Liú Zhēn's fingers hammered furiously at the keyboard, the glow of the Heaven's Rule forum illuminating his face like a battle-hardened warrior preparing for war.

Leugen_Zen005:

"Is the author seriously PROTAGONIST-BIASED?! The protagonist gets it all: perfect family, gorgeous girlfriend, rare Heavenly Spirit Root, and rises to Head Disciple... while the villain suffers a heartbreaking past only to meet a brutal demise! Where's the fairness?! The villain's tragic end was actually moving, but no, let's just slaughter him and crown the protagonist a flawless Mary Sue."

Satisfied with his virtual mic drop, he clicked 'Post' and leaned back in his chair with the smug grin of a self-proclaimed crusader for literary justice.

Why was Liú Zhēn, a 20-year-old college student with a pile of incomplete assignments and a life resembling week-old leftovers, so passionate about a mediocre cultivation web novel? Simple: it was garbage, and he lived to expose garbage.

Take Mèng Xīngyào, the so-called villain. Here was a guy who started life with the difficulty setting cranked up to "hell mode." Ignored by his father, tormented by his stepmother, and left by his biological mother with nothing but a cryptic scar and a lifetime supply of abandonment issues. Despite possessing a bargain-bin Fire Spirit Root—barely good enough to toast a marshmallow—Xīngyào clawed his way into the cultivation world through pure grit.

And why? For her.

Ah, Lǐ Huāxiān, the female lead. To Xīngyào, she was the moon and stars, the dream girl who'd one day notice his devotion. but she didn't. She only had eyes for the protagonist, Mèng Yīchéng, who probably farted rainbows and sneezed stardust. The golden boy swept her off her feet with all the effort of a dust mote landing on silk. Bravo, author. Truly groundbreaking.

Things only got worse when the mysterious realm—cue dramatic music—opened. Xīngyào joined the expedition, eager to prove himself. But no, here came Lǐ Huāxiān with her patented weapon of mass destruction: crocodile tears.

"Please, Xīngyào," she sniffled. "Can you be the bait? We'll totally come back for you."

And because love makes people stupid, he agreed. He hurled himself into danger for a woman whose "kindness" was faker than a cultivator claiming they didn't need dual cultivation to break through.

Stranded in the realm, Xīngyào faced everything from demon beasts to spiritual exhaustion, surviving by sheer determination. He even uncovered a shocking twist: the scar his mother left him wasn't just a memento of her terrible parenting—it was a seal. Turns out, Xīngyào wasn't just a sad side character. He was a royal demon heir.

He met the ancient ancestor of the realm he was trapped in, who guided him in the ways of the demon clan and showed him the path to escape.

Then, deep in the abyss—the foreboding lair of demons—he encountered Shāo Yīn Mèng, the reigning ruler of the demon realm. Shāo Yīn Mèng, with a flair for dramatic revelations, filled him in on the soap-opera-worthy details of his bloodline. Apparently, his mother had betrayed the demon clan, murdered the rightful heir, and sealed him to suppress the truth and conceal her crimes.

Armed with this explosive knowledge, Xīngyào clawed his way to the top, fueled by an unrelenting thirst for vengeance and a burning desire to reclaim what was rightfully his.

He defeated Shāo Yīn Mèng, reclaimed his throne, and even compelled Shāo Yīn Mèng to pledge loyalty to him, solidifying his position as the rightful Demon King of the clan he should've ruled by birthright. Blood, sweat, and literal tears led him to this triumphant moment. Finally, the villain rises! Surely, this was the perfect setup for an epic showdown with the protagonist.

And then, the author ruined it.

Xīngyào faced off against Mèng Yīchéng, who sparkled like a celestial deity fresh out of a beauty filter. Just as Xīngyào was about to land a critical blow, the unthinkable happened—a butterfly. Yes, a butterfly flitted past, and Xīngyào, for reasons unfathomable, got distracted.

And that was it.

One moment he was an unstoppable force, and the next, he was impaled, bleeding out like a tragic afterthought. No epic final words. No dramatic monologue. His death was so abrupt it felt like the author hit the word count limit and panicked.

And don't even get Liú Zhēn started on Lǐ Huāxiān. Oh, she played the role of "pure white moonlight" well, with her doe eyes and hollow promises. But really, she was a two-faced opportunist who used Xīngyào like a disposable pawn.

"She used him and then cried over his corpse like she cared," Liú Zhēn grumbled. "And he fell for it. How can someone so powerful be so dumb? Are demon eyes defective or what?"

Liú Zhēn's crusade against literary injustice ended abruptly when he glanced at the clock: 2:47 AM.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, slapping his forehead. "I've got class tomorrow! And my assignment's still not done!"

Panic flashed across his face before he shrugged it off with the grace of a man who had accepted mediocrity as his life's theme. "Eh, I'll wing it. What's the worst that could happen? Expulsion?"

