In a room exuding refined luxury in every detail, heavy curtains were drawn tightly, preventing any outside gaze from glimpsing even a sliver of the interior. The only light came from a crystal-carved candelabrum at the bedside, faintly emitting a blue glow, illuminating a conspicuously bulging lump on the bed.
The lump swayed incessantly left and right, finally deflating as a head emerged from within. Yin Sangyu’s face was obscured by disheveled, scattered black hair, revealing only patches of fair skin.
He casually swept the hair from his face, exposing a sweat-drenched countenance. His originally delicate and enchanting beautiful features were now contorted into a grimace. Even the gravest injuries on the battlefield had never made him feel this wretched.
His mind felt as though someone were striking a bell, reverberating with a buzzing hum. To make matters worse, a rigid mechanical voice nagged relentlessly in his ear.
[Host, please cease your futile resistance.]
[As long as you successfully redeem the villain and prevent the death of key characters, averting the tragedy, this system will grant you one wish.]
Yin Sangyu rolled his eyes in exasperation. Why should he sacrifice himself to busy about someone else’s tragedy? Besides, he had no wish to make. Irritably, he snapped, “I’m recovering from injuries. How am I supposed to go out and redeem your so-called villain? And why me?”
[Please do not make excuses. You have no physical injuries.]
[As for why you were chosen, it is because your compatibility with the villain is the highest. Others’ compatibility with the villain barely reaches a passing level. You are the only one capable of redeeming the villain.]
“I have no desire to have high compatibility with a beta.”
Though omegas worldwide numbered fewer than a hundred and were all under national protection, Yin Sangyu was designated to marry an omega.
A vicious-hearted, ruthless beta could hardly compare to a gentle, obedient, and empathetic omega. The system clearly understood this, as it fell silent.
After a long pause, the system gave up persuading and resent the villain’s terrifying data, indirectly urging him.
[Current Villain Redemption Value: 0/1000]
[Current Villain Blackening Value: 100%]
Yin Sangyu’s heart brewed countless profanities, but his upbringing restrained him from voicing them.
The matter began a month ago when this self-proclaimed 520 System invaded his mind, declaring that his world was actually a clichéd romance novel titled His Majesty the Emperor’s Little Beta.
Yin Sangyu skimmed the novel’s plot, frowning throughout, tempted to gouge out his own eyes.
Especially when he saw his stern and aloof imperial cousin solemnly say, “Little thing, don’t test my patience, or I’ll deal with you.”
Yin Sangyu questioned the mental state of the book’s author and seriously felt that this cousin, freshly dredged from oil, was utterly irredeemable.
Most characters in the book were people Yin Sangyu knew, yet they seemed unfamiliar.
These… entities bearing his acquaintances’ names, upon encountering the “little beta,” acted as if possessed, loving him uncontrollably, vying for his affection, even humbling themselves.
They became the protagonist’s top 1, top 2, top 3, top 4…
As for Yin Sangyu, because he saved the protagonist’s life as a child, he became the protagonist’s unattainable white moonlight, inexplicably earning the resentment and jealousy of the various tops.
The only silver lining was that, throughout the entire book, he never appeared due to “recovering from injuries,” existing only in others’ conversations as a proper background figure. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure if he’d also fall under the spell.
In such mindless romance novels, to add difficulty to the protagonists’ love, there are usually various villains.
This book was unique, featuring only one villain from start to finish, fully embodying the role of a tool character.
That sole villain was Xiao Muyi.
In the book’s description of his appearance, he was a gloomy, pale, frail young man, always hunchbacked, fond of hiding in dark corners, secretly observing.
This made Yin Sangyu even more dissatisfied. He couldn’t believe he had high compatibility with such a beta, even called a match made in heaven.
Though Xiao Muyi’s motives for villainy were baffling and his hatred for the protagonist inexplicable, his performance was outstanding, rampaging through the story.
By the end, everyone around the protagonist who should have died was dead, and those who survived were castrated.
