It was deep winter, and light snow was falling outside, accumulating to about an inch. Fine snowflakes landed on Cheng Ji’s forehead, making him shiver violently.

So cold.

He had experienced cold before, but today’s chill cut straight to the bone. After all, he wasn’t just wearing shorts and fishnet stockings—he was also in thin-strap sandals.

Cheng Ji glanced down at his heels and thought, You’re really suffering here. Snowwater soaking you, fake rhinestones on the shoes rubbing against you. In less than an hour in this world, you’ve endured more than in twenty years of your last life. You’ll grow from this, trust me.

He wasn’t trying to complain without reason, but Manager Zhou really went overboard with this outfit. Forget Qi Beisong struggling to tolerate it—Cheng Ji himself felt like one more glance at his reflection might blind him.

To top it all off, the sandals had thin heels. Not high, but still, thin heels.

Come to think of it, he’d actually been walking in these shoes for quite a while. Maybe he had some hidden talent for this sort of thing?

Stop. Don’t overthink it.

He yanked off the sandals, crouched low, and crept along the wall silently.

The plot administrator’s warnings hadn’t stopped since the moment he climbed out of the bathroom window.

“Plot deviation warning, second notice. Cheng Ji, please return to your position immediately.”

“Do not act recklessly and make repeated mistakes. The plot administrator has the authority to—”

“To what?” Cheng Ji interrupted. “To kill me?”

“The plot administrator does not have the authority to decide a character’s death.”

Cheng Ji nodded. “Hmm, at least you’re honest. I’ve pretty much figured it out: you don’t actually have much authority. There are plenty of things you can’t control, which is why you keep repeating the same reminders. Honestly, what you’re doing here is more like begging for surrender—it doesn’t even qualify as a threat.”

The plot administrator went silent.

Cheng Ji continued, “In this story, I’m just a throwaway side character. I have only five lines of dialogue, which are all insignificant filler. You can probably only manage to enforce those five lines. Everything else about me, you can’t touch, can you? Professionally speaking, I’m so minor that I don’t even have a defined character profile, so there’s no risk of being out-of-character. That means I can do whatever I want.”

“True. But from a moral standpoint, you cannot disrupt the main storyline or interfere with the protagonists’ proper roles.”

Cheng Ji sneered, “Morality?”

“The administrator has emergency measures.”

“Fine, bring it on. Let’s see if anyone can stop me.”

The plot administrator fell silent again, seemingly at a loss for how to handle Cheng Ji’s increasingly outrageous behavior.

Cheng Ji pressed forward. Before long, he felt he was close to his destination and looked up at a row of windows, trying to guess which one belonged to Room 388.

He had spent about ninety seconds in that suite earlier, observing the layout: the living room was in the center, the master bedroom on the right, and a guest room and entertainment area on the left. The master bedroom had a large terrace visible from the living room entrance—a defining feature of Room 388.

It didn’t take long for Cheng Ji to spot the protruding terrace. Unfortunately, directly below it was a lake.

Being late December, deep into the night, and with temperatures below freezing even in the relatively mild Hongcheng, the lake’s surface was already covered in a thin layer of ice that wouldn’t support weight.

Cheng Ji had no desire to go wading in an icy lake. If he got a leg cramp and drowned, not only would he fail to save the second protagonist, but his ghostly appearance the next morning might traumatize some poor rescue workers.

He needed to find another way. Stepping back for a broader view, he scanned the area carefully.

At the corner of the terrace’s side, he noticed another window. Judging by its position, it was very close to the master bedroom. Based on its design, a single-hinged frame, it was likely the bathroom window.

Could that be the master bedroom’s bathroom?

Due to his limited field of vision earlier, he hadn’t noticed this window while inside Room 388. To confirm his guess, he’d have to climb up and check.

Taking a deep breath of the frigid air, he stretched his stiff limbs and gripped the first-floor windowsill with nearly frozen fingers.

The Moonlight Villa’s clubhouse buildings were all in a complex European style, with ornate and intricate designs. This characteristic made every exterior wall quite climbable. Focusing his mind, Cheng Ji prepared to ascend.

The plot administrator’s warnings buzzed in his ears like an annoying fly.

“Final severe plot deviation warning. Please return to your designated place and stop disrupting the proper flow of the plot.”

Cheng Ji silently mouthed, ‘The proper plot? Let me ask you: in what way is Qi abusing Shen considered proper?‘

“The early plot contains elements of forced love, but it concludes with a happy ending. In his captivity, Shen Zimo will fall deeply in love with Qi Beisong.”

To hell with that!

Cheng Ji was so furious he almost laughed out loud.

“Please refrain from using crude language to insult the plot administrator.”

Cheng Ji, still fuming, thought, That’s not love. That’s Stockholm Syndrome.

1. The victim must genuinely feel that the perpetrator poses a threat to their survival.
2. During the captivity, the victim must perceive occasional acts of kindness from the perpetrator.
3. The victim must be isolated from all perspectives except the perpetrator’s and cut off from external information.
4. The victim must believe that escape is impossible.

(Source: Baidu Encyclopedia)

The so-called “forced love” between Shen Zimo and Qi Beisong must satisfy all four of these conditions for Stockholm Syndrome. That’s not love—it’s a psychological disorder.

“The plot administrator must remind you that the world you are in is fictional. It does not operate on such logic.”