After a sleepless night haunted by dreams of tragic villains and electric storms, Liú Zhēn woke to the sound of rain drumming against his window and his mother yelling from the kitchen.

"Zhēn'errrrrrrr! You're late again! Get up, you lazy bum, or I'll feed your breakfast to the dog!"

Late. The word sent him into a frantic scramble. Clothes were thrown on, breakfast was inhaled, and his family had the audacity to leave without him. Now drenched from head to toe, umbrella forgotten, he took a shortcut through the sketchiest alley in town.

That's when he saw it: a puddle spanning the entire path, shimmering ominously in the rain.

"Just water," he muttered, steeling himself. "I've waded through worse. Like that novel's plotline."

With sandals sloshing through the murky depths, he failed to notice the live wire submerged beneath the surface.

The pain hit like divine retribution—lightning tearing through his veins, muscles locking in a death grip. His last coherent thought was something along the lines of, "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

Then, silence. The alley returned to its indifferent stillness, leaving Liú Zhēn's lifeless body sprawled in the rain. Somewhere, the author of Heaven's Rule probably smirked.

Little did they know, this critic's story wasn't over yet.

When Liú Zhēn came to—well, sort of—he felt like he'd been stuffed into a refrigerator and forgotten there for someone's midnight snack. Bone-chilling, teeth-chattering cold clung to him like cling wrap, and his brain, bless its lazy neurons, struggled to piece together where the hell he was.

Naturally, his next thought wasn't comforting: "Oh, great. Did I die and get shipped express to Hell's freezer section?" His body shivered in agreement, as if to confirm his suspicions.

He tried opening his eyes, but it felt like peeling apart a sticky rice dumpling. And when he finally managed it, all he got was darkness. Pitch black. The kind of dark where even if he waved his hands around like a madman, he wouldn't have been able to tell if they were still attached.

Just as he was about to pass out again, some glitchy, robotic voice sliced through the silence like a haunted Alexa losing its Wi-Fi connection:

"...Hea...rule...

...Soul...bind...

...Trans...

...Biased..."

The voice sputtered out, leaving him more confused than a beginner stuck on chapter one of a cultivation manual. And with that, his consciousness hit the snooze button again.

The next time he woke, it wasn't because his body decided to cooperate. Nope, it was because of noise. A high-pitched, overly enthusiastic voice cut through the fog like nails on a chalkboard.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?! Gege isn't waking up at all? Then what's the point of keeping you useless healers around ?!"

A panicked male voice responded, dripping with the kind of desperation you'd hear from someone begging for a promotion:

"Miss, we're trying our best! The gongzi isn't waking up, but we're healers, not miracle workers. Please have mercy!"

"Trying your best? You've got the results of a donkey in a horse race!"

Liú Zhēn groaned internally. "Great. A live performance of 'Screeching Harpies: The Musical.' Just what I needed."

Before his brain could muster a protest, another voice joined in—calm but with the kind of authority that made you straighten your back even if you were lying down.

"Stop it, Língfēng. Your brother will wake up. Don't cause a ruckus here. Let the healers work, and stop threatening them."

"But, Mother—"

"Enough."

Liú Zhēn, a man who treasured his sleep as if it were gold, felt his irritation bubbling like a pot of soup left on high heat.

"If I could move, I'd shut you all up myself," he thought grimly, though a new concern crept in. Wait... who are these people? My family doesn't sound anything like this. Where am I?

The bickering continued, and Liú Zhēn, driven by frustration and curiosity, forced his eyes open again. It felt like trying to lift a boulder with chopsticks, but he managed.

What he saw made him want to close them right back.

Standing near his bed was a little girl who couldn't have been older than eight. She was cute enough to star in a commercial for overly sweet candy, but her sobbing? Oh boy. It was like listening to a squeaky faucet that wouldn't shut off.

Beside her was a woman dressed in flowing purple robes, looking as elegant as a crane in a lotus pond. She had the kind of youthful glow that skincare commercials lied about, making Liú Zhēn wonder if this was some advanced form of Photoshop brought to life.

Then there were the guys in white robes with golden embroidery, kneeling like extras from a high-budget historical drama. The whole setup screamed ancient cultivation novel cliché—or maybe just a fancy movie set.

Before Liú Zhēn could process this bizarre cosplay convention, the little girl let out an ear-piercing shriek.

"GEGE! YOU'RE AWAKE!" she screamed, launching herself at him like a caffeinated missile.

"Holy shit!" he thought, wincing as she nearly knocked him back into unconsciousness.

The girl babbled on, her questions firing at him like machine-gun rounds:

"Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere? Why didn't you wake up sooner? Are you hungry? Do you want soup?"

Liú Zhēn's brain was still buffering, so he just stared at her like she'd grown a second head. Before he could tell her to pipe down, the elegant woman intervened, her voice soft but tinged with authority.

