Chapter 1: We’re Villains, Sure, But…

Quan Heng stood before the bathroom mirror, carefully straightening his collar.

The man in the glass had a near-perfect face: brows and eyes like a painting, a high nose, and a hint of languid carelessness in the curve of his lips. He lightly tousled the fringe over his forehead, making sure every strand fell just right.

Perfect, Host. You’re sure to charm CEO Wang! the system said in his mind.

“Is that so?” Quan Heng replied. He ignored the system’s excited babble about how much easier it would be to torment the protagonist once he had CEO Wang backing him. After washing his hands, he returned to the private room.

The room was packed with well-dressed young men and women, along with several middle-aged men who looked as if they’d been poured into their suits. The CEO Wang the system had mentioned was the greasiest of them all—the head pig.

The head pig grinned at Quan Heng, his gaze roaming. The manager laughed and ushered Quan Heng to the seat beside him. Quan Heng did as he was told, smiling as he listened to the men trade disgusting jokes, nodding along now and then.

The mood grew more and more lively.

Maybe Quan Heng’s obedient, ingratiating manner had pleased CEO Wang. Or maybe the sight of a beauty under the lights had set his imagination running wild. He swayed to his feet, raised his glass, and insisted on sharing a cross-armed toast with Quan Heng.

([T/N]: Cross-armed toast: Traditionally shared by newlyweds at a Chinese wedding. Here, it carries an openly sexual and degrading connotation.)

Before Quan Heng could move, the manager—eager as a pimp—hurried to fill his glass. Beaming, he urged Quan Heng to give in to CEO Wang.

Compliments poured out of him. The other pretty young men and women cheered them on, their faces a mix of envy and regret. CEO Wang called, “Come on, come on!” Champagne splashed, filling the room with a heady haze.

At the center of everyone’s attention, Quan Heng smiled and accepted the glass the manager had handed him. But before he could do anything else, the private-room door suddenly swung open.

The lively atmosphere froze. Everyone turned to glare at the intruder. His helmet hid his face; he wore a blue-and-yellow delivery uniform and carried a large bag. His voice was clear and hurried.

“Courier delivery! Who ordered it? Last four digits, 1558.”

“Mine,” said a low, slightly hoarse voice.

The courier’s gaze fell on the person at the center of the room.

At first, he was taken aback by the sight of a crowd of people with malice in their eyes surrounding the man who had answered. He stared in confusion as the middle-aged man grabbed Quan Heng and seemed about to pounce on him. Then his attention was completely captured by the face of the one who’d ordered the delivery.

The man was strikingly handsome. Whether he’d been forced into this or the alcohol had gone to his head, the corners of his eyes were red. Light from the chandelier shone in his gaze, and when he looked over, it seemed to shimmer there.

He slipped free of the crowd and walked over. His steps were steady enough, though he stumbled a little.

“That’s mine. Thank you.” Quan Heng’s eyes curved as he gave him a bright smile.

Wen Congrong was momentarily dazzled by it, then hurriedly waved a hand.

The stares of everyone in the room didn’t make him feel awkward. It was the smile of the man in front of him that left him strangely ill at ease.

He didn’t know that while he was fumbling for a response, Quan Heng was quietly studying him from head to toe.

So this is the protagonist? Quan Heng asked the system. His voice held little emotion, only a faint note of disappointment. He didn’t see anything unusual: no extra limbs, no special scent, no radiance filling the room.

Yes, Host. I made sure he got your order, the system replied. Now you can get to know him! Hurt him! Frame him! Drag him into the mud!

The Villainous Revelry System cackled, practically quivering with anticipation at the thought of the protagonist suffering.

“Mm. Maybe next time.” Quan Heng gave a noncommittal reply. For now, the protagonist didn’t seem worth the effort. After flashing him a flawless fake smile, he sent him on his way, closed the door, and casually locked it from the inside.

“What did Little Heng order?” someone asked once the buzzkill was gone. The others were eager to get back to business. “If you wanted something, you could’ve just asked CEO Wang. There’s nothing he can’t get for you. All it takes is one word from him.”

The flattery hit home. CEO Wang straightened, apparently trying to look imposing, and reached to put an arm around Quan Heng’s shoulders.

This time, Quan Heng dodged him outright. As CEO Wang’s face darkened and his eyes narrowed, Quan Heng smiled.

“We haven’t had our toast yet.”

“Right, right! The toast!” CEO Wang brightened, thinking the young man was getting in the spirit. He raised his glass and watched as Quan Heng’s fingers closed around its stem and brought it toward him.

