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... s whole head apart.

"No!," the man with the sword screamed. By now the remaining beasts were either freed or dead. So, the only fighter remaining on the battlefield was the man.

Ning swung his spear, throwing away any blood that was on it.

"Now it's just you and me. Can you save yourself?" Ning asked.

"I will f**king kill you, you bastard," the man said and charged at Ning with his sword. Ning himself started to spin his spear around and used the Revolving Spear art.

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After the true daughter returned – There was no affection, only sympathy.

The Mu family parents asked her, “We have a deep relationship with Yaoyao. We can’t let her lose face. We can only announce you as an adopted daughter to the outside world. You won’t blame us, right?”

Her fiancée also said: “My fiancée can only be Yaoyao! Get out of here country bumpkin.”

The attitude of her older brother Mu Qingyi was even more complicated.

Yet despite all that, the real daughter, Xu Xinduo, said indifferently, “It doesn’t matter.”

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From a young age Xu Xinduo could swap bodies with a certain teenager. That teenager would always exclaim in an annoyed tone, “Let’s switch bodies, I just don’t feel like taking piano lessons.

Xu Xinduo helped the teenager to win various trophies, become a top student and honed his noble temperament and talent after taking over his body.

***

At a banquet, everyone in the Mu family watched as a rich young master strode towards Xu Xinduo and said, “Be my girlfriend, although you are from a small family… you are very beautiful.”

With a smile Xu Xinduo replied, “I’m starting to miss my parents already.”

Such a quick change of attitude?!

The romantic story of the indifferent real daughter x a filthy rich despotic young master

Note: Here “switching bodies” means swapping of souls. It’s temporary and doesn’t involve any physical changes.

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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.