The world twisted like a spinning kaleidoscope before slamming into stillness.
Lu Xiao staggered as his feet touched solid ground—or rather, a thick velvet carpet. His vision blurred, his stomach rolled with nausea, and his limbs felt strangely out of sync, as if they no longer belonged to him.
"Ugh… my head…"
He reached out blindly and braced himself against the nearest surface—a carved mahogany table that felt colder than it looked. Steadying his breaths, he tried not to collapse.
"Kiwi…" he croaked. "You got something for this… transmigration hangover or whatever it is?"
The green holographic cat flickered into view above his shoulder, eyes glowing with simulated concern.
"There is a potion called Cure Effect available in the system store for a very reasonable price of 250 points. Would you like to purchase it?"
Lu Xiao froze. "How many points do I have again?"
"100. Starter bonus." Kiwi said cheerfully. "You are—how do they say it?—tragically broke."
Lu Xiao rolled his eyes and waved the hologram away. "I'd rather die again than start my new life in debt. Pass."
He glanced around, still dizzy. A massive bed with embroidered silk covers caught his eye, and he all but collapsed onto it, sighing as the mattress cradled his aching body.
Once the nausea faded and the spinning stopped, he finally looked around properly.
And then he really looked.
Ornate chandeliers. Gold-trimmed curtains. A private bar stocked with top-shelf liquor. The entire room screamed money—the kind of money that didn't come from hard work but power. Ruthless, old-money, generational power.
"…Kiwi," he said slowly, "who exactly have I transmigrated into?"
"Transferring plot data and host identity information now," Kiwi replied.
A second later, Lu Xiao clutched his head as a tidal wave of information crashed into his brain. His temples throbbed. His breath hitched.
[Data transfer complete.]
Lu Xiao sat still for a moment, head pounding, before massaging his temples and sitting upright. He blinked, trying to process the flood of memory fragments, names, timelines, and relationship webs now seared into his consciousness.
And then, he froze.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "…No way."
According to the plot, he was now inhabiting the body of Mu Xiao, the infamous third master of the Mu family.
Cold-blooded. Cunning. Calculating.
More importantly—he was the uncle of the villain.
And not just any uncle.
He was the one who emotionally neglected, manipulated, and eventually betrayed the original villain when he was still young and fragile. His cruelty and abandonment had been the final push that led to the villain's descent into darkness and destruction.
Lu Xiao's mouth went dry.
"...Why the hell am I playing the villain's blackening catalyst?!"
Lu Xiao sat in stunned silence, staring blankly at the chandelier above.
A villain's tragic past was usually complicated—abandonment, betrayal, maybe a massacre or two. But this?
He ran a hand through his hair and muttered to himself in disbelief.
"Mu Xiao became the blackening catalyst… just because he wanted to snatch the villain's father's rundown grocery store?"
He leaned forward, brows furrowing deeper.
"That store couldn't even make a profit of 1,000 yuan a day, and Mu Xiao's company pulls in billions in daily turnover! What in the dog-blood logic is this?!"
His voice rose at the end, borderline hysterical. He turned his head toward Kiwi, who had reappeared mid-air, its tail swinging nonchalantly.
"Are you kidding me right now?!"
The system blinked at him with an indifferent expression.
"It is what it is."
Lu Xiao looked betrayed. "No, seriously. I thought transmigrating into a villain's uncle meant I'd at least have some juicy, complex backstory. Not... property greed over a glorified vegetable stall!"
Kiwi gave a tiny shrug, unfazed. "Plot logic isn't always logical. Blame the original author."
Lu Xiao sighed in despair, rubbing his temples. "Alright, alright. What's the timeline? I need to know where we're at."
Kiwi's voice took on a calm, almost lazy tone.
"Today is June 2nd, XXXX. Time: 8:00 PM."
Something clicked.
Lu Xiao bolted upright. "Wait—June 2nd?! Isn't that the day when the villain's first tragedy unfolds?!"
A smile curled on Kiwi's face, far too serene for the moment.
"Correct. The first significant trauma in the villain's life takes place tonight… in about thirty minutes."
"…Fk."
Lu Xiao's curse dropped from his lips before he could filter it. His gaze darted across the room, finally landing on a sleek black car key resting on the side table.
No hesitation.
He snatched the key and sprinted toward the door, legs moving on instinct. He didn't care how ridiculous the plot was—he refused to let things spiral just because of one idiotic, avoidable event.
But just as his fingers brushed the doorknob—
"Host."
Kiwi's voice echoed from behind, but it wasn't its usual cutesy tone.
