Before stepping through the door, Gong Ze began to outline his character persona.
The plot given by the Main God was unreliable—just looking at the male lead, Qin Chuan, showed how watered-down the storyline was.
Gong Ze summoned the system.
“System, I need to revise the plot.”
Understood. Which aspect would you like to revise?
Every strategist who enters a mission world receives a novel issued by the Main God.
Strategists can modify the novel’s content themselves. Of course, the world won’t change just because the text is edited—this thing is at most a script guide.
The system fluttered its wings, and a virtual electronic novel appeared before Gong Ze.
He opened the title page and traced the words on the blurb: A child who narrowly escaped death grows up and seeks revenge against those who murdered his parents. He endures humiliation, fawns over his enemies, gets close to their son, and marries into the enemy family as a live-in son-in-law.
After successfully gaining the enemy’s trust, he seizes their wealth.
He kills the enemy couple.
He will also imprison and torture their son, torment and violate him, because ‘I’ hate—
“Because I love him.”
“…”
Flipping through the virtual pages, Gong Ze recited the monologue slowly and deliberately.
Emotions gradually shifted in his eyes, his sultry voice speaking with ease and absolute authority.
“Twistedly, I love him. I’m already aware of it, yet I refuse to admit it.”
The tiny virtual words scattered at Gong Ze’s words, then reassembled into new text.
“‘I’ both hate this carefree, pampered, sickly young master—who has parents and was raised spoiled and adored—and yet I often find myself staring at him.”
“The young master, forever beautiful and happy under the sun without a worry, and I—who lost my parents, twisted by a blood feud, living in the shadows—are like people from two different worlds. I yearn for him…”
“I yearn for his life.”
“If I hadn’t lost my parents, if the Wen family still existed, perhaps I would be just like him—carefree in a happy world.”
“‘I’ look at him with both disgust and envy, unable to resist projecting my feelings onto him.”
“Like those who suffered misfortune in childhood—when they grow up, they pour all their love into their own children, using that behavior to compensate for the lack they felt as children.”
“So that’s why ‘I’ braved the heavy rain just to buy him what he wanted, working tirelessly by his side and indulging every difficult demand he made.”
“When he showed frustration that he couldn’t make things hard for me, troubled over how to make me back down—’I’ actually found it quite amusing…”
Gong Ze looked at the new persona he had set for himself and raised an eyebrow, asking:
You really don’t like him?
Admit it. On that night when you first possessed him amid his weeping and moaning, ‘we’ were so excited it seemed as if we wanted him to wither and die in our arms.
That palm of his pushing against ‘my’ chest—’I’ wanted nothing more than to hold it piously, close ‘my’ eyes, press it to ‘my’ face, and tear it apart with excitement and joy.
As if remembering something, the handsome man’s breathing grew rapid. A faint flush spread across his cheeks, but he quickly suppressed it.
Peeking from the side, the system watched in fear: [Master, how is it?]
Gong Ze was very satisfied: “Mm. I’m feeling it now.”
The system thought: There it is! Ahhh, he really is an S!
Having found his direction for acting, Gong Ze knocked on the door of the protagonist bottom, Sang You.
But the pampered young master wouldn’t open it for him.
Gong Ze calmly pulled a key from his pants pocket and unlocked the door.
The system was shocked: [Master, where did you get the key?!]
“The Sang family house is mine now. One text message, and the housekeeper naturally places the room key at the entrance for me to pick up.”
Pushing open the door, Gong Ze carried his suit jacket in the crook of his arm, raised his chin slightly, and a smug, arrogant expression appeared on his face.
Ever since seizing everything from the Sang family, this formerly humble and submissive man no longer suppressed his true nature—or the evil madness within.
His shift in character and attitude after seizing power revealed itself through small gestures.
For instance, he pushed the door wide open with force, stood at the threshold for a few seconds, and only then walked inside.
The magpie occupying the nest, yet acting as if it were entitled.
As though the house had always been his.
As he walked, he casually tossed his jacket onto the sofa, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt with one hand, and trampled his leather shoes disrespectfully across the bedroom carpet.
Then his footsteps stopped by the bed, looking down at the fever-faced, sickly, fragile young master who was struggling to sit up amid the fluffy silk blankets, watching him with fearful caution.
Like a new male lion that has just killed the old king.
Aggression and arrogance were nearly overflowing.
In just a few short movements, Gong Ze brought to life the image of a ruthless, untamed villain.
Compared to the original story’s low-level, pathetic antagonist, the system felt that Gong Ze’s antagonist was both terrifying and… well… impossible to look away from.
Dangerous to the point of being mesmerizing.
“Why did you kick my people out?”
The man’s tone was casual when he asked this. He wasn’t trying to be difficult—he just wanted a reason to talk to the young man. He didn’t really care about the answer.
