After backstabbing the villain, the system allowed me to enter the book again - Chapter 1

When Du Mingxing opened her eyes, her palm was burning hot.

If she could choose, she would have preferred a more peaceful entry point into the book, rather than appearing at the exact moment when she was supposed to be abusing the villain.

She snuck a glance at the boy in front of her—the future final boss, who would one day make countless ability-users tremble in fear. At this moment, however, he was still a somewhat thin, green youth.

His cheeks were swollen with fresh palm prints, damp bangs clung to his forehead with sweat, and tied tightly to the chair, he looked utterly disheveled. Only his eyes remained dark and luminous, reminding Du Mingxing of the first time she had seen an event horizon in a sci-fi film at the theater.

That was the boundary outside a black hole. Its gravity was so immense that anything attempting to cross the threshold would be swallowed, even light could not escape. Strange and terrifying, yet breathtakingly beautiful.

And this character’s trajectory was much the same as that cosmic monster—corrupting and polluting the world bit by bit, until, according to the original script, he finally chose to let the heroine purify him and quietly end his lonely life.

Clearly, the fresh handprints on his face had been delivered by the malicious supporting role she was now possessing—Shen Huaixin.

Her own posture at this moment was telling: her hand raised high, mid-strike, expression vicious and cruel.

The original body’s hand was pale and delicate, fingers slender and tender, nails neatly trimmed and round—clearly the hand of a pampered young lady, completely unlike her own.

But her palm was bright red, as if it were she who had suffered from the blow rather than him—proof of a body too spoiled to endure even hitting someone.

Du Mingxing didn’t like hitting people; she rarely even scolded anyone. Usually, she was the one being bullied by her boss, forced to swallow her anger and keep working with a cold face.

“Xin-jie?”

A follower behind her, seeing “Shen Huaixin” hesitate to strike again, spoke up uncertainly.

Du Mingxing—currently Shen Huaixin—shook out her sore hand and quickly found an excuse:
“My hand hurts from hitting him. This time, I’ll just—”

Before she could finish, a pair of scissors appeared in her hand. Her words died in her throat as she stared in disbelief at the sharp blade, while the boy before her offered earnestly:

“My mistake. I can’t have Xin-jie’s precious hand injured. Better to use a knife—it’s quicker.”

Shen Huaixin’s mouth twitched stiffly. “…How very thoughtful of you.”

“It’s what I should do.”

At that moment, the cold voice of the system chimed in her mind:

【Deviation Value: 100. (Conclusion: If development continues at this rate, small-world collapse is imminent.)】

The system had already explained the deviation value before she transmigrated.

Because the villain’s growth had far exceeded expectations, he had completely deviated from the original script. The ending—where he should have been purified—was no longer guaranteed. As a result, the plot had gone out of control, and the book world was teetering on the brink of collapse. To restore order, the system forcibly reset time and sent in a transmigrator to make corrections.

Correction meant bringing the deviation value back to zero, halting the spread of corruption before it broke loose, and ensuring his blackening remained within controllable limits so the heroine could purify him at the end.

In other words: heal the villain.

But this brought another problem.

Deviation also included character deviation, which meant the malicious supporting role’s personality couldn’t be too out-of-character.

Both requirements together made the task feel contradictory.

Shen Huaixin drew a deep breath. Her fingers clenched around the scissors until they turned white.

She cast a glance at the girl who had egged her on to harm Shen Chumo—this was Fang Xiaozheng, if she remembered right. Hair tied up, features a little sharp but overall not bad-looking. A hanger-on who often flattered Shen Huaixin and came up with nasty ideas. Her family was poor, so she clung to power and influence. Naturally, her words carried weight in Shen Huaixin’s little clique.

“Then tell me, what should I do?” Shen Huaixin threw the question back at her.

“…” Fang Xiaozheng faltered. Faced with the sharp scissors, she grew nervous that things might go too far and the blame fall on her. Forcing a smile, she said quickly, “Whatever Xin-jie wants to do is best. It’s up to you.”

Shen Huaixin smiled faintly, brushing her fingers along the cold tip of the scissors. She glanced at the three other girls present, feigning familiarity as she mentally noted their faces.

“You all leave. I’ll handle it myself.”

Once the three left, she let out a breath and turned her gaze back to Shen Chumo.

Now what?

Hit him? She couldn’t bring herself to.

Don’t hit him?

But the atmosphere had already built up to this point.

While she was hesitating, Shen Chumo slowly lifted his head. The swelling on his cheeks had started to fade, revealing his true face beneath.

Sixteen, seventeen years old—the age where any face looked fresh and vivid. But his features were fine and well-proportioned, brows like brushstrokes, nose straight, handsome in the tender way of youth. Beneath the bravado, a faint trace of fragility lingered.

Du Mingxing wondered—was this his true face, or her younger brother’s face? They should resemble each other somewhat; otherwise, how could he have fooled their parents?

