I Woke My Vegetative Husband up After Booktransmigrating - Chapter 188 - 188 Smear His Reputation

Lu Chen transmigrated to the Great Sum Dynasty, becoming the Ninth Prince of the dynasty.

Unlike the transmigrators in novels, Lu Chen didn’t have extensive engineering knowledge, nor did he remember much classical poetry.

In order to avoid getting involved in the succession struggle, Lu Chen could only lie low, planning to enjoy a quiet life of splendor and wealth.

Due to his mother’s status, Lu Chen was eventually granted a marriage by the Emperor and was assigned to be Prince over a bitterly cold territory in the north.

Just when Lu Chen thought he was going to decay in such a manner for the rest of his life, he activated a system on his wedding night.

As long as he sired a heir, Lu Chen would be able to receive rewards and even enhance his own power.

Years later.

Lu Chen marched into the capital with a million-strong army to support the Emperor, and everyone was dumbfounded.

“Wasn’t this guy a useless Prince? Where did he get a million-strong army from!”

“What’s happening, how could he possibly be a Grandmaster?”

“Turns out the Ninth Prince’s decadence was all an act!”

……………………………………………………………

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Ever since the sign-in and clock-in system was bound, Chen Yun was either checking in or on the way to clock in.

From then on, amidst the wild flowers and the worship of the heroes, a brilliant god rose up.

In the world, I am the only one who has the name of a god!

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- Description from novelbuddy

One day, Luo Jian woke up from his sleep and found himself in a locked chamber where the door and window were all sealed. A note with a few lines written on it was tacked to the wall: “Escape from this room within an hour, otherwise, you will die.”

There is a sequel called Reincarnation Night (轮回之夜) that takes place in the same universe but has different main characters

- 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.