The bus rumbled along the coastal highway, wheels humming against cold asphalt, the winter sun casting pale light through frost-touched windows.
Lin Feng sat in the back row, alone. His breath fogged slightly in the unheated section of the bus.
Outside, the sea stretched gray and endless, choppy waves crashing against the rocky shore.
He was twenty-seven years old.
With seven years in service—three in the army, another two in intelligence work and two more in the special forces.
Field operations, asset cultivation, surveillance, social engineering. His career had been built on patience and the dead hours between assignments.
Today was shore leave. Three days of freedom after six months deployed overseas. He should have been celebrating.
Should have been drinking with friends, visiting family, doing something meaningful with his rare time off.
Instead, he was reading trash on his phone.
"The Beauty Records."
Ten thousand chapters of garbage harem fiction. Three thousand heroines. One protagonist with a cheat system. Ridiculous power-ups, face-slapping scenes, and enough wish-fulfillment to make anyone cringe.
He had no idea why he kept reading it.
No—that wasn't quite true. He knew exactly why, even if he couldn't explain it properly.
The villain's name was Lin Feng.
Same characters. Same pronunciation. Same name as him in every way that mattered.
When he'd first stumbled across the novel nine years ago, that coincidence had stopped him cold. Reading about a character with his exact name, watching "himself" make terrible decisions, following "his own" pathetic descent into bootlicker villainy—it felt surreal in a way he couldn't articulate.
Like reading his own biography written by someone who hated him.
He'd tried to stop reading. Told himself it was garbage, not worth his time. But something kept pulling him back. Some inexplicable compulsion that made him open the app during every boring stakeout, every late-night surveillance shift, every dead hour in hostile territory.
He'd read all ten thousand chapters.
He'd read it a few times from cover to cover.
He'd also left over three hundred negative reviews.
Comment bombs on every major plot point. One-star ratings with detailed explanations of why the writing was trash. Rants about the bootlicker villain's stupidity, the protagonist's unearned victories, the wasted potential of the side characters.
"Why is this Lin Feng such a pathetic idiot!?"
"Twelve years of simping for a woman who hates him!? What kind of brain-dead writing is this!?"
"Weiwei deserved better than this worthless piece of trash!"
He'd written that last one at 3 AM during a particularly frustrating stakeout. His fingers had been shaking with inexplicable rage as he typed it.
The strange thing was—he seemed to be the only one.
When he checked the review section, his comments were the only ones there. Three hundred reviews, all from him. No other readers, no other ratings, no other engagement whatsoever.
He'd tried asking about the novel on forums once. Mentioned the title, described the plot, asked if anyone else had read it.
"Never heard of it," came the responses.
"Can't find it when I search."
"Are you sure you got the title right?"
He'd sent direct links. They led to error pages. He'd shared screenshots of the novel interface. People said they couldn't access it, couldn't find any record of its existence.
Eventually he'd stopped asking. Some novels were just obscure, he told himself. Maybe it got shadowbanned for explicit content. Maybe the author deleted it and only cached versions remained. There had to be a rational explanation.
There was always a rational explanation.
But late at night, when the darkness pressed close and his mind wandered to strange places, he sometimes wondered why a novel about a character with his exact name felt less like fiction and more like... memory.
He always shook off those thoughts by morning.
Today, on this cold bus ride during shore leave, he wasn't reading from the beginning. He was rereading chapter 9,987.
The death chapter.
Eight years after Chapter 1.
When that Lin Feng was already 26 years old.
His thumb scrolled to that familiar passage, the words he had memorized despite himself.
Long Tian's blade swept toward Lin Feng's throat. Lin Feng dodged—years of being hunted had sharpened even a bootlicker's survival instincts.
But Su Qingxue stood right behind him. The blade that missed Lin Feng now arced toward her heart.
Lin Feng didn't think. He shoved her aside, hard, sending her stumbling to safety. The blade cut empty air.
They were both alive. Both safe. For one heartbeat.
Then Su Qingxue moved.
She threw her arms around Lin Feng from the front. A tight embrace. A lover's hold. Her body pressed against his, her face buried in his chest.
Lin Feng froze. Confused. Hopeful. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe saving her life had finally made her see—
Long Tian's sword pierced through Lin Feng's back.
