When Xiao Han was in middle school, he had played a game called The Sims. His greatest pleasure had been finding different ways to kill the little people he created.
Being burned alive, starving to death, or exhausting themselves in a pool—those were too easy. But dying while holding in their pee, getting bitten by flies, being scared to death by ghosts, or crushed by a meteorite—those were so much more interesting.

However, Xiao Han had never imagined that one day, he himself would die… of laughter.

So when he woke up again, a storm of rage and helplessness boiled inside him. He felt exactly like those little creatures he'd once manipulated in the game, toys in the hands of some twisted player. The moment the plot deviated from its designated course, he died—each time in a more absurd way than the last.

And the most shocking part was that even in his last life, when he had resigned himself to following the script, he still ended up dead.

Expression cold and unreadable, like a poker player hiding his hand, Xiao Han sat up.
Another bed. Why, after transmigrating, was he always waking up in bed?!

The room was spacious and modern, furnished in luxurious style. Thick, soft carpet blanketed the floor. Everything was elegant… yet carried a cold, sterile aura.

His gaze swept around until it caught on a framed photograph resting on the bedside table.
In the photo, a man who looked suspiciously like him was holding another young man close. They seemed intimate—yet the photo had been torn and clumsily glued back together.

The young man’s face struck a familiar chord.
Frowning, Xiao Han thought hard. Wasn't that Liang Chenli, the "good friend" from the first scenario, the one he'd been secretly in love with for years?

It seemed that, once again, this man was fated to be his so-called ex-lover.

As Xiao Han pieced together the scenario for this life, a knock came at the door.

“Young master, breakfast is ready.”

"...GOOD."

Xiao Han had no choice but to set the photo frame down. After washing and changing, he stepped outside.

At the door, a middle-aged man in glasses was waiting: the butler who had served the Xiao family for years.
Since Xiao Han's father's death, this loyal steward had dedicated himself to helping Xiao Han consolidate power, driving the mafia boss from City X and securing control for the Xiao family.

But this uncle… wasn't he the aged version of Xian Fu, damn it?!

Expressionless, Xiao Han took his seat at the dining table, watching silently as butler Xian Fu laid out the breakfast dishes.
The same actors, reappearing life after life.
Was this a TV show or what?!

No matter how much the setting changed, the roles stayed the same. The plot, too, remained stubbornly repetitive:
"I love you, but you don't love me. When I finally don't love you anymore, you start loving me back."

Same reheated story. Only the background sets were different.

In his previous transmigrations, Xiao Han had often grumbled about it. Now, he stayed perfectly calm, focusing only on two things:

First, how to break free from the script's control.
Second, Wen Muyan.

He was convinced now that Wen Muyan wasn’t just an NPC. Perhaps this guy had also transmigrated during the last scenario.

But for now, it was all speculation. Xiao Han would only confirm it once he met Wen Muyan—the so-called cannon fodder.

“Young Master, Young Master Zhuo Fan is making a fuss again. He says that if you refuse to see him, he’ll go on a hunger strike,” Xian Fu reported in a low voice, noticing that Xiao Han had nearly finished his meal.

Xiao Han massaged his temples. Every time he heard the name “Zhuo Fan,” a gloom settled over him.
He sneered, “Then let him starve to death. Does he still think he’s a mafia prince? Just give him glucose and nutrient solution.”

“Yes, young master,” Xian Fu replied respectfully. It was clear that if Xiao Han ordered him to kill Zhuo Fan, he would do it without blinking.

“Xian Fu, investigate a person named Wen Muyan. The more detailed, the better.” Xiao Han wiped his mouth with a neat, precise motion.

The script might try to box him in, but he still had room to act outside its borders.

“That man seems connected to Zhuo Fan. Their relationship is far from simple.”

“Understood, young master.” Xian Fu, though briefly surprised, concealed it perfectly with the poise of long experience.

For now, Xiao Han had no intention of seeing Zhuo Fan. According to the scenario, he had another destination first.

“Prepare the car. I’m going to Nanshan Mausoleum.”

Late autumn. Under a dark sky, fine drizzle floated down.

Few people visited Nanshan Mausoleum that day. Two black cars snaked along the winding mountain pass before halting at Haoling County.

Four bodyguards in black suits quickly exited. One opened an umbrella and stood silently beside the second car, ready for the door to open.