It had deepened, metallic and cold.
"You cannot go OOC. If you step too far out of character, the punishment will be... excruciating."
Lu Xiao froze.
His spine prickled with sudden chill, and he turned to glance back. Kiwi's glowing green eyes hovered in the darkened room, eerily bright against the shadows. For a moment, the system didn't look like a cat—it looked like a judge.
He swallowed hard.
"…Got it," he said quietly. "I'll keep that in mind."
Then he pushed open the door and disappeared into the corridor.
.
.
.
Wu Yiheng waves off his final customer, the shop's rattling doorbell falling silent behind them. Night air drifts in, carrying the faint smell of rain and exhaust. He is reaching for the light switch when a tiny tug on his trouser leg stops him.
"Papa, I'm hungry."
The voice is soft, barely above a whisper.
He glances down to see his seven-year-old son, Wu Zixuan—skinny arms wrapped around his knees, gaze bright with quiet trust. The word hungry lands like a stone in Yiheng's chest, yanking loose an old memory.
Three years ago, the shop was even smaller, and so was Zixuan. His wife, Yu Qian, had cornered him in this very aisle, waving an overdue-rent notice and spitting anger. Why waste money on a dead-end grocery? she'd screamed, blaming every struggle on the toddler who clung to Yiheng's shirtfront, wailing in fright. When her hand flew toward the boy's cheek, Yiheng had caught her wrist on instinct—then slapped her instead.
Yu Qian's face had twisted with disbelief and fury. The next morning she was gone, suitcase in hand and vows of never coming back echoing in the doorway. Since then Yiheng has juggled odd jobs, balanced ledgers that never quite match, and played both father and mother to the child now tugging his pant leg.
Reality snaps back like an elastic band. Yiheng bends, scooping Zixuan into his arms. "All right, little An-An," he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from the boy's forehead. "We'll eat in just a moment. Let Papa close the shop."
Zixuan nods, a small smile forming despite the growl in his stomach. Yiheng sets him gently on the counter, turns toward the door—
—and freezes.
A line of men blocks the entrance, silhouettes hard and menacing under the streetlamp glare. Hockey sticks, metal bats, even the dull glint of an axe head rest casually against their shoulders. Bandanas and surgical masks hide their faces, but not their intent.
Cold fear spikes through Yiheng's veins. Behind him, Zixuan's fingers clutch his shirt.
"Zixuan," he whispers, voice tight, eyes never leaving the intruders, "go and—"
He swallows, forces the word past dry lips.
"—hide."
Wu Zixuan's small feet pounded across the narrow threshold that connected the grocery shop to the family's living quarters. Terrified, he darted into the bedroom, yanked open the wardrobe door, and wedged himself among winter coats that smelled faintly of mothballs and his father's after-shave.
He hugged his knees, tears spilling down his cheeks.
Don't make a sound… Papa said hide… hide…
Through the thin plywood he could still hear everything: the crash of shelves tipping, the thwack of a bat against flesh, and—worst of all—his father's pained shout.
"Ah—!"
Zixuan's sob caught in his throat. He clamped both hands over his mouth, hiccuping silently while the bedroom light flickered under the doorframe.
Then the footsteps came.
The closet door ripped open.
A masked man loomed over him, axe head glinting under the bare bulb. Even with most of his face covered, Zixuan could see the crinkling of his eyes—a smile.
"Found you, brat. Madam's paying ten million once you're gone."
He hefted the axe, raising it high.
"D-don't… Please—don't kill me…"
The axe never fell.
A sharp crack—like a whip—and the man flew sideways, hurled into the dresser so hard the mirror shattered. Dust and splinters rained across the floor.
Breathless, Zixuan looked up.
A stranger stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall light so that it haloed around him. He was tall, lean, immaculately dressed in a charcoal suit that seemed out of place among broken furniture and spilled rice. His eyes, cold moments ago, now softened when they landed on the trembling child.
In three swift strides he reached the closet, knelt, and gently lifted Zixuan into his arms.
"Are you hurt?" The voice was low, reassuring.
Zixuan stared, wide-eyed, chest still hitching. The man was… glowing? No—just the hallway bulb catching the dust in the air, wrapping him in pale gold. Nothing about him felt like the bad men outside.
"I-I'm okay," Zixuan whispered, fingers digging into the lapel of the stranger's suit. "Who… who are you?"
Relief curved the man's lips into a faint smile. "I'm Mu Xiao."
The name echoed in Zixuan's head. His eyes widened in fear . Chill passed down his spines . He started stammering but then everything went black .