The blade drove through his heart and kept going, passing clean through his chest and into Su Qingxue's body behind it. Steel pinning them together like butterflies on a board.
Blood bloomed between them, mixing, mingling, staining them both crimson.
'Pathetic until the end,' Long Tian said softly, twisting the blade. 'Twelve years of chasing a woman who never loved you. And she dies with you anyway—just to make sure you stay dead.'
Lin Feng's eyes were still open as the light left them. Still looking at Su Qingxue's face inches from his. Still seeing nothing but cold satisfaction in her dying gaze.
She had held him in place. Let herself be impaled. All so Long Tian could claim two seven-star heroines who would never yield while Lin Feng breathed.
The villain who died saving the woman who killed him.
The hero who sacrificed his own conquest just to remove an obstacle.
They died together, locked in an embrace that looked like love but was nothing but murder.
Lin Feng—the intelligence officer on the bus—felt his jaw tighten as he read.
This wasn't even the part that haunted him. The bootlicker's death was pathetic, yes, but expected. Twelve years of simping for a woman who openly despised him? Of course he died badly. Of course she didn't care.
No, what haunted him came next.
Weiwei found his body three hours later.
She had searched everywhere. Called his phone a hundred times. Mobilized every resource she possessed to track him down.
When she finally saw him lying there—cold, broken, discarded like trash—something inside her shattered completely.
She didn't scream. Didn't cry. Just knelt beside him and took his hand, her fingers intertwining with his stiff, lifeless ones.
'You promised,' she whispered. 'You promised we'd always be together.'
That night, she swallowed poison in Lin Feng's bedroom. The room that contained so many memories for her and Lin Feng.
Her last words were written in her diary:
'I don't want to live a second longer without you.'
Lin Feng's grip tightened on his phone until his knuckles turned white.
Xiao Yue heard the news one hour after Lin Feng's death.
She had been watching from the shadows, as always. Following his movements, tracking his location, knowing his schedule better than he ever knew himself. Thirteen years of silent devotion. Thirteen years of loving him from a distance without ever confessing.
When she learned he was gone, she walked to the rooftop of the tallest building she could find.
She didn't hesitate at the edge. Didn't look down. Just stepped forward into empty air with the same quiet certainty she had carried her entire life.
Her final words echoed Lin Weiwei's exactly:
'I don't want to live a second longer without you.'
The bus hit a pothole. Lin Feng's phone jolted in his hands.
Ten thousand chapters of garbage harem fiction. Three thousand heroines conquered by a protagonist with a cheat system. Endless face-slapping, endless power-ups, endless wish-fulfillment.
And buried in chapter 9,987, this.
Two women who loved authentically in a world of fake harem romance. Two seven-star heroines—the highest rating in the entire novel—who rejected the protagonist hundreds of times. Who refused to join his collection no matter what methods he used, what schemes he employed, or what gifts he offered.
They loved Lin Feng. The bootlicker. The villain. The pathetic cannon fodder who existed only to make the protagonist look good.
They loved him genuinely, purely, completely.
And they died because he died.
Every time Lin Feng read this chapter, something inside him twisted painfully. An emotion he couldn't name, couldn't explain, couldn't rationalize away.
It felt like grief.
But that was ridiculous. They were fictional characters. Words on a screen. Why would he grieve for people who didn't exist?
Why did their deaths feel like his fault?
"What kind of trash author writes something like this?" he muttered, trying to shake off the heaviness in his chest. "Ten thousand chapters of garbage, and THIS is what you bury in chapter 9,987?"
The bus slowed.
Lin Feng looked up. Through the frost-touched window, he could see a bridge ahead—a long span crossing over where the river met the sea. The water below looked dark and cold, winter waves chopping against concrete pillars.
"Coastal Bridge Station," the driver announced. "Five minute stop."
Lin Feng stood up, pocketing his phone. He needed fresh air. Needed to clear his head. Stop thinking about fictional women who died for a fictional idiot who didn't deserve them.
Stop feeling like he'd lost something precious.
The cold hit him immediately when he stepped off the bus.
Winter wind cut through his thick jacket, carrying the salt-spray smell of the sea.