Xiao Han got out, half his face hidden behind large sunglasses.
Only his thin, tightly pressed lips were visible, exuding a chill as cold as the rainy autumn air. In his arms, he held a single white chrysanthemum. Taking the umbrella from his bodyguard, he said in an indifferent tone, “Wait here.”

“Yes,” the four men answered in unison, standing still at the entrance like statues.

Xiao Han walked through the cemetery, passing by a dozen tombstones before stopping in front of a more secluded stele.
The area around this grave was meticulously maintained, proof that someone had been hired to care for it regularly.

The owner of the tombstone was none other than Liang Chenli, and the inscription read: Posted by his lover, Xiao Han.

Xiao Han placed the flower down gently and muttered in a low voice, “Chenli, Zhuo Fan leaked your information out of jealousy, using someone else's hands to assassinate you. I swear, I’ll make him pay tenfold for this. The Zhuo family has already been wiped out. With the patriarch dead, there's no one left to support Zhuo Fan. I’ve secretly locked him away. Tell me, how should I make him pay?”

A sigh escaped him, filled with regret and bitterness. “When the Zhuo family dominated the city, their heir cornered me. I was too weak to protect you. After you left, I pretended to accept Zhuo Fan, feigning affection while laying traps for him. Today, I’ve crushed them all underfoot.
But it's such a pity… you're no longer here to see it.”

Xiao Han slowly removed his sunglasses, revealing a face cold and impassive. Under the dark autumn rain, his solitary figure appeared desperately lonely.

He tucked the glasses into his coat pocket, then pulled out a small purple-and-white object from another pocket. It was a bunch of onions.

Since he was still holding an umbrella, the act was clumsy.
Looking around and seeing no one, he wedged the umbrella handle between his shoulder and neck.
In front of the tombstone, he crouched down awkwardly and began peeling onions.

As he peeled, tears streamed down his face. “Chenli, how could you bear to leave me here alone? The only photo we had together was even cut apart by Zhuo Fan. I glued it back together, but the scar will never disappear...”

“I feel like your face is becoming blurrier with time, but I don't want to forget you...”

“No matter how much revenge I take on Zhuo Fan, you will never come back.
Is there any meaning to all this…?”

By the time his eyes were swollen with tears, he finally exhaled in relief. “If I had known peeling onions was such a pain, I would've just bought a bottle of eye drops. Tragic Comrade Liang Chenli… in the first world, you didn’t even have much presence. Now, in this world, you don't even get the chance to appear. Compared to how the top cannon fodder struggles to stay relevant, bottom-tier cannon fodder is just shit—after excretion, flushed out without a trace.”

He stood up, swiftly covering his red eyes with sunglasses. Resuming the appearance of a dashing, ruthless mafia boss, he returned to his bodyguards and got into the car.

By the time he finished handling some business and returned to the villa, the sky had completely darkened.

Taking off his rain-soaked coat and handing it to the maid, Xiao Han loosened his tie and asked with a frown, “What’s going on with Zhuo Fan?”

The butler pushed up his glasses and replied in a slightly helpless tone, “Young Master Zhuo Fan kept insisting on seeing you all day. We gave him a tranquilizer this afternoon, and he finally fell asleep.
Young Master, your bath is prepared. Would you like to dine in the dining room?”

“Send dinner to Zhuo Fan’s room.” Xiao Han’s brows remained furrowed. Without changing his expression, he walked towards his bathroom.

He soaked in the bathtub for a long time, but the gloomy feeling wouldn't wash away. The mere thought of having to revisit this mental irritation made him scowl.

Finally, he climbed out of the bath, his face impassive, his body still dripping wet, and his bare feet padding across the floor as he made his way to Zhuo Fan's room.

Inside, a single orange lamp glowed, casting soft, dim light throughout the space. Apparently, orange light was said to increase a person’s sexual desire—but Xiao Han thought that was complete nonsense.

A man lay sleeping on the bed, his face pale. Even in sleep, he frowned, anxiety evident between his brows.

Standing beside the bed, Xiao Han stared at the familiar face, expressionless. A sudden whim gripped him—he very much wanted to take off his shoe and rub it on that person's face. But when he touched his bare feet, he realized he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Disappointed, Xiao Han slumped into the chair next to the bed. His eyes half-closed, he continued staring at Zhuo Fan as per the script’s demands. Damn it, if he stared any longer, he would start squinting.

