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Reincarnated as a Scholar: But I only write Erotica

I Dreamed of Cultivation... and Got Homework Instead! “Ah, reincarnation into a xianxia world! Time to wield swords, shoot qi bullets, and become the overlord of the heavens!” At least, that’s what Lin Mao thought would happen. Instead, he woke up in a scholar’s robe, surrounded by ink-stained fingers and people debating... philosophy. “This isn’t the path to immortality! This is the path to finals!” Now Lin Mao has to navigate his life in the prestigious Sky Moon Sect, where flying on swords is nothing but a dream. The only thing flying is debates and enlightenment that comes from philosophy, not martial arts. Instead of fighting demonic beasts, he's fighting grumpy senior brothers, mysterious sect elders, and his master that has a.......long beard. “Who needs qi cultivation when you have the ‘Path of Society’? What does that even mean?! And why does everyone here hate jokes?!” Filled with nothing but Earth’s most degenerate novels, his unhinged personality, and his special ability to accidentally piss people off, Lin Mao is determined to shake up the scholar world. He might not be a cultivator, but who says he can’t make being a scholar legendary? “This isn’t the dream I signed up for, but whatever. If they are going to make me study, I’ll do it my way!” **** This novel will be story-focused, blending humor, character development, and world-building. However, it will also include R18 elements with detailed smut for those who enjoy a little spice in their story. You’ve been warned!
Philosopher_Immort · 7.7K Views

For Me, For Us, For Everyone

Cigarette smoke curls in the stagnant air, the dim glow of a dying bulb casting twisted shadows against the walls littered with half-torn articles and red-thread connections. Somewhere between the ink-stained papers and the scattered pills, a man sits—silent, unmoving, staring blankly at a stuffed monkey in a clown suit. A detective, they call him. A man of justice, a solver of mysteries. But behind the applause and empty praises, behind the sharp smiles and hollow congratulations, he is nothing but a walking contradiction—one hand holding a case file, the other exchanging cash for little plastic sachets. His mind is a labyrinth of voices, whispers that coil around his thoughts like suffocating vines. His brother grins at him from the corners of his vision, eyes glinting with the truth he refuses to face. His father’s voice is gentle, forgiving—too forgiving. Too much for a man who doesn’t deserve it. Each pill swallowed is another step into the illusion, another moment of stolen happiness before the weight of reality drags him under. He walks the city streets, drowning in faces that admire him, loathe him, see him as something he is not. He is both a hero and a villain, a detective and a criminal, a man trying to outrun the past while shackled to its corpse. And at the end of the night, when the echoes of the world fall away, all that remains is the darkness, the whispers, and the suffocating truth—he can never escape them.
Zeisn · 0 Views
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