He pulled his collar tighter and started walking toward the bridge, boots crunching on frozen ground. His heavy winter coat felt like armor against the chill, layers of fabric insulating him from the biting cold.
His mind kept drifting back to the novel.
Lin Weiwei. The stepsister who loved that Lin Feng since childhood. Cold goddess on the outside, a devoted brocon on the inside.
She had watched "him" chase Su Qingxue for twelve years, watched "him" humiliate himself again and again, and never stopped loving "him."
Xiao Yue. The silent girl who watched from the shadows. Thirteen years of following "him," memorizing "his" schedule, loving "him" from a distance without ever confessing. A ghost who haunted "his" footsteps, waiting for "him" to notice her.
Both of them were seven-star heroines. Both of them rejected Long Tian repeatedly. Both of them died the moment Lin Feng died.
"Wasted," Lin Feng said to himself, breath fogging in the cold air. "Completely wasted."
He was halfway across the bridge when he heard the screaming.
His training kicked in instantly—Loss Prevention Protocol, they called it in the field. Assess, locate, prioritize. The sound came from ahead, near the center of the bridge. Multiple voices, panicked, overlapping.
He broke into a run.
A crowd had gathered at the bridge railing. People were shouting, pointing, frozen in panic. A woman was screaming—the kind of raw, desperate scream that came from a mother watching her child in danger.
Lin Feng pushed through the crowd and saw it immediately.
A little girl. Maybe six or seven years old. Hanging from the railing, small fingers gripping cold metal, legs dangling over the dark water forty meters below.
How did she get there? The railing wasn't broken. There was no obvious explanation for how a child ended up on the wrong side of a bridge, clinging to the edge above an icy river.
But there was no time to question it.
The mother was reaching over the edge, stretching desperately, but she couldn't reach far enough. Her fingers grasped at empty air while her daughter's grip slowly failed.
"Someone do something!" she screamed. "Please! PLEASE!"
Nobody moved. Civilians always froze in emergencies. They wanted to help but didn't know how. They stood there, paralyzed by fear and indecision, watching a child slowly lose her grip on life.
Lin Feng was already moving.
His belt came off in one smooth motion—leather, military-grade, rated to hold significant weight. He looped it around the nearest railing post, secured it with a quick knot.
The kind of knot that wouldn't slip under tension.
The kind they taught in basic training for exactly these situations.
"Move," he said to the people blocking his path. His voice carried the cold authority of someone used to giving orders in crisis situations.
They moved.
He climbed over the railing, using the belt as an anchor. The wind howled around him, trying to tear him loose.
Below, the dark water churned against concrete pillars, winter waves crashing with sounds like muffled thunder. The cold cut through his jacket, his gloves, his layers of winter clothing.
"Hold on!" he called to the girl. "I'm coming!"
The girl's face was pale with terror, tears freezing on her cheeks. Her small fingers were white-knuckled on the cold metal, but Lin Feng could see them slipping. The cold had numbed the child's grip.
He had seconds, not minutes.
Lin Feng lowered himself as far as the belt would allow, one hand gripping the leather strap, the other reaching toward the girl.
Not far enough. Still a gap of maybe fifteen centimeters.
The girl's fingers slipped another centimeter.
"Look at me," Lin Feng said, keeping his voice calm despite the wind tearing at his words. "Look at my eyes. Don't look down. Just look at me."
The girl's terrified gaze met his.
"I'm going to catch you. When I say go, you let go, and I catch you. Understand?"
"I-I can't—" The girl's voice cracked with fear.
"You can. I've got you. Trust me."
The girl's fingers slipped again. The metal groaned under the shifting weight.
No more time.
Lin Feng made his decision in a fraction of a second. The same kind of split-second calculation he'd made dozens of times in the field. Risk assessment. Probability of success. Acceptable losses.
He let go of the belt.
His body dropped into freefall, and he kicked off the bridge support to launch himself outward. Trade the anchor for momentum. Use the momentum to close the gap.
The girl's grip failed completely.
A small body falling. A terrified scream swallowed by the wind.
Lin Feng's hand shot out and caught the girl's wrist mid-fall. His grip locked like iron, years of training making the motion automatic and unbreakable.
In the same movement, he twisted his body and threw.