Fortunately, the script didn’t waste too much time. Zhuo Fan stirred at last.

His eyelashes fluttered, then his eyes opened wide the moment he saw Xiao Han. With a start, he leapt out of bed, rushing forward to grab Xiao Han’s lapel. “Xiao Han! You finally dare to appear in front of me?!” he shouted, voice hoarse with emotion. “Tell me—did you stay with me just for the sake of the Xiao family? Were all your words of love nothing but lies?!”

Having swallowed a tranquilizer after abstaining from eating, Zhuo Fan was still not fully alert. Yet the moment he saw Xiao Han’s face, a surge of love and hate erupted within him, flooding his mind uncontrollably.

After being mired in this type of melodrama for two lifetimes already, Xiao Han could only feel an intense and growing annoyance at Zhuo Fan’s agitation. He seemed cold—so cold it exceeded even what the script demanded of him.
“So what?” he said indifferently.

Without hesitation, Xiao Han pulled Zhuo Fan’s hand away and, with a bit more force than necessary, threw the thin, fragile man onto the bed.

Who would have guessed? Xiao Han had used just a little too much strength—Zhuo Fan didn’t merely fall onto the bed. He rolled across it and landed heavily on the ground.

“…Oops, my hand slipped. Excuse me.” Scratching his head innocently, Xiao Han looked down at him.

Dizzy from the fall, Zhuo Fan struggled back onto the bed, gasping for breath. His chest heaved with a mix of fury and heartache.
He glared at Xiao Han, voice hoarse with anger: “Why are you doing this to me? I’ve done so much for you, trusted you so much, loved you so much—why did you betray me?!”

“Betray you?” Xiao Han sneered, a cruel glint flashing in his eyes. “I was never sincere with you to begin with. So tell me, how could this even be called betrayal?”

Without waiting for a response, he pushed Zhuo Fan down, pressing his body over him.
In a few swift movements, he stripped the man of all his clothes, leaving only a pair of underwear clinging to his frail frame.

“Let me go!” Zhuo Fan struggled desperately, but the tranquilizer and his weakened state left him powerless. Closing his eyes in hatred, he remembered their former tenderness—the past intimacy they had shared.

Now, facing the man he had once loved, the looming assault only filled him with unbearable humiliation and despair.

“Xiao Han… go to hell! Don’t touch me!” he screamed, choking on the hatred rising in his throat.

“…You are the reason Chenli was lost to me," Xiao Han growled in his ear, voice cold as death.
"I’ll make you repay that pain a hundred times over!”

Grabbing Zhuo Fan’s neck roughly, Xiao Han laughed—a sound devoid of warmth.
With his other hand, he tore away the last scrap of clothing—the underwear.

The terror of impending violation and the agony of betrayal gnawed at Zhuo Fan’s heart.
Overwhelmed by fear, pain, and helplessness, his nerves finally snapped—he fainted.

At that exact moment, an unexpected intruder arrived at the villa.

With expert skill and calm efficiency, this person bypassed the villa’s guards and surveillance systems, moving unseen like a shadow. He knocked out the two bodyguards stationed outside Zhuo Fan’s room, then kicked the door open with a loud crash!

This man was Wen Muyan.

Although he had steeled himself for the worst before entering, the scene he rushed into still left him momentarily dumbstruck—

On the bed, Xiao Han, clad only in a loosened bathrobe, loomed over the unconscious, completely naked Zhuo Fan. The bathrobe had slipped open during the struggle, revealing a large expanse of firm, sculpted chest.

For a moment, Wen Muyan could only stand there staring, his mind blank, forgetting the lines he had prepared to say.

It wasn't just the shocking sight that stunned him—it was the bizarre action Xiao Han was performing.

In his hand, Xiao Han held something white over Zhuo Fan’s head. On closer inspection… it was a pair of underwear.

This man—this villain—was trying to put Zhuo Fan’s underwear on Zhuo Fan’s head!

…What the hell was going on here?

Hearing the commotion, Xiao Han turned his head. His eyes met Wen Muyan’s stunned expression. Without missing a beat, Xiao Han greeted him with a casual wave: “Hey, we meet again in this life, McDonald's!”

…Wait.
Who the hell was McDonald's!?

 

Translator : DarNan