My Dual-Cultivation System - Chapter 68 My Name Is Not ’Hey’

Vincent van Gogh, the painter who refused to be an accessory Of power and painted with his soul at the tip of a brush, was not understood by anyone and had to die like a madman, and he woke up in 21st century Korea.

Like a wheat field melted with gold, like a sunflower that swallowed the sun, a dazzling painter once again takes the brush.

“So, Diana, what's your excuse for betraying me?”

His amber glinted eyes bore into the woman with bloodied, broken blue hair, kneeling in complete disarray.

“... you're evil.”

“Oh, so, looking out for all of you makes me evil?”

The man narrowed his eyes, contemplating the echoes of protagonist halos and heroines' mentality, starkly real now.

Coming from a world far removed from such grim reality, he had read about these personalities in novels, but experiencing their shortcomings firsthand was a different story.

“How am I evil?”

He looked down at his foot where a young man, limbless and crushed, lay in a state of complete brokenness, mustering the little strength he had left to utter some words.

“... y.. you ba..stard, You killed millions.”

Hearing these words, the man's internal amusement grew at the absurdity of these hypocritical people.

He had eradicated all the evil organizations within the Empire after ascending to his throne.

Wars were waged to crush rebellious kingdoms that stood against his Empire, uniting the entire Heidal Continent under one flag—the Selvius Empire.

He shifted his gaze towards another woman with pink hair, her body completely broken, supported by a rock to maintain a semblance of balance amidst the devastation.

“Hmm, so what about you, Karina? Wasn't your family about to be executed by the Aidiac Royal family? Is it wrong for me to have intervened?”

“You killed them without mercy, and although you saved my family, it was not worth it.”

“I just saved—”

“It's bullshit. You could have solved everything peacefully without drawing so much blood.”

Hearing all this, the man began to understand why those novels depicted these people as hypocritical and low in intelligence.

If he hadn't saved them, they would have suffered the most gruesome fate.

Yet, despite being saved, these ungrateful individuals chose to blame him. The bitter irony of their ingratitude gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Guess you all have the same reasons.”

The man looked towards the seven people, their disdainful gazes directed at him.

He had only aimed to change their fates, to rescue some from slavery, others from crippling circumstances, and a few from inevitable betrayal.

Yet, they all blamed him for saving them, unable to comprehend that he had severed the root causes that would have subjected them to excruciating suffering.

“Hahaha.”

“Indeed, now I see.”

He now understood what those novels had tried to convey—'these idiots think this whole world works like they think it would.'

'System.........

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Tang Qiu was a substitute bride–forced to take her half-sister’s place and marry the young master of the Jiang family, a deformed cripple with less than 6 months left to live.

“Who would have thought that even a sickly whelp like Jiang Shaocheng would find himself a bride?”

“I hear that he’s practically on his deathbed and he’s only marrying the Fengs’ daughter to improve his lifespan.”

Tang Qiu ignored the whispers around her and focused on her husband-to-be, who coughed violently in his wheelchair. At the altar, after they had said their vows, she lifted her veil and knelt in front of Jiang Shaocheng, pressing a hesitant kiss to his lips.

The marriage contract was signed. No matter his physical deformities, he was now her husband.

She wasn’t afraid of the scars that marked his face, nor was she repulsed by him being confined to a wheelchair. Every morning, she made him breakfast, attended to his needs, and thought of little else beyond her duties as a wife.

“Young Master Jiang is a cripple who can’t get it up,” her best friend argued. “When he dies, you’ll still be untouched. You should set your sights higher.”

“A sickly invalid like Jiang Shaocheng can’t give you happiness,” her ex-boyfriend insisted. “I’ll wait for you.”

But Young Master Jiang only scoffed. “I have plenty of time left to be with her.”

Later in their marriage, Jiang Shaocheng wanted to enjoy his little wife in all ways–the press of her lips against his, the brush of skin on skin; the way a husband and wife were supposed to. But Tang Qiu refused him, blushing. “No, we can’t. The doctor says you can’t exert yourself.”

Jiang Shaocheng’s desire was surging through him, a heat in his core that demanded to be satiated. He cursed, I should have gotten rid of that doctor and the wheelchair long ago.

But he yearned to make love to his little wife, and so he revealed his true identity. In the blink of an eye, the deformed cripple transformed into a powerful businessman–tall, dark, and handsome. He quieted Tang Qiu’s protests, his body positioned over hers, his arms caging her as she lay on the bed. His voice was low when he asked, “What about now?”