The Strongest Brother Lost His Memory - Chapter 18

Chen Qing transmigrated, only to find himself in a chaotic world where Martial Arts reign supreme and human lives are as cheap as grass.He starts out as the son of a poor fisherman's family in Mute Bay. His father was taken for corvée labor and has not been heard from since, while the orphan and his widowed mother are exploited layer by layer by the Government Office's taxes and the “Dragon King Incense” gang, leaving them struggling on the verge of starvation.But Heaven never seals off all paths. In his mind hangs a【Fate Plate: Heaven Rewards Diligence, and Success is Guaranteed】!This means that for any skill, there are no aptitude thresholds or bottleneck hindrances for him. As long as he puts in the effort, a reward is guaranteed!

A minus’ hand that fails every singer he put his hands on, Kang Yoon.

Xu Shiyan was reborn back to forty years ago, the second day of his wedding.

Shui Lingling’s daughter-in-law has just entered the house, and everything is off to the best start.

Farming, hunting, going to the mountains to dig a big ginseng, life in the 1970s was actually quite good.

I didn’t have much skill in my previous life, and I don’t have any grand wishes in this life. I just want to live a good life with my daughter-in-law and cultivate my daughter into a talent.

The eldest daughter likes to write, so let her take the Chinese department of a key university.

The second daughter likes to sing and dance, and the art school is good.

As for that bastard son, the prodigal son, he didn’t have a chance to stuff it back into his mother’s belly in his previous life, so he just wanted to be born in this life.

But why are some things different?

- 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.