It wasn't gentle. It couldn't be gentle. He hurled the girl upward with every ounce of strength he possessed, using the last of his falling momentum to add force to the throw.
The girl arced through the air toward the bridge.
Hands reached down from above. Civilians who had been frozen moments ago now lunged forward instinctively, grabbing at the child, catching her, pulling her to safety.
Lin Feng saw the girl land safely on the bridge. Saw the mother collapse around her daughter, sobbing with relief. Saw people crowding around them, phones already out to call emergency services.
Good. The kid made it.
Then gravity claimed its due.
The fall was longer than he expected. Long enough to think. Long enough to feel strangely calm about what came next.
His thick winter coat. His heavy boots. His layers of clothing designed to protect against the cold.
They would drag him straight to the bottom.
He hit the water hard.
Cold. Absolute cold. The kind of cold that stopped your heart, locked your muscles, drove the air from your lungs in one explosive gasp. The icy river swallowed him whole, dark water closing over his head instantly.
He tried to swim. Tried to kick toward the surface. But his waterlogged clothes had become anchors, dragging him down into the darkness. His limbs wouldn't respond properly—the cold had stolen his strength, numbed his muscles, turned his body into dead weight.
The surface grew distant above him. A fading circle of gray winter light, shrinking as he sank.
Strange, he thought as consciousness began to fade. His last thoughts weren't about his career. His achievements. His life.
They were about a trashy novel.
About two women who died for a man who didn't deserve them.
At least the kid made it, he thought. That's something.
And then, as the darkness closed in completely: Those two deserved better. Someone should have saved them too.
The cold took everything.
Then nothing.
Lin Feng opened his eyes.
Pain. His head was splitting, like someone had driven a spike through his skull. Memories crashed into him like violent waves—two completely different lives colliding in his mind with devastating force.
The first life belonged to Lin Feng. Twenty-seven years old. Intelligence officer. Seven years of service. Death by drowning in an icy river after saving a child from a bridge.
Dead.
The second life belonged to another Lin Feng. Eighteen years old. Freshman at Qinghua University. Second young master of the Lin Family, the only son. One older sister—Lin Qingwan. One stepsister—Lin Weiwei.
Rich. Handsome. Alive.
Lin Feng shot up from the bed.
His heart pounded violently. The bedroom around him was enormous—at least two hundred square meters of pure luxury.
His room was full with european-style furniture imported from Europa, a gaming setup worth six figures, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a sprawling cityscape. Crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, marble floors polished to a mirror shine, silk sheets worth more than most people's monthly salary.
Everything screamed wealth. Status. Privilege.
But that wasn't what made his blood run cold.
The name. Lin Feng. The Lin Family. Qinghua University.
"No." His voice came out hoarse, cracking. "No, this can't be happening."
He stumbled out of bed, legs unsteady beneath him. This body felt wrong—too young, too soft, too unfamiliar.
His soldier's muscles were gone, replaced by the lean frame of an eighteen-year-old rich kid who had never worked a day in his life.
He found a mirror. Stared at his reflection.
Younger face. Eighteen instead of twenty-seven.
His silver hair fell across his forehead like moonlight on water—a rare genetic trait from his mother's side that made him instantly recognizable anywhere on campus. Sharp features, cold eyes, the kind of face that was handsome in a dangerous way. Tall, lean, with the casual confidence of someone who had grown up with everything handed to him.
His hands were shaking as he grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
Date: September 15th.
His contacts list loaded. He scrolled through names he didn't recognize, names that felt familiar despite never seeing them before, names that sparked fragments of memory from a life he had never lived.
Then his finger stopped.
Su Qingxue.
His stomach dropped.
"The Beauty Records..."
That goddamn harem smut novel. Ten thousand chapters of pure wish-fulfillment garbage. Three thousand heroines, each more beautiful and devoted than the last. One protagonist with a cheat system collecting women like trading cards.
He'd read all of it. Every single chapter. Every ridiculous plot twist, every face-slapping scene, every harem member from number one to number three thousand.
He'd read it during those endless surveillance shifts, the only entertainment available on his encrypted phone.
He had been reading chapter 9,987 on the bus. Reading about Lin Feng's death. Reading about Lin Weiwei and Xiao Yue dying for love.
And now he was inside it.
Not as the protagonist. Not as some lucky side character.