“You sent him here just to humiliate me, didn’t you?” Sang You said angrily. “You—you actually had him wash my body for me. I don’t need that! I’d rather… cough, cough… I’d rather not have just anyone touch me! Cough, cough!”
Hearing this, the man looked down at him and raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You think I sent him to take care of you just to humiliate you?”
Sang You gritted his teeth beneath his gaze. “What else?”
His crimson lips burned even redder from the fever.
He recalled how, at the hotel, he had given up on suicide just to avoid letting Gong Ze have his way—only to end up stuck in the humiliating situation of having no clothes to wear, unable to leave the hotel. And then a stranger barged into his room.
Sang You was terrified.
The sullen, burly man had a terrible attitude. He threw clothes at Sang You and yanked him off the bed.
Sang You fell to the floor, and the man grabbed him by the hair like a beast of burden, dragging him to the bathroom to hose him down.
Sang You had been subjected to a cruel ordeal.
He struggled relentlessly, throwing things at the man, but the man mechanically repeated: “Mr. Gong said to give you a bath, change your clothes, and take you back to the Sang house.”
Having been traumatized multiple times in a single day, Sang You trembled and screamed, “I can wash myself! Get out!”—and only then did he manage to drive the man away.
He had sensed a hint of hostility from Wang Liben.
Sang You was both furious and resentful. He assumed Gong Ze had ordered it—after all, Wang Liben was Gong Ze’s subordinate.
But Wang Liben hadn’t mentioned any of these details.
So naturally, “Gong Ze” had no idea.
In “Gong Ze’s” eyes, he had kindly sent his trusted man to take care of Sang You, yet Sang You was ungrateful. His face instantly darkened. “Sang You, have I given you too much face? You hurt my subordinate and now you’re yelling at me? Is this your way of showing defiance and dissatisfaction with me?” This was clearly a slap in his own face.
Sang You, on the other hand, thought the man was deliberately picking a fight, wanting to humiliate him further. His throat tightened, his eyes reddened quickly, and he shouted stubbornly, “So what if it is?!”
“You—”
The man, enraged to the point of laughing instead, raised his hand toward him, ready to bring down a slap.
Sang You closed his eyes in fear.
But the pain never came.
The man’s violence halted abruptly. A flash of confusion crossed his sinister face. The slap that was meant to land turned into a gentle touch instead.
“You have a fever? You’re this hot?”
At his touch, the sickly young master’s skin tensed and trembled nervously.
Hearing this, Sang You clenched his fists, his eyes red, and let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “And whose fault is that? Ha. Stop pretending.”
The man furrowed his brows. “Me?”
“Yes!”
The young master, the tip of his nose flushed red, exhaled one breath after another of searing heat. The cold air tormented his lungs, and he couldn’t help but cough in fits again, his throat itching.
Sang You thought of how the man had taken possession of him after he’d lost consciousness the night before. Choking back sobs, he shouted at Gong Ze, “If you had cleaned me up afterward, how could I have gotten diarrhea and a fever?!”
Gong Ze: “…”
“It must have been because of what you left inside me!”
The young master turned his face away in shame, refusing to look at him.
Gong Ze: “…”
Gong Ze almost couldn’t hold back his laugh.
My dear young master, I didn’t leave a single thing inside your belly.
What a false accusation out of thin air. Gong Ze never expected to be framed like this. Suppressing a smile, he furrowed his brows to mask his exasperation, then stiffly grabbed the boy by the shoulders and pressed him back into the bed.
“Let me take a look.”
“Don’t touch me!”
The frail, sickly young master sobbed with grievance, weakly struggling amidst the fluffy, soft bedding. His slender wrists and pale, delicate arms struck the man’s shoulders and chest in futile fury.
This scoundrel, this bastard who had forced himself on him, endured his resistance with a stern face and examined his body anyway.
The system was also confused. It flew over quickly to explain: [Don’t blame me! That bottle of chili oil was all-natural and pollution-free. There’s no way it could cause diarrhea or a fever.]
“It really isn’t your fault.”
Gong Ze kept his upturned lips taut, turned the crying, screaming young master over, reached his large hand into the back of the sobbing boy’s shirt, and wiped away a handful of clammy sweat. His voice carried a hint of laughter as he said, “His body was already weak to begin with. Add the multiple shocks he experienced in one day—no wonder he’s burning up with a fever.”
[Then… what about the diarrhea?]
“Very simple.”
His father was a wealthy magnate in the underworld. Surrounded by several nannies since childhood, this delicately raised young master had a common affliction among upper-class kids:
A severe lack of basic life common sense.
[S-So…]
“He doesn’t know how to use the water heater. He took a cold shower. Who else’s stomach would be upset but his?”
[…]
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