Chapter 1#

Ji Yang heard the dripping water again.#

Drip, drip.

Like a slow drawn-out execution.

A red-hot iron wire spiraled into the marrow of his phantom right calf from nothing, then exploded apart all at once.

In that instant, Ji Yang’s instincts had him rolling over and hugging his knees, teeth clamped so hard he barely swallowed the whimper pushing up from his throat. Cold sweat crept up layer by layer, soaking through his spine, dampening his hair, which he then dragged and rubbed carelessly into the silk bedsheet beneath him—its intricate patterns crushed into a crumpled ball in his grip.

This was… too much pain.

Just half an hour ago, he’d been livestreaming games at an internet café. With just his face and his “sweet talk,” he’d somehow fought his way to the top of the popularity charts in a channel crawling with tryhards, despite his absolute trash-tier skills.

Maybe it was because he’d been chased and cursed out for so long—between one blink and the next, he was lying here. Couldn’t die, couldn’t live, like a salted hairtail fish someone had tossed into a wok to fry and stir-fry.

Was this heaven’s punishment for a pretty-faced streamer?

Transmigration.

Other people transmigrated into a novel and became the vicious villain—turning over a new leaf, starting fresh. At worst, they stayed vicious all the way through, which ironically made people think they had a certain sharp, attractive something about them.

Ji Yang was special.

His vicious villain was now a man with severe phantom limb pain, his right leg amputated from the knee down—a genuine disabled person.

Setting aside the question of whether the villain was vicious or not.

He barely had enough strength left to even stand up…

Just as the worst wave of pain subsided, the phone by the headboard erupted in frantic vibration. Ji Yang blinked the sweat from his eyelids and forced his eyes open.

That’s when he realized it was raining outside.

Rain battered the window glass, tree shadows swayed, and the room before him looked all the more extravagantly decorated for it—the color palette so heavy and saturated it made you dizzy, like being swallowed alive. Ji Yang reached his arm over and fumbled for the phone, pressing his fingerprint to the lock screen several times before finally opening a group chat called “Rules Domination Selection Institute.”

Messages kept popping up inside, and the topic circled back, maddeningly, to “himself.”

—Not bad, Ji Si’er. I’ve watched the video over and over. Your hand hasn’t gone soft.

—I’ve got my eye on that horsewhip though. Another gift from Brother Wei, right? Wei has always treated him different. A whip like that—every crack leaves a bloody welt. Thrilling.

At that moment, someone in the group with the display name Wei Qiming spoke up, deliberately @-ing “Ji Yang.”

His tone was solemn and elder-like: “Xiao Yang, for people of our standing, the most important quality in someone close by is loyalty. It’s just a bodyguard—you can vent your personal grudges, but it’s not worth taking a life over it.”

A sense of foreboding gripped Ji Yang.

Then he saw the group chat chiming in:

—I think Brother Wei has a point. Betraying your master is a cardinal sin in this business.

—I don’t think so? Ji Si’er, didn’t you say the one beside you was personally promoted by your own grandfather? How many shady things in these wealthy families are connected to people of their standing? Does he have a death wish?

—All you really suspect is that he’s got something going on with your dad’s illegitimate son, right? If you really can’t swallow that anger, strike first—tie him to the bed and force yourself on him. It’s not like that won’t work, hahaha.

—Throw in some extras when the time comes. Even if he can’t get it up, he’ll have to!

—Hahaha, no objections.

Truly befitting the society constructed from third-grade products—colloquially known as a lawless wasteland.

Ji Yang was still scrolling up to find the so-called video.

Soon enough, he actually found it.

He clicked open the tiny video frame, and what hit harder than the image itself was the sound of a whip tearing through the air.

Crack!

The vast warehouse in the background amplified the echo. Every time the whip fell, there was the sound of flesh being torn. The lighting in the video was extremely dim—he could barely make out the outline of a man: both hands bound above his head to an iron rack, head hanging, kneeling on the ground, his bare upper body taut with defined muscles, crisscrossed with gleaming, blood-streaked welts. From the very first frame to the last, the man never made a single sound. Instead, it was “himself”—going from simply venting frustration to throwing a full-blown tantrum, sentence after sentence stacking up.

“That Ji Chengyi, a lowly bastard raised by a whore—how dare he try to take my man?”

“He’s got his eye on you?”

“He said you saved him once before, was that it?”

“When? Before the Ji family acknowledged him?”

“Or do you—do you like him too?”

“Of course you do! Every single one of you likes him!”

“But let me tell you this—someone who belongs to me, Ji Yang, could rot through to the bone at the bottom of the sea before I’d let Ji Chengyi have him! He can dream of it for the rest of his life!!”

“Are you mute?!”

“Nie Xu!!”

“Speak! I’m telling you to speak!!!…”

The moment the name Nie Xu came out, Ji Yang nearly choked on his breath.

He could almost feel the smell of blood in the darkness, spreading outward from the lens, wrapping around his own throat.

After all, in this danmei novel—which wove together corporate warfare, ethics, and great family rivalries—titled The Young Master’s Personal Bodyguard, the “young master” in question wasn’t “Ji Yang”—it was his illegitimate half-brother, born of the same father but a different mother, and two months older than him: Ji Chengyi. The story followed Ji Chengyi as the protagonist shou, who faced a catastrophic opening but refused to give up, surrounded by all manner of twisted CPs—textbook white-moonlight, universally adored heartthrob archetype.

As for “Ji Yang”?

Dead mother, illegitimate-son father, and a broken him.