But I’m not, Cheng Ji thought.

Qi Beisong was undoubtedly the protagonist. Handsome, young, strong, with unmatched status, power, and wealth—he was the kind of person Shen Zimo should love.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Cheng Ji clicked his tongue softly. How remarkable. But so what?

While verbally sparring with the plot administrator, Cheng Ji had already struggled his way to the second floor.

“Struggled” was the operative word—first, because this body was practically useless. Its limbs were weak, like it hadn’t eaten properly for centuries. Second, because it was freezing cold; his fingers were completely numb, operating on sheer willpower alone.

The plot administrator, unable to stop him, emitted a desperate warning.

“Plot collapse warning, first notice.”

‘So the plot’s already falling apart?‘ Cheng Ji thought smugly. ‘Where’s your emergency plan now?‘

“Emergency measures have failed. Cheng Ji, you’re just a minor character with five lines of dialogue. You have no authority to make decisions that cause serious consequences.”

Cheng Ji dared not rest, fearing the cold would seep into his fragile joints—or worse, that he’d lose momentum. Clenching his teeth, he sneered, ‘Yeah, yeah, but this minor character is about to pull off a heroic rescue.‘

“Your actions are being condemned by the plot administrator.”

‘I condemn you too, Cheng Ji thought, but since you’re just a phantom AI, I won’t bother hunting you down.‘

“Severe condemnation.”

Cheng Ji taunted aloud, “Pfft, like I’m scared of you.”

“System collapse warning, second notice. Cheng Ji, you will face consequences.”

Cheng Ji shrugged. ‘So what? Worst case, I die again. At least I saved someone.‘

That said, the frailty of this body was even worse than he had imagined. He felt like an 800-pound weight—if he relaxed even slightly, he’d plummet straight to the earth’s core.

His arms were numb, his legs wobbled, and stars danced before his eyes. ‘And all this from just climbing to the third floor?‘ Back in his previous life, he could’ve scaled this distance in ten seconds flat.

In those days, he’d loved tying a rope around his waist, leaping off rooftops into the wind, and hanging upside down with his body taut, arms spread wide, balancing on the safety line with just his toes. He’d stare wide-eyed as the solid ground rushed up toward him at near-freefall speeds—terrifying yet exhilarating.

But not anymore. He was utterly useless now.

He finally realized why the climb felt so difficult: he’d been carrying the thin-strapped sandals in his hand the whole time.

‘What the hell am I doing lugging these things up here?‘ he thought. ‘Must be an old habit from my past life—back then, I used to carry guns while scaling walls.‘

Forced to pause for breath, he clung to the decorative molding on the wall with one hand, while the other, trembling, placed the pliers and sandals on a ledge slightly above his head.

He muttered softly to the body’s original owner, “With such pitiful stamina, you dare to sell yourself? No professional ethics whatsoever. Your clients wouldn’t even be satisfied. At least I was strong and agile in my past life, with excellent core strength.”

‘Stop. What nonsense are you thinking about now?‘

The plot administrator was making one last desperate attempt to intervene.

“Go back, Cheng Ji.”

Cheng Ji chuckled and gave the administrator a broad grin before leaping with all his might, both hands grabbing onto the third-floor windowsill.

The windowsill jutted outward and was spacious enough for Cheng Ji to stand on comfortably. He bit down on the straps of his sandals, raised the pliers in his hand, and prepared to smash the window. But as luck would have it, the inward-opening window was merely ajar—it wasn’t even locked.

‘How fortunate!‘ Cheng Ji thought. The window glass was laminated and double-layered, with a thickness of four to five centimeters. Given his current strength and just a pair of pliers, he wouldn’t have been able to break it; a proper glass-breaker would have been essential.

Overjoyed, Cheng Ji quickly pushed open the window and climbed inside.

The moment his feet touched the floor, the plot administrator declared:

“Plot collapse.”

“Ah,” Cheng Ji murmured, looking up.

The administrator left behind a final, resplendent epitaph consisting of just two words, delivered slowly and deliberately:

“Cheng. Ji.”

‘What now?‘ Cheng Ji responded silently, bracing himself for the robot’s scolding. But nothing came. All he heard was a brief burst of white noise before everything fell utterly silent.

‘It really collapsed,‘ he thought, tilting his head back and silently calling out to the administrator.

‘Where did the plot administrator go?‘

Cheng Ji clicked his tongue. ‘Fine. If you want to collapse, then collapse. I’ve got more pressing matters to deal with.‘

What Cheng Ji didn’t realize was that the moment his bare feet touched the luxurious marble floor of the bathroom, everything began to change beneath him. The world—originally shaped by a third-rate novel—was transforming like waves crashing, like vines growing wildly, with lightning flashing and rivers bursting their banks. It surged forward with unrelenting momentum, disregarding plot, setting, protagonists, or supporting characters. It cared nothing for administrators, beginnings, endings, or boundaries.

The world stretched out vast and boundless, parallel to the real world, with only one minute difference.

The administrator, too focused on maintaining the plot, had failed to inform Cheng Ji of one critical detail: in this world, some men could bear children.

The genius baby that Qi Beisong and Shen Zimo were destined to have—a baby who would be the spitting image of Qi—was about to be erased by Cheng Ji’s actions.

And ultimately, Cheng Ji would pay the price for destroying this innocent fertilized egg.