Yes, castrated. Xiao Muyi lived up to his sinister appearance, not just evil but perverse.
The book didn’t explain his perversity, only suggesting it stemmed from issues in that area and excessive jealousy.
Particularly memorable was Xiao Muyi castrating top 3 and forcing him to watch the protagonist he loved roll in bed with others, a vicious and despicable act.
This top 3 was one of Yin Sangyu’s childhood playmates, and reading this was unbearable.
In short, Yin Sangyu wanted nothing to do with Xiao Muyi, let alone redeem him. He even considered eliminating him before he could grow stronger.
But the system stated that the villain was as crucial as the protagonist and couldn’t die before the plot concluded, or the consequences would be unpredictable.
Moreover, the system, adhering strictly to the wish of making the world better, existed solely to make the villain lay down his butcher’s knife and turn to virtue, supporting only the strategy of redeeming the villain with “love.”
This led to the current stalemate between Yin Sangyu and the system.
With the book’s plot points approaching, to force the slacking Yin Sangyu into action, the system set a program: whenever Xiao Muyi committed a misdeed, Yin Sangyu would suffer a headache for an entire day.
As the son of a prince, Yin Sangyu had joined the military young. His consecutive victories in recent campaigns, repelling foreign enemies, earned him the title of the new war god. His prominence inevitably provoked others’ envy.
With the wars settled, he wasn’t that diligent. After discussing with his parents, he used the excuse of recovering from injuries to lock himself at home, lazing about to avoid those troubles, possibly even feigning disability if needed.
So, Yin Sangyu found it inconvenient to go out. Wouldn’t that give others ammunition against him?
Unfortunately, the romance-obsessed system didn’t understand his predicament, single-mindedly urging him to redeem the villain.
As expected, a non-human entity, worse than a beast.
Cursing the system inwardly, Yin Sangyu lay on the bed with closed eyes, enduring waves of relentless headaches. Finally, unable to bear it, he rubbed his temples, sat up, and said to the system, “If you keep giving me headaches, how am I supposed to redeem him?”
[Are you finally going out?]
“No.”
[Then how will you redeem the villain?]
Yin Sangyu paused, then asked, “…Have you heard of online dating?”
***
The system alleviated Yin Sangyu’s headache, allowing him to adjust his condition.
Truth be told, though Yin Sangyu had a face that seemed flirtatious and amorous, he was clueless about matters of the heart.
But having never eaten pork, hadn’t he seen pigs run?
The people he’d rejected could form several battalions, and he’d seen every seduction tactic. Seducing a naive college student should be a piece of cake.
Given Xiao Muyi’s perverse actions in the original novel, Yin Sangyu deduced that the villain despised alphas and preferred omegas.
The novel mentioned Xiao Muyi helping an injured omega to his feet, the only humane act he performed in the entire book.
Knowing the importance of catering to preferences, Yin Sangyu carefully crafted a gentle, kind, pure, and lovable omega persona.
Since Xiao Muyi was meticulous, to avoid slip-ups, Yin Sangyu borrowed the social media account of a female omega friend he was close to, named Flying Little Rabbit.
With the seriousness of reviewing wartime reports, he memorized every life update and speech pattern shared by his omega friend, then confidently asked the system for Xiao Muyi’s social media account.
The system was rattled by Yin Sangyu’s series of maneuvers and cautioned, [If Xiao Muyi discovers you’re deceiving him, the consequences will be severe.]
In the novel, those who deceived the villain ended up at least disabled.
Yin Sangyu brushed it off, “I know what I’m doing.”
[System: Xiao Muyi’s online personal social media account: 10 points]
[Current host points: 0]
[Initiating exchange]
[Ding—Exchange failed]
Points could be earned in two ways: increasing the villain’s redemption or blackening values, or completing system-issued tasks.
Bound to the system for a month, Yin Sangyu’s points remained zero.
