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... to feel rather comfortable. Several people were seated, but remained silent. After all, the Crown Prince would take some time since he was called to the Imperial Palace. An hour later, the announcement of the arrival of the Crown Prince rang out, as he strolled in through the strong winds.


Everyone present paused in shock, as they looked up at the Crown Prince’s frozen and ashen face. As soon as the Crown Prince entered the hall, they could feel the air around them become much ...

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Su Xiaoman is a fake daughter of a wealthy family. She is not related to her biological parents. She is rejected by her adoptive parents.
When she woke up again, she found herself wearing a book and became the village flower Su Xiaoman in the 1970s.
Su Xiaoman is the best wife of a chronology villain male supporting role.
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Su Xiaoman is unwilling to marry Xie Mingtu because of his innocence, and is still obsessed with the male protagonist Jiang Yantang. Who knows that not long after, the second brother of the male protagonist Jiang Yantang went to the countryside to visit relatives, and found that the poor boy Xie Mingtu was the child of the Jiang family, and the male protagonist Jiang Yan Tang was held wrong.
Xie Mingtu returned to Jiang’s house in the courtyard, but he was ridiculed and ridiculed because he was gloomy and vulgar, and he couldn’t compare to the fake boy Jiang Yantang, and his wife was even more obsessed with Jiang Yantang…
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[Growing-up male and female protagonists, the male protagonist has super potential. In the early days, he drove a tractor in the village, and later joined the army to fly a plane. 】

Content tags: sweet text through the book chronological text
Search keywords: Protagonist: Su Xiaoman ┃ Supporting role: ┃ Others:
One sentence introduction: True and false collision.
Purpose: work together, work together to become rich, and live an optimistic and positive life in the era of struggle.

- Description from novelbuddy

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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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“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.

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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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