MTL - Secret Love - Chapter 21

Instead of causing chaos with my knowledge of the original work, I assisted the protagonist.

I successfully completed the story and now planned to retire and live peacefully.

However, it seems the protagonist still needs my help.

An academy professor? That’s nothing much.

But why is the state of the academy so strange?”

Reborn as a sword, he lived for hundreds of years, and then he occupied the body of a 15-year-old prince.

Reincarnated as the first prince of the Jing Dynasty, Jiang Changsheng was transferred by a traitor as soon as he was born, and then he was sent to a temple to become an ordinary little Taoist priest.

From the prince to the little Taoist priest who no one cares about, his life has fallen. Fortunately, Jiang Changsheng has activated the survival system and has an infinite lifespan. As long as he survives the hardships of life, he can get a survival reward.

He was almost killed by his brother while practicing martial arts, but survived by luck and got the leg of the gods.

Encountered an earthquake, was nearly killed by the beam of the house, and obtained the Nine Searching Heavenly Dragon Step.

The demons roamed the capital, passed it safely, and obtained the magic weapon to conquer the demon pestle.

…

There are many dynasties, demons are rampant, and martial arts rule the world. This is a world without immortals and gods, and Taoism is hidden in the halls and mountains.

Three hundred years later.

When the Jing Dynasty was prosperous, it ushered in decline, the princes rose together, the emperor became a puppet in the hands of the heroes, split the dynasty, and fought for decades.

The puppet emperor Jiang Xuanzhen came to the Taoist temple and knelt down and cried, “My descendants are not filial and unable to return to heaven, please ask our ancestors to ascend the throne and continue my grand scene for another 300 years!”

- Description from novelbuddy

“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.