The breadth of his role boiled down to this: in the early stages, he ruthlessly bullied and oppressed the protagonist shou. In the later stages, he was the one being ruthlessly bullied and oppressed by the protagonist shou’s various CP male leads. He devoted his entire life to the cause of “the other man,” giving it his all without reserve.

That wasn’t the key issue.

The key issue was that the point at which he’d transmigrated into this story was already in the so-called late stage.

Which meant—two years after the car accident that took his leg.

Over these two years, the man he had treated like less than human, the personal bodyguard he had ordered around at his every whim, was none other than the high-popularity CP male lead from the novel who would eventually rise to triumph—a man even madder than this villain. In the not-so-distant future, he would overturn the entire Ji family. And the very first thing he’d do after taking power would be to break Ji Yang’s other leg and throw him out onto the streets as a beggar.

The thought that “he” had even, before dying, gone to frame the protagonist shou by throwing himself in front of his car’s tires—while Nie Xu and Ji Chengyi sat inside—creating a masterpiece of miserable contrast.

Ji. Money-slave / Lust-driven / Severely addicted-to-the-internet pretty boy. Yang—was trembling all over.

The phone dinged several more times in succession.

It was a private message from that Wei character.

“Xiao Yang, I noticed you haven’t replied. Still angry?”

“You never liked talking about your leg, and you don’t usually show any sign of discomfort, but I think of you as my own younger brother. Brother Wei sees your pain, I see it all. Tell you what—I’ve met your dad’s illegitimate son. If you have any thoughts, say them out loud. Whatever Brother Wei can do, I’ll do it for you.”

Ji Yang looked at the messages and laughed out of pure anger.

He remembered this Wei Qiming. In the book, the identity he presented to the outside world was that of the son of a wealthy businessman—his whole family had emigrated overseas years ago and had only recently returned to China. He’d spun a convincing tale and duped a whole pack of idiot second-generation rich kids. In reality, he was a thoroughly low-brow pervert. Not only had he fabricated his entire background, but he had also set his sights on Ji Chengyi as prey. Getting close to “Ji Yang” was nothing more than using him as a stepping stone to reach the protagonist shou.

What happened to this guy later?

If he recalled correctly, Nie Xu had crippled his limbs and blinded him in one eye.

Ji Yang picked up his phone, tapped at it, and realized his sweat-slicked fingers couldn’t press the screen properly—it was too much effort.

So he just switched to voice messages.

The moment he opened his mouth, he heard how weak and unsteady his voice was.

“I’m doing just fine—no need for you to worry.” The intended passive-aggressive effect fell embarrassingly flat.

Ji Yang continued: “Thank you for your selfless advice and dedication these past two years. I’ve engraved it all in my heart. Someday I’ll return the favor with a grand gift. [Smile.jpg]”

The other side went silent for a good while. The “typing…” indicator appeared and disappeared repeatedly, and finally a message came through: “Why are you suddenly being so polite with Brother Wei? And what’s wrong with your voice?” A follow-up message came fast on its heels: “Brother Wei is quite worried about you. Is it a good time for a phone call?”

Whether this person genuinely hadn’t heard the subtext or was deliberately skirting the point, Ji Yang rolled his eyes so hard he nearly went blind.

“Not convenient.”

The other side pressed on: “What are you busy with?”

Ji Yang gave up on voice messages entirely and slowly typed: “Busy burning incense and praying to Buddha for a deathbed struggle to save your old man!” Portal: Ranking List | Transmigration Pro-Shou Novel, Easy Listening Original

As soon as Ji Yang sent it, he blocked the man without a second thought.

Then he heaved himself up with great effort.

He had to get Nie Xu up first.

If he remembered correctly, in the book, Nie Xu was still kneeling at this point.

This was a crucial turning point in the entire story.

Nie Xu “fell from grace” and was gravely injured. Ji Chengyi rushed in to stage a rescue, ultimately becoming the key figure through whom Nie Xu devoured and swallowed the Ji family’s holdings. Ji Chengyi, riddled with remorse, laid the groundwork for their later relationship arc—one of forced imprisonment, torment of body and soul.

Honestly, Ji Yang couldn’t care less whether those two were destined for a love-hate saga or a cage of obsession.

He just wanted to live.

He’d entered society at fifteen. At eighteen, he’d been tricked into a club and almost ended up as a “young master.” Whether he was reporting the place to the authorities or being cornered for a straight month by a guy and his gang, he’d always held one creed above all others: better a miserable life than a clean death.

Corporate warfare? He didn’t understand it. Snitching to the Ji family to get rid of Nie Xu? That would get him killed faster. Even if he wanted to run, he was missing a leg.

All he could do was console himself that at least his current identity was a genuine young master.

Ji Yang looked around. It took him a good while to find a crutch under the bed.

He shifted off the bed, propped himself up, and took a step.

Then he swayed—and on his very first step, he went down face-first.

Ji Yang hit the floor, stunned. He touched his reflection in the phone screen—a face identical to his previous life’s, though now made to look sinister by hair that was far too long and a jaw that had sharpened to a point.

Dammit.

If he’d known it would be this miserable—even needing to survive under the care of a so-called living father who could lock down even the protagonist shou—he might as well have sold his ass back then!

——

That day, the entire Ji family estate carried an odd atmosphere.

Around eight forty in the morning, servants began gathering in threes and twos, occasionally glancing out and muttering under their breath.

Because someone was kneeling below the stone steps of the main gate.

A line of blood seeped into the rainwater, staining the stone red. Torrential rain