"Chéng'er," she said, brushing a hand over his forehead like she'd done it a thousand times before. "How are you feeling? You had us all so worried."

Chéng'er? Who the hell is Chéng'er?

Liú Zhēn blinked, his brain trying to connect the dots, but it was like solving a Rubik's Cube with one hand tied behind his back.

Then it hit him.

Wait, hold on. Last thing I remember... I was heading to class, it was raining, I stepped into a puddle, and—oh, crap. The live wire. The memory slammed into him like a truck. Electrocuted by a puddle? Seriously? What am I, a fried dumpling?!

Pain—blinding, searing pain—flashed through his mind, and he grimaced.

"Oh, come on!" he groaned inwardly. "Who dies from a puddle? I wasn't even in the mood for waterworks that day!"

He stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, hoping for some answers. It offered none, just like everything else in this absurd situation.

He wanted to ask something, anything, but no words came out. It was like his mouth had been glued shut, leaving him mute while everyone else carried on as if his silence was normal.

The little girl, now less hysterical, sniffled and leaned closer. "Gege, are you really okay?"

Liú Zhēn nodded weakly, figuring it was the least effort he could muster, and watched as the healers, the elegant woman, and the overly dramatic girl finally left the room.

Before exiting, the girl paused at the door, her voice now soft and sugary: "Get well soon, gege. I'll come back later!"

Liú Zhēn sighed deeply, his body sinking further into the absurdly soft bed. "Sure, come back. It's not like I have anywhere else to go," he thought.

He finally took a proper look at his surroundings, and his eyebrows lifted in mild surprise.

The room was large, its space filled with an understated yet undeniable elegance. The air carried a faint scent of incense, mingling with the soft rustle of finely woven curtains that billowed gently with the breeze. Rich tapestries lined the walls, depicting serene landscapes and legendary beasts, their colors still vivid despite the passage of time. Ornate vases, perhaps not the rarest treasures, but certainly valuable, were placed on pedestals, and the furniture—though not opulent—had a sturdy, crafted quality that spoke of a meticulous taste for refinement.

The space wasn't overwhelming in its grandeur, but there was no denying the wealth in the attention to detail. The kind of wealth that was quietly proud, not desperate to impress.

He glanced around, then muttered under his breath, "Yeah, this place definitely screams 'I've got money, but I'm too humble to flaunt it.'" He could almost hear the vases whispering, "Don't touch me, peasant."

And now that he thought about it, this definitely didn't feel like some fancy movie set. No modern touches, no cameras lurking in the corners. The whole place had an ancient feel to it, like something straight out of a cultivation novel, where the walls probably held a hundred years of secrets.

That's when it happened. A voice—mechanical, detached, and unnervingly chipper—rang out in his head, clear as a bell:

[Greetings, Host! Welcome to the system. During the initialization of the「Be the Change You Wish to See」system, we are here to guide you. Our mission is to provide the best experience as you strive to complete your assigned tasks.]

[Greetings, Host! Welcome to the system. During the initialization of the「Be the Change You Wish to See」system, we are here to guide you. Our mission is to provide the best experience as you strive to complete your assigned tasks.]

Liú Zhēn froze. "What?" The words made no sense. What tasks? What system? Was he hallucinating?!!

The voice continued, relentlessly upbeat, like a corporate HR rep trying too hard to sound friendly:

[Host, you have been bound to the Villain-Biased System, also known as the Villain Salvation System. This system was designed to resolve the resentment, regrets, and grievances accumulated by villains across countless worlds, as well as to address the dissatisfaction of readers who mourn their unjust fates. Please note: failure to complete the assigned missions will result in the permanent destruction of your soul, with no possibility of reincarnation.]

Liú Zhēn's brain short-circuited for a moment. His first instinct was to unleash a torrent of curses, but he barely managed to hold it in. Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to ask, "Am I... dead?"

[Yes, Host. Your body in your original world has already been cremated. Please accept our condolences.]

The casual delivery of that bombshell nearly made him choke. He stared at the ceiling, utterly speechless. Finally, he let out a long, defeated sigh. "Well, shit."

Before he could spiral into despair, the voice chimed in again, accompanied by a series of cheerful dings, like a cheap mobile game:

[System Activation Successful! Binding Role: Mèng Yīchéng, Protagonist of Heaven's Rule]

Current Location: Mèng Clan Estate, Northwestern Galecrest City, Eastern Wind Continent — Heavenly Unity Realm

Age: 11 Years Old

Role: Young Gongzi, Future Heir of the Mèng Clan]

"What?!" Liú Zhēn bolted upright.

Immediately, an ear-splitting siren blared in his head, and the voice barked:

[WARNING: Such behavior is unbecoming of a protagonist. Kindly adjust your actions to fit your role!]