It was just an ordinary student’s social media account. Yin Sangyu didn’t strictly need the system’s help, but feigning disability-related lethargy made it inconvenient to explain his intentions to subordinates. So he asked, “Can I owe you?”
[System: …]
He’d ignored task prompts before, giving the system the cold shoulder, and now dared to mention owing points. The system was stunned by his audacity.
Yin Sangyu: “Fine, don’t give it. I don’t care much about the villain or others’ lives anyway. Keep giving me headaches.”
[System: Ding—Exchange successful]
A wise system adapts to circumstances.
Yin Sangyu’s phone screen instantly displayed a contact named Black. He raised an eyebrow, tapped the screen, and sent a friend request, waiting for Xiao Muyi to accept.
The Lexus Empire had strict internet controls, requiring identity verification. His profile currently listed him as a rare, nationally treasured omega. Even someone as eccentric as Xiao Muyi couldn’t possibly reject him.
While waiting for Xiao Muyi to accept the friend request, Yin Sangyu checked his social media account but found it restricted, showing only a pitch-black profile picture.
As expected of a villain, truly mysterious.
Just then, his phone pinged twice, signaling the friend request’s approval.
Mimicking how omegas usually greeted him, Yin Sangyu messaged: Hello there!
After about two minutes:
Black: Hello.
The response was curt, lacking the usual excitement of adding an omega, but it was typical for Xiao Muyi.
Flying Little Rabbit: I just got harshly scolded by my teacher for messing up a dance exam, sob sob sob. I feel so bad and want someone to talk to.
Flying Little Rabbit: Can you keep me company?
Black: Sure.
Flying Little Rabbit: That’s great, thank you!
Next, Yin Sangyu copied and slightly tweaked the chatty content his omega friend typically sent him, forwarding it to Xiao Muyi—convenient and error-proof.
Xiao Muyi seemed genuinely fond of omegas. Though taciturn, he stayed engaged.
After an hour of one-sided, meaningless chatter, Yin Sangyu feigned sudden realization that conversations shouldn’t be one-sided, apologetically typing: Sorry, I talked too much.
Flying Little Rabbit: You can share your troubles with me too. I’ll listen carefully.
[System: …]
A nearly two-meter-tall alpha referring to himself as “I” in such a cutesy way would make even the system queasy, but paired with Yin Sangyu’s dazzlingly beautiful face, it somehow wasn’t jarring.
Black: I have no troubles.
Black: But can I ask you a question?
This was Xiao Muyi’s longest sentence yet. Yin Sangyu typed swiftly, replying: Of course, ask away!
Black: I’d like to know how you handle your heat period.
Yin Sangyu squinted at the text on his phone.
What was this? Sexual harassment?
Everyone knew asking an omega about their heat period was highly improper, especially from a stranger met online.
Xiao Muyi seemed to realize his mistake, hurriedly apologizing with a flurry of messages.
Black: Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.
Black: I’m not curious about this matter.
Black: No, I am somewhat curious, but absolutely not for vulgar reasons. Please believe me!
Black: I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable. Please ignore the question.
Getting so flustered over one question, Yin Sangyu found this great villain unexpectedly innocent—perhaps because he was still young, not yet the cunning figure he’d become?
Smiling, Yin Sangyu deliberately replied slowly: I’m not that angry, no need to apologize so much. But if you ask such questions again, I’ll start disliking you.
Black: Thank you for forgiving me. I won’t do it again.
In a dilapidated wooden cabin on the outskirts, far from the city, situated near the forest’s heart, the interior was dark and damp, furnished only with crude, shoddy pieces no one would salvage from a dump.
On a bed made of a wooden board covered with a blanket, a slender young man lay prone, his phone’s faint glow the room’s only light source.
Thick bangs partially covered his eyes, and he wore large black-framed glasses. His exposed skin was ghostly pale, exuding a gloomy, oppressive aura.
His fingers slid across the screen, hastily apologizing to the omega on the other end, yet his expression remained unchanged, his gaze deep as a still pool, with only slightly downturned lips betraying his displeasure.