Quan Heng studied the face in front of him, the folds beneath its chin more plentiful than the petals of a chrysanthemum. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other men and women cheering him on. Their words were supportive, but their faces held contempt. The manager looked relieved, delighted that his latest attempt at matchmaking had paid off.

Quan Heng leaned closer and closer. As CEO Wang grinned, Quan Heng’s lips curved. His dark eyes were deep, his smile gentle—but his hands were vicious. He shoved the entire glass into the pig’s mouth.

“Ugh—cough, cough—!”

Caught off guard, CEO Wang tried to pull away, but Quan Heng grabbed him by the throat. His breathing turned ragged; he couldn’t get enough air.

Quan Heng held the flailing pig fast. A cold gleam shone in his eyes. The bright, beautiful gaze others had admired now seemed to stare straight out of hell.

Like he was looking at a dead man.

CEO Wang froze. Then terror took hold and he began to struggle wildly.

His movements were frantic. The rim of the glass struck his teeth and met resistance, but Quan Heng pressed harder. The glass shattered with a sharp crack. Blood stained CEO Wang’s mouth, and shards of glass lodged between his teeth. The scene was absurd and horrifying.

“Ah—huh—”

Host! What are you doing?!

CEO Wang’s agonized cries and the system’s baffled shrieks formed a duet in Quan Heng’s head and in the room. The sound was almost pleasant.

“Shh. I’m just being a villain, aren’t I?” Quan Heng soothed the panicking system. He ignored its yelps and looked at the broken half of the glass in his hand. Raising it toward the spotlight, he watched the mirrored surface reflect the terror and shock on every face around him.

The next instant, the whole room erupted. Everyone seemed to come to their senses at once and rushed toward CEO Wang, fussing over the middle-aged man, who was in too much pain to make a sound.

Someone had the bright idea to step in front of CEO Wang and shout, “Come at me! Don’t hurt him!” At the same time, he signaled for the others to grab the weapon in Quan Heng’s hand.

But no one dared move. Not until the manager finally came to his senses, his face twisting with rage as he yelled, “Quan Heng! Do you want to get blacklisted from the industry?”

He’d never imagined Quan Heng would pull a stunt like this.

The manager had thought Quan Heng’s willingness to come to the dinner meant he’d finally seen reason. That saved him the trouble of threats and intimidation. Quan Heng had behaved himself all evening—so obedient and sensible that the manager had assumed he’d finally realized how hard it was to survive in show business without connections and decided to bow his head.

He’d watched Quan Heng raise his glass and secretly sneered, thinking the man had finally surrendered to reality. He hadn’t expected such a surprise.

“Oh.” Quan Heng released the pig’s neck, where his fingers had left deep marks, and turned to look at the manager with mild interest. “I almost forgot about you.”

He casually flipped the table blocking his way. Dishes crashed to the floor. As the manager’s pupils contracted, Quan Heng closed in. The man who’d once helped CEO Wang drive him to the brink of despair tried to sound intimidating.

“Are you crazy? Don’t make me blacklist you!”

The manager hoped the threat would bring Quan Heng back to his senses. Instead, Quan Heng gave a low laugh and looked at him with unreadable amusement.

“I’m terrified.”

“Now you’re talking. You know you should be—”

The manager let out a piglike squeal of terror.

The others huddled around the head pig in the opposite corner, watching Quan Heng cut the manager off mid-sentence and ram the broken half of the glass into his mouth.

Blood sprayed, spattering Quan Heng’s white shirt and turning it red.

The man himself merely wiped the blood from his cheek. With casual precision, he pushed the glass a little farther in and said, “Don’t be scared. It’s not long enough to kill you.”

Host! We may be villains, but this isn’t a crime show! the system cried, afraid its host would decide to kill someone on a whim.

“Don’t worry. He really won’t die.” Quan Heng reassured it. “A villain has to commit to the role. That was quite a show, wasn’t it?”

Well… yes, I suppose. The system had recording capabilities. It replayed Quan Heng’s actions from the moment he’d entered the room and, to its own surprise, could see what he meant.

“Then stop interrupting me, okay?”

As he spoke, Quan Heng even kindly helped the manager—whose pants were now soaked—over to the sofa and sat him down.

The manager was too stunned by the pain to do anything but cower like a quail. He didn’t dare speak—or maybe he couldn’t, with his mouth forced shut around the broken glass.

Quan Heng admired him for a moment, then sat down at the other end of the sofa, legs spread comfortably. With evident interest, he looked at the other witnesses.

“You…”