As Lin Feng—the pathetic bootlicker villain.
"Fuck!" The curse exploded out of him. "Which ancestor did I offend for me to receive such treatment!?"
The memories of this body flooded in faster now, merging with his knowledge of the plot.
He knew this character intimately—not just from the novel, but from the inherited memories settling into his mind like puzzle pieces clicking into place.
Su Qingxue. The campus belle of Qinghua University. Heroine number one in the novel. Star rating: two stars. One of the easiest conquests in the entire story.
She was beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful. Skin like white jade, long black hair like a waterfall of silk, and a figure that made lesser women weep with envy. She carried herself like nobility born to rule and looked like a goddess who had deigned to walk among mortals.
And the original Lin Feng?
He'd been chasing her since high school. Four years of degrading himself. Four years of expensive gifts, embarrassing love letters, public confessions that made everyone cringe.
Four years of being her personal ATM machine and errand boy while she strung him along with vague promises and cold smiles that never reached her eyes.
She'd used him ruthlessly. His family connections, his money, his influence—she'd exploited everything while giving nothing in return except false hope.
Then came college. Then came Long Tian.
The protagonist. Poor background, hidden identity, plot armor thicker than a fortress wall. And his golden finger—the Beauty Records System.
A cheat that let him see women's affection levels, gave him quests to conquer them, rewarded him with skills and resources for every successful seduction.
Su Qingxue fell for him in three chapters.
Lin Feng became the jealous villain. The bootlicker obstacle. The stepping stone. The cannon fodder who existed only to highlight the protagonist's superiority.
But that wasn't even the worst part.
"Weiwei... Yue..."
His chest tightened painfully. The memories came faster now, sharper, more vivid—both from the novel and from this body's eighteen years of life.
Lin Weiwei. His stepsister. Not related by blood—she came into his life when they were both five years old, after her mother married his father. Her name changed from Jiang Weiwei to Lin Weiwei. They grew up together, ate together, played together, went to the same schools.
At least, that's what the novel said.
She was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Long black hair like a waterfall of ink, delicate features, skin like white jade. Slender waist, perfect curves, graceful movements that drew eyes no matter how hard she tried to hide. She wore plain oversized sweaters and muted colors, and looked like a hidden goddess pretending to be an ordinary girl.
On the outside, she was a cold goddess. Untouchable, unapproachable, intimidating to everyone around her.
On the inside? She was a complete brocon who loved him obsessively, romantically, intensely.
She also just started as a freshman at Qinghua University. Same school, same year, different department.
In the novel, she hated Long Tian. Rejected him dozens of times across hundreds of chapters. Refused to join his harem no matter what methods he used, what schemes he employed, what gifts he offered. She was immune to his charms, resistant to his system, devoted only to one person.
Heroine number 2,999. Star rating: seven stars. The second hardest conquest in the entire three thousand.
Then there was Xiao Yue. The silent girl who'd been in his class since middle school, always sitting at the back, always watching him with those quiet, intense eyes.
Five years. Five years of being classmates, and the original Lin Feng had barely noticed her existence. She never spoke to him directly, never approached him, never confessed.
She just watched from the shadows like a ghost, following his movements, knowing his schedule better than he knew it himself.
She was beautiful in a way that crept up on you slowly. Quiet, mysterious, haunting. Long black hair that often fell over her face, eyes like deep pools holding secrets, pale skin that rarely saw sunlight. Petite and delicate, subtle curves hidden under loose clothing. She wore simple dark clothes, moved without making sound, and looked like a spirit who existed between the living and the dead.
A hidden admirer. A stalker. A girl whose love ran so deep it bordered on obsession.
She also just started as a freshman at Qinghua University. Same school, same year, same department as Lin Feng. Still sitting at the back of every class, still watching him with those unblinking eyes.
She also hated Long Tian. Also rejected him repeatedly. Also refused the harem route no matter how the protagonist pursued her.
Heroine number 3,000. Star rating: seven stars. The absolute hardest conquest in the entire novel—tied with Lin Weiwei for the peak of impossibility.
Both of them were on Long Tian's conquest list. Both of them became villainesses in the story because they loved Lin Feng. Both of them died because Lin Feng died.
"Chapter 9,987..."
