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... ut. His heart pounded as he stared at the phone while it buzzed incessantly, drilling into his mind.

For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to pick up the phone. He felt frozen, the memory of her betrayal and the image of Tyler Mooney wrapped around her kept flashing in his mind.

So, with his breath heavy, he considered letting it ring out. But then the ringing ceased and Darren exhaled shakily, relief washing over him.

Buzz! It rang again.

The same caller ID: ...

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Terminally ill before even reaching the age of 40, Song Nuanyi awaited a gloomy end. Her death just happened to clash with her son’s wedding. Yet, her children, who she painstakingly raised, her mother-in-law, who she served for so many years, and her husband, who she exchanged vows with to love and cherish forever, none of them noticed her. When they finally discovered her corpse, they simply said, “Just bury it.”

Everyone else went on to enjoy the wedding while her funeral was empty with no visitors. No, one person did come. She watched as the person she despised cried his heart out in front of her grave, revealing his love for her. The sorrow in his voice made tears well up in her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, she had returned in time to the day before her wedding. The memories of her past life were still vivid in her mind. She hurried to the race track and found the man to blurt out, “I’m getting married tomorrow. Don’t you want to crash the wedding? Don’t you want to steal me away?”

The man was stunned before snickering. “Ms. Song, did you hit your head?” She added insistently, “I’m asking you one last time, are you brave enough to come?” The man did not answer but pulled out a credit card instead. “Ms. Song, if something is wrong with your head, go and have it checked.” She took the card and said, “I’ll take this as your betrothal gift.”

Having said that, she left. The man was dumbstruck, as he never expected her to take his card.

News of the self-righteous young lady of the Song family seeking out the capital’s number one playboy, Young Master Jin, spread quickly. Someone asked the man what happened, but he just blew a whistle and said, “Come along with me tomorrow. We have a big business to do.”

Song Nuanyi was anxious because she did not know when he started liking her in their past life. Would he even show up tomorrow?

Character Setting:

Song Nuanyi – self-righteous, aloof, noble young lady

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Wen Xuan, the chief disciple of Shui Yunzong, respected the teacher halfway and loved his fellow students, was a model among his disciples.
    He had thought he would spend his life like this.
    Until one day, he met an open younger brother.
    His brother told him that this world is actually a text.
    And he, as the ugliest and humble negative character in the text of the upgrading and upgrading, will be bumpy in the second half of life, departed from relatives, and desolate.
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“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.

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She has been drawn into the life of the phoenix, such fate – “The Emperor Swallow”, but few days later she married the Prime Minister; she possesses beauty that overthrows cities and ruins states but also has a talented and virtuous mind, yet her husband is deeply in love with the Emperor’s doted consort. On their wedding night, his face filled with guilt, says to her: Apart from love, I can give you anything……

Though deep in nobility, her life is not monotonous, to pick up the new number one scholar from within the imperial palace, to rescue the Nu clan’s prince in the back alleys, and with the young general falling off the cliff, with the Emperor engaging in a battle of wits over the inner palace…….

Many men were unable to conquer her beauty and wisdom, yet when trying to win the beauty, they cannot let go of their plundering desires in lust for power. Within the imperial court, there is an underlying turbulence of disputing fronts. On the battlefield, there is the slaughtering of armoured cavalry……the tender grace of a beauty, hearts fuelled with lust for power, which is it that is the burial of such heroes?

Troubled times since the war, they survive in this strife, fighting to dominate this world, seizing the beauty that overthrows cities and ruin states……

The world, because of this beauty, is in chaos; but who is it that this beauty charmingly smiles at?