Suddenly, Shen Chumo forced a strange smile. It was the sort of grin that pulled at the corners of his lips but never reached his eyes—ghastly when aimed at someone tormenting him.

Her hair stood on end. She instinctively stepped back, scissors raised defensively.

…Had he already blackened?

“Sister,” his voice rasped low, eyes glowing eerily with a strange, pure trust. “Can you untie me?”

As if it never even crossed his mind that she was the one who had tied him here in the first place. That dark eeriness and childlike innocence mingled oddly in him, leaving her unable to tell if he was good or evil.

Maintaining the malicious supporting role’s act, Shen Huaixin narrowed her eyes, waving the scissors threateningly. “Do you even understand your situation?”

He stared blankly at the blade, as though struggling to process what was happening.

She pressed the cold point of the scissors to his cheek. Gooseflesh rose before his mind even caught up. Intimidation counted as bullying, right?

Narrowing her eyes, she lifted the scissors higher, lips curling coldly. “Any last words?”

She was curious how a villain would respond in such a moment.

But his reaction disappointed her. He simply waited, as if detached from everything, a bystander even to himself.

Then, with a flash of steel, the ropes binding him snapped apart.

Shen Huaixin sneered, “I’ve had enough fun for today. I’ll spare you this time.”

Shen Chumo nodded obediently, lips stretching into that zipper-like smile again. “Thank you, sister.”

Too eerie.

Du Mingxing felt goosebumps crawling up her neck. Given all the original’s cruelty, she had braced herself for hatred, fear, even rage. But this—this impenetrable fog of a boy—made it impossible to gauge him.

She racked her brain for what she remembered of his character.

He was not human—born from mankind’s desires and malice, a natural disaster magnet, the very source of the apocalypse. No one knew at first.

As the final villain, he had little page-time, meeting the heroine only a handful of times. Just a few pages summed up his entire existence.

His backstory wasn’t complicated. He impersonated the missing son of the wealthy Shen family, was later exposed, suffered school bullying and cold neglect from his family, and gradually blackened.

But thinking further was useless. As long as the system delivered the promised millions at the end, she’d do her job.

“Don’t call me sister,” she snapped coldly. “Mom and Dad may recognize you, but I don’t acknowledge some random stray as my brother.”

She reached out a hand toward his head. Shen Chumo blinked, lifting his head slightly so her palm landed neatly on his hair. It was soft and smooth, reminding her of her pet cat—so silky she couldn’t resist ruffling it once.

Oops, off-track.

Yanking a handful of his hair back until his eyelids strained, she let the scissors flash, snipping off a lock.

Cutting his hair instead of his flesh. A symbolic severing.

Even in the brief sketch of his life, it was clear Shen Chumo had clung to scraps of familial bonds.

Why use torture when a snipped lock could convey rejection just as well?

Strands of black hair fell across his nose. His bright eyes flickered with faint puzzlement, then, after thinking it over, he politely murmured:

“It looks good.”

He couldn’t even see in a mirror, yet he complimented her.

Shen Huaixin stared blankly at him, feeling like she had just punched a pile of cotton. What kind of villain was this? Was he simple-minded, or was he simply incomprehensible? She rubbed her forehead, sighing.

“Get lost. I want to be alone.”

“…”

Shen Chumo glanced at the floor, then down at his clean clothes, his expression faintly regretful—not for the humiliation, but seemingly because he might dirty his new clothes.

“I didn’t mean literally roll. Walk out. On your legs,” she corrected.

He nodded, smiling more naturally this time, and shuffled forward. His thin frame cast a long shadow, his steps uneven, limping as though learning to walk for the first time.

Frowning, she wondered if the original had beaten him lame. But the villain wasn’t supposed to be crippled… Alarmed, she rushed to check, rolling up his trouser leg. His pale ankle was slim and unmarred, showing no signs of injury.

“What’s wrong with your walk?” she asked with genuine concern—then caught herself and added sharply, “Don’t you dare fake it. I never touched your leg.”

“It’s always been this way. Not your—” He quickly corrected himself, “Not from you. Didn’t you always call me ‘cripple’?”

“…”

Ah. She was guilty.

Her conscience stung. Yet strangely, Shen Chumo didn’t seem like the gloomy, twisted boy she had imagined. Instead, there was an almost childish simplicity about him—though surely it was just another facade.

In the book, his background was barely sketched. She could only piece things together from what she saw. But regardless of who he really was, it didn’t matter. All she needed was to finish the task and collect her reward.

Letting go of his trouser leg, she said coldly,
“Can’t even walk properly. What a disgrace to the Shen family. I’ll tell our parents to hire you a tutor for basic etiquette. Don’t step out until you’ve learned how.”

Shen Chumo lowered his eyes and nodded. He neither protested nor grew angry. His dejected demeanor was like that of a scolded puppy.

…Almost cute.

Du Mingxing’s fingers twitched with the urge to pat his head again, but she repressed it, spun around, and strode away.