Lin Feng's voice cracked. The memory of that chapter surfaced with painful clarity—not just as words on a screen anymore, but as something that felt horrifyingly real.
That was the chapter where Lin Feng died. Four years after graduation, at twenty-six years old, or eight years from now, he threw himself in front of Su Qingxue to take a fatal blow meant for her.
The woman who'd never loved him, the woman who'd used and discarded him, the woman who'd exploited his devotion for twelve years total.
Long Tian crushed his throat while Su Qingxue watched without a single tear.
Lin Weiwei found his body first. She committed suicide that same night with poison.
Xiao Yue heard the news an hour later. She jumped from a building without hesitation.
"I don't want to live a second longer without you."
That was their final line. The only scene in that trashy ten-thousand-chapter harem smut novel that had made him feel something real, something genuine.
He had read that line on the bus. He had felt inexplicable grief for fictional characters.
Now those "fictional characters" were real people. Real women who would die for him—for the pathetic bootlicker version of him—unless something changed.
Unless he changed it.
Lin Feng clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. His jaw tightened. His eyes burned with something between rage and determination.
His phone buzzed with a new message.
[Lin Feng, I need your help~ Can you come to the library? There's something important I need to discuss. ♡ - Su Qingxue]
The heart emoji. The manipulation. Right on schedule.
Today was September 15th. Just two weeks into their freshman year. In the original timeline, this was the day everything started—the day Long Tian first encountered Su Qingxue at the library...
And also the day Lin Feng interrupted them like an idiot and made a complete fool of himself, the day the protagonist's conquest officially began.
Another message appeared immediately.
[Big Brother, are you awake? I made breakfast for you~ Come eat before our morning class! - Weiwei]
His heart twisted painfully.
One woman who loved him genuinely, purely, without expecting anything in return. One woman who would exploit him for the next eight years until he died for her.
The contrast was devastating.
And somewhere out there, Xiao Yue was probably already watching, waiting, observing his every movement like she'd done for the past five years.
Lin Feng stared at his reflection in the phone's darkened screen. Younger face than his soldier body, only eighteen years old, but his eyes held something the original Lin Feng never had.
Seven years of military and intelligence experience. Complete knowledge of the plot. Understanding of every character, every scheme, every trap that lay ahead.
The original Lin Feng was an idiot. A bootlicker. A fool who threw away two precious gems to chase after fool's gold for eight years.
But he wasn't the original Lin Feng anymore.
He was a twenty-seven-year-old intelligence officer who'd survived hostile operations on three continents. Who'd read all ten thousand chapters of this garbage novel. Who knew every plot point, every character arc, every weakness the protagonist possessed.
He knew the story inside and out. He knew Long Tian had the Beauty Records System. He knew its mechanics, its quests, its rewards, its limitations.
Most importantly—he knew that Long Tian had absolutely no idea that he knew.
Information asymmetry. That was his greatest weapon. His only advantage in this rigged game against a system-backed protagonist.
"Su Qingxue..."
Lin Feng deleted her message without replying. Without hesitation. Without regret.
"Long Tian..."
A cold smile spread across his face, sharp and calculating.
"You want to conquer three thousand heroines? Fine. You can have two thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight of them. But these two? Lin Weiwei and Xiao Yue?"
He stood up from his bed with purpose.
"They're off limits."
He walked to his closet and pulled out simple clothes—a plain black shirt and dark jeans. No designer brands today. No flashy displays of wealth. No showing off. That was the old Lin Feng's style, the bootlicker's desperate attempt to impress women who didn't care about him.
New life. New rules. New script.
He typed out one message.
[Weiwei, I'll be right down. Wait for me at the dining room.]
Message sent.
His phone buzzed immediately—her excited reply coming in instantly.
Lin Feng didn't bother checking the words. He already knew what she'd say. He already knew she'd be happy, surprised, hopeful.
He grabbed his jacket and looked at himself in the full-length mirror one final time. Eighteen years old, first year of college, the rest of his life ahead of him.
As he turned toward the door, he felt it—that familiar sensation from his previous life as an intelligence officer. The prickling awareness of being watched. His eyes flicked toward the window, scanning the grounds below, the pathways between buildings, the shadowed corners where someone could observe without being seen.
