The Reborn Wife is Farming - Chapter 598 - : Trust (2)

Lingyun, a fierce and savage cultivation genius takes over a dead teenager’s body. Coincidentally, they are both named Lingyun. Set in a alternate version of the 21st century, teenager Lingyun has been killed by someone with a grudge.

Joe finds himself kidnapped by aliens, shot at a planet inside a metal ball with a parachute strapped to it, and dumped on a planet full of people who can't speak with him. Now he has to figure out where he is, who captured him, why he was sent here, and, if possible, how to get back home!Great forces move as a young man finds himself suddenly taken from home by a strange people to explore a strange land. He does not know he is to explore nor does he even know who has taken him or why. Joe struggles to survive in a strange world of unusual peoples and cultures but his experiences prove to the task. Many learn from him just as much as he learns from them.Joe learns of the world, of the strange forces within it, and gains friends and a new family along the way. He will be ground to nothing, but will find himself once more.

Yan Qing’s sister, who has been sent down to earth, was schemed; designed to be a miserable female character in every life.

To save her younger sister, Yan Qing, a retired quick-transmigrator, full class man, once again set foot on the world shuttle journey to hardcore protect his sister and counterattack scumbags.

And then … ——

The real daughter who was kicked out of the House: sorry, my richest brother came to pick me up.

Abandoned White Moonlight stand-in: sorry, my elder brother said you lost your throne.

Face-slapped cannon fodder female partner: sorry, the country spoils my brother, my brother spoils me!

- Description from Novelupdates

“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.