawl, “I want to renounce asceticism! I want to marry a chick that’s not too pretty, have a cute baby, and lead a stable life!”

This book is a casual novel that introduces various Chinese traditional customs, as well as Buddhist ones. It strives to be a positive book, allowing people to reflect on how they should live their lives and treat others.

- Description from Novelupdates

A bitter old man gets tossed into the world of Tamriel, as a descendant of a religious madman no less, watch as he delves into the secrets of magic and explores the wonders of this danger-filled world, and with luck and a lot of magic juice possibly even beyond.This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic (or anything for that matter). English is not my native language but I think there shouldn't be too many mistakes. The story will focus on magic and exploration with most likely a bit of romance later on.

Lan Chang’an has gone through two lifetimes of reincarnations, and in the third life, he aimed for stability until reaching the Nascent Soul Realm in hopes of unraveling the mysteries of the Nine Seal Stele. Consequently, he cultivated the Ancient Trees Evergreen Technique, which wielded modest power in return for greater lifespan.

His approach is not one of fearlessly engaging in battles, but of navigating with steady precision and forging meaningful bonds with others.

Throughout his long cultivation journey, he encountered individuals at various stages of their cultivation, including a Decent Faction Head, a Prodigious Beauty, a Giant Demon Lord, an Evil Cultivator, a Thousand-Year Old Demon, and a Puppet Master Pulling Strings From Behind The Scene.

Observing the ebb and flow of the world, witnessing its ups and downs, he unknowingly became a living fossil in the realm of cultivation, akin to an evergreen tree spanning through eternity.

In the world of mortals, the flow of life is steady, shrouded in the illusion of longevity, yet decisions are made decisively, with a clear sense of morality.

“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.