MTL - After Crossing, My Husband and I Were Reborn Together - Chapter 1410 Xiao Yunru's thoughts

When a glorious old civilization was toppled overnight, a strange purple moon rose and thus began the Purple Moon Era.

“The Second Cult Leader and the Prophet of the Voodooists died during the Holy War seven years ago.”

Florence Academy was a prestigious clergy academy.

“Now that the Voodooists are considered as a cult, who is the Third Cult Leader, where are they now, and what are they up to?”

Only I knew the answer to this question.

The Third Cult Leader was a freshman at Florence Academy. He was here, standing amongst the others in the auditorium.

How do I know this, you ask?

Because I’m the Cult Leader.

……………………………………………………………

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Chen Luo’s transmigration story starts at a mourning hall.

This is a world where reading can help you obtain enormous powers.

Reading Confucian classics trains you to the path of righteousness

Studying Taoist doctrines will help you grasp the source of everything and the ultimate principle underlying reality.

Understanding Buddhist Scriptures will make you comprehend the essence of rebirth and karma.

But contrary to what is expected, why does Chen Luo’s cheat only give him books for leisure reading!

….

What? 《Strange Tales from A Chinese Studio》is now being treated as the bible of the Monster Country?

What? 《The Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils》opened the world of martial arts?

What? 《The Plum in the Golden Vase》….

Don’t panic, don’t panic, these are all small details!

This scholar, have you ever heard of the book 《Tales of the Three Kingdom》 where gallant generals and cunning strategists are a dime a dozen?

That Taoist priest over there, ever read 《Investiture of the Gods》? You people from the Taoist sect are outdated!

Hey, please halt high priest, I have a copy of 《Journey to the West》 here, are you interested?

- 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.