When the Villain Refuses to Die
System Malfunction (a.k.a. Me)
Yan Rui sat cross-legged on the enormous silk bed, glaring at the glowing blue text hovering in front of him.
Yan Rui (MC)
“System, let’s make a deal.”
System
Error. Deals are not permitted.
Yan Rui (MC)
“No, no, hear me out. You want me to ‘follow the script,’ right? But if I follow it, I die in thirty days. Which is bad for me.”
Yan Rui (MC)
“So, logically, the best script is the one where I don’t die.”
Yan Rui threw a pillow through the glowing screen. It passed right through.
Yan Rui (MC)
(thinking):“Great. I’m arguing with Windows 3000, and losing.”
Dragging himself out of bed, Rui decided to scope out the palace. The corridors wound endlessly, lined with painted screens and looming stone lions that looked ready to bite.
Every servant he passed bowed so quickly they nearly toppled over. Rui tried to look dignified.
Yan Rui (MC)
(thinking):“Okay. Shoulders back. Villain face on. You’re dangerous. Intimidating. Definitely not a confused office worker trapped in silk pajamas.”
He overheard voices ahead — two older stewards whispering as they carried scrolls.
Steward
A: “Lord Rui has been… odd lately.”
Steward
B:“Yes. He hasn’t demanded anyone be punished in days. Too quiet. Suspicious.”
Steward
A: “Maybe he’s plotting against the prince again.”
Yan Rui clenched his fists.
Yan Rui (MC)
(thinking):“HELLO?? I’m literally plotting how not to die! Not overthrow an empire!”
Back in his chambers, he argued again with the system.
Yan Rui (MC)
“Fine. If you want me to act like a villain, give me a guidebook.”
System
Villain behavior includes: sneering, arrogance, cruelty, obsession with the prince.
Yan Rui (MC)
“Obsession with the—WAIT, what?”
System
Yes. The villain’s core trait is unhealthy fixation on Crown Prince Li Feng.
Yan Rui (MC)
“Absolutely not. Rule #1: Avoid the prince. Rule #2: Don’t die. Rule #3: In case I forget, repeat Rules #1 and #2.”
System
Deviation detected. Warning issued.
Yan Rui groaned, flopping onto the floor like a starfish.
Later that night, hunger dragged him out of his sulking. He tiptoed through the palace toward the kitchens, clutching a stolen bun. The moonlight cast long shadows, silver across the stone tiles.
He turned a corner — and froze.
There, in the training courtyard, a tall figure moved with precise grace. Black robes, embroidered with silver thread, flowed with each movement. The man’s sword glinted under the moon, each strike sharper, faster, impossibly elegant.
Yan Rui ducked behind a pillar, holding his breath.
Yan Rui (MC)
(thinking):“…Of course. Of course the universe would shove me straight into the danger zone. I just wanted a midnight snack, not a death sentence!”
The prince paused mid-swing, sword tip glistening. His head turned slightly — as though he’d sensed someone watching.
Yan Rui pressed himself flat against the pillar, clutching his bun like it was a sacred shield.
Seconds dragged. Then, mercifully, the prince sheathed his sword and walked away.
Only when the sound of footsteps faded did Rui let out a strangled whisper.
Yan Rui (MC)
“…Note to self: never sneak snacks again. Or at least don’t snack within fifty miles of the male lead.”
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