Xiao Yue was probably already out there somewhere. Watching. Waiting. Following the same pattern she'd maintained for five years.
"Lin Feng, you bootlicking idiot." He addressed the original owner of this body with cold finality. "Thanks for the second chance. I'll make much better use of it than you ever did."
He walked out of his room with steady steps, his mind already running through calculations and plans.
This wasn't just about survival anymore. This was about rewriting a tragedy.
Two women who deserved better were going to get it.
And one protagonist with a cheat system was about to learn that not every game could be won with hacks alone.
-------------------------
[Meanwhile—Across the City, A Bedspacer Apartment]
Long Tian opened his eyes and grinned at the translucent blue screen floating in front of him.
He sat up and caught his reflection in the small mirror on his desk.
Golden hair that caught the morning light like spun sunlight, a strong jaw, broad shoulders, and the kind of rugged masculine features that made women feel protected just by standing near him. He wasn't rich, wasn't from a powerful family, but he looked like a protagonist.
And now he had a system to match.
-------------------------
[Beauty Records System—Daily Check-In Complete!]
[Current Progress: 0/3000 Heroines Conquered]
[Today's Target: Su Qingxue—Heroine #1—Difficulty ★★☆☆☆☆☆]
[Quest: First Meeting at the Library—Reward: Beginner Gift Package]
-------------------------
This was it. The start of his new life, his golden finger, his path to the ultimate harem.
Three thousand beautiful women waiting to be conquered, starting with the campus belle herself. All those years of being poor, of being looked down on, of being stepped on by rich kids who thought they were better than him—all of it ended today.
"Perfect." His grin widened. "Let's see what we're working with."
He focused on the system interface, and more details appeared before his eyes.
-------------------------
[Beauty Records System - Beginner Stage]
[Welcome, Host! You are beginning your journey to conquer the 3,000 Beauties of Heaven and Earth!]
[Current Level: 1]
[Unlocked Heroines: Tier 1 (Common Beauties)]
[Available Targets:]
[★★☆☆☆☆☆ Su Qingxue - The Campus Goddess (Affection: 61)]
[★☆☆☆☆☆☆ Zhang Yuting - The Class President (Affection: 61)]
[★☆☆☆☆☆☆ Wang Xiaoling - The Coffee Shop Girl (Affection: 61)]
[★☆☆☆☆☆☆ Liu Meimei - The Library Assistant (Affection: 61)]
[★☆☆☆☆☆☆ Chen Ruolan - The Art Student (Affection: 61)]
[Note: Higher tier heroines will unlock as you level up! Current heroines available: 5/3000]
[Daily Quest: Make physical contact with Su Qingxue!]
[Reward: +10 Affection, 100 Conquest Points, Basic Skill: Charming Smile]
-------------------------
Long Tian's eyes lit up at the affection numbers.
Sixty-one. All of them already at sixty-one.
He didn't question why. Didn't wonder how women he'd never met could already have positive feelings toward him. The system said sixty-one, so sixty-one it was. That meant they already liked him—already more than half conquered before he even said hello.
This was going to be easy.
He sat up and stretched, already planning his approach. Su Qingxue would be at the library today. He'd "accidentally" bump into her, complete the quest, and start building his legendary harem.
His thoughts drifted to the competition—if you could even call it that.
Lin Feng. The second young master of the Lin Family.
He'd heard about the guy during freshman orientation. Rich family, expensive clothes, pathetic personality. Apparently he'd been chasing Su Qingxue since high school.
Four years of simping, four years of being her personal ATM, four years of embarrassing public confessions that made everyone cringe.
And the idiot still hadn't won her heart.
"Pathetic," Long Tian laughed. "Thanks for warming up the seat, Young Master Lin. I'll show you how a real man conquers women."
He got out of bed and started getting ready, mind already running through the perfect plan. Show up at the library looking casual but put-together. Engineer a meeting with Su Qingxue. Be charming, confident, everything the bootlicker rich boy wasn't.
Easy mode. Destiny fulfilled. Harem begun.
Long Tian had no idea that somewhere across campus, someone knew all his secrets.
Someone who had read the entire script.
Someone who was rewriting the ending.
The protagonist thought he was the only player in this game.
He was very, very wrong.