The Young Urban Doctor - Chapter 810 - Abnormal

In her past life Gu Wei Wei’s heart was dug out by the man she loved, and transplanted into her best friend’s body. However, after rebirth she become Hua country’s number one conglomerate, Fu Han Zheng’s little girlfriend. She is being careful trying to take revenge against the people that hurt her. He protects her everywhere, pamper her to the extreme. Everyone said that Fu Han Zheng is cold and without emotion. That perfect husband that everyday tease her until she blushes and her heart beat, pamper her regardless anything, is it a fake husband?

“I shall not yield to fate nor destiny. I will create my legacy.” Yang Wei said as he stared at the clear blue sky.

Yang Wei, a mortal who has no background or power to become a cultivator except for his undying determination. An unwillingness to accept his fate as he will break away the chain that casts him behind.

In a world where spiritual qi exists, humans can utilize this power to cultivate and become a legend themselves. However, the path itself is gruesome and achieved through multiple obstacles.

Now it’s the time for Yang Wei to achieve something that no other predecessor has done in the past.

Feng Yun was an ordinary young man who was unable to cultivate. One day, He got the inheritance of the Ancient Yang Demon Clan and a mysterious sword. With these he became a super genius and started his new journey from a small town to heaven, sweeping across the world, vying for the supreme existence.

“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.