Liú Zhēn winced and rubbed his temples. "Becoming of a protagonist? Are you kidding me?!"

But the words didn't come out. It was as if someone had slapped a mute button on him. Furious, he cursed internally, summoning every creative insult he could think of.

Just as he began to calm down, a new voice joined the chaos. High-pitched and annoyingly sweet, it dripped with artificial cheer.

"Hi, Host! I'm Angella, your system assistant! I'll be here to help you every step of the way. Isn't that great? But, um, please don't curse at me—it's rude. Oh! And if you curse too much, higher management might apply a censor to your thoughts."

Liú Zhēn shivered. The voice slithered directly into his brain, and it felt like someone dragging an ice cube down his spine. "What the hell is this? A ghost trying to sound cute?"

Angella gasped. "Rude! I'm not a ghost, thank you very much. I'm your invaluable guide to surviving this world!"

He groaned. "Why can't I talk? What did you do to me?"

"Oh, that's just a temporary adjustment," Angella chirped. "It's to help you transition into your role! Don't worry, you'll get your voice back soon. Just behave, okay?"

Liú Zhēn clenched his fists, muttering curses under his breath. Taking a deep breath, he asked, "Fine. Then tell me this: why am I here? Why me? And if this is a Villain-Biased System, why am I the protagonist?"

The system chimed in, its mechanical tone laced with disapproval: [Host, sarcasm is not conducive to progress. You were chosen because your perspective aligns uniquely with the reformation process required for Mèng Xīngyào's arc.]

Liú Zhēn narrowed his eyes. "How so?"

[Based on your online post, you believe the villain received an unjust ending. You argued that Mèng Xīngyào's death lacked depth and failed to honor his role as a rival to the protagonist. The Villain-Biased System exists to address these narrative imbalances, ensuring villains are not discarded as mere cannon fodder.]

Liú Zhēn snorted. "Seriously? I wrote one comment saying the author did Mèng Xīngyào dirty, and now I'm the magical fixer for this novel?"

Angella's cheery voice returned, undeterred. "Host, that single comment demonstrated profound emotional investment and narrative insight! Your outrage at the unfair treatment of Mèng Xīngyào triggered the karmic imbalance recognition algorithm. You're practically a hero already!"

Liú Zhēn stared blankly, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief etched across his face. "A hero? For calling out lazy writing? What's next—Oscars for Twitter rants?"

Angella giggled. "Oh, Host, you're so funny! The System simply needs your cooperation to achieve narrative justice. Together, we'll redeem Mèng Xīngyào's arc, restore his villainous coolness, address his grievances, and balance the scales of Heaven's Rule."

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. So, I'm supposed to rewrite the plot of a story I never even finished reading because I was busy dying like a dumpling in a broken microwave. Sounds totally doable."

The system didn't miss a beat: [Your cooperation is not optional. Failure to complete assigned missions will result in the permanent annihilation of your soul.]

Liú Zhēn's expression darkened. "Fantastic. I'm the protagonist, but if I mess this up, I'm toast. Literally. So, what's next? A crash course on sucking up to Mèng Xīngyào?"

Angella's sugary tone chimed in. "Oh, Host, don't be so dramatic. We'll take it one step at a time. Your first task is super simple!"

The system's voice cut in, cold and emotionless: [Loading data... First task: "Gain the villain's trust." Objective: Maximize trust points. Current trust points: ... ERROR. Trust level cannot be determined. ERROR.]

Liú Zhēn threw his hands in the air. "Oh, great. A broken system. This just keeps getting better!"

As the weight of the system's revelations settled on his shoulders, Liú Zhēn—or rather, Mèng Yīchéng—let out a long, exhausted sigh. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and left out in the rain.

"Fine," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "I get it. I can't do anything about it. But can I at least have a little time to process this? Maybe half a day to... I don't know, pretend this isn't happening?"

Angella's voice chirped in, as gratingly perky as ever. "Host, what's there to process? You've been given a mission, and it's not like you have any other options anyway."

The system followed up, its mechanical tone devoid of sympathy. [Host, inactivity will only delay your progress. You should get started immediately.]

Mèng Yīchéng pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thank you both for the uplifting reminder of my grim fate. But please, I'm begging you—just give me half a day to pull myself together. I promise I'll get to work after that."

Angella huffed. "Fine, Host. I'll listen to my superior."

The system begrudgingly agreed. [There is a provision within the system for rest. Since humans fatigue so quickly, you may take the allotted time.]

Yīchéng rolled his eyes. "Oh, thank you, mighty overlords. Such generosity." Then, with a frown, he added, "By the way, can I just have one of you nagging me at a time? The two of you together are like an irritating duet I didn't ask for."

Angella giggled. "No problem, Host! From now on, I'll be your one and only guide. Are you happy now?"

He gave her a sarcastic thumbs-up. "Ecstatic. Can't you tell?"