Unrivaled Medicine God - Chapter 161: Blood Bodhi!

The Peng Society for Gentlemen — a secret friend-making club for the homosexual men of the Great Xia Dynasty. Its services were designed to help its members along in their quest for their lifelong partners. Upon paying a monthly fee of fifty coins, members could get themselves listed in The Pengornisseur after providing a self-portrait, a mailing address, their age and hobbies, as well as a self-introduction. All members would receive a copy of the monthly publication, and they could communicate with one another in private using the information in The Pengornisseur.

Wu Xingzi, a bachelor about to turn forty, worked as the adviser to the magistrate in Qingcheng County.

Qingcheng County was a place with barely any resources. In other words, it was poor. In the list of counties of the Great Xia Dynasty, it had been ranked at the bottom for the past two hundred years.

Wu Xingzi felt that his life was hopeless: not only was he a homosexual, he was also a virgin. Even his retirement fund was lacking. Worse still, his looks were… forgettable.

He might as well die.

Hence, Wu Xingzi decided to commit suicide on his fortieth birthday. However, he was unwilling to remain a virgin to death! And so, gritting his teeth, he joined the Peng Society for Gentlemen and received The Pengornisseur. It was very painful; after all, fifty coins were the sum of his daily expenditure for ten days! He would only pay it once, and he was determined to succeed on his first try.

I killed the protagonist.Yeah. He was a real son of a bitch.Noah didn’t just stumble into this mess. He walked straight in—grinning, sword in hand.One day, he wakes up inside his favorite game… as a throwaway side character no one remembers. A complete nobody. But when he figures out who the so-called “main character” is?Some smug, self-righteous psycho.So yeah—he killed him. No regrets.Story over, right?Not exactly.Because this world? It’s got one more player.“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?”Now the story’s off the rails, the world’s gone completely off-script, and Noah’s got a new goal:Steal the hero’s spot. Rewrite the plot. Find out who the hell this other player is. And maybe—just maybe—make this damn story fun for once.

When Qin Yan was five years old, she left the capital with her mother and went to the Pingxi Army under the command of her grandfather, Duke of Zhenguo, in the Northwest. When she returned twelve years later, things were different.

After the mother was attacked and disappeared, everyone in the Prime Minister Mansion only knew of Concubine Song, but not her mother, the honorable mistress. They only knew that there was only one Miss Nian in the mansion, and they did not know that there was also her, the only eldest young lady of the first wife.

The concubine took over her mother’s dowry and pretended to be rich and generous to win people’s hearts. The concubine-born younger sister, with the identity that belongs to Qin Yan, was mixed up like a fish in water in the circle of noble daughters in the capital, and she also intended to get involved with Qin Yan’s fiancé.

The people in Prime Minister Mansion thought that Qin Yan could only be at their mercy when she returned to the capital alone. However, they never thought that within a few days of returning to the capital, Qin Yan was granted the title of Princess of Zhaoren by the emperor and given a palace as the Princess Mansion.

When Qin Yan took back the dowry that belonged to her mother, only then did her father Prime Minister Qin and Concubine Song knew that Qin Yan was the owner of Yu Qingfeng, the first bank in Great Xia.

The City Master of Gu City, an important town outside the Northwest Pass, was known as the owner of Yu Qingfeng, the first bank in Great Xia which claimed to be able to reach half the national treasury.

How many secrets have not been uncovered on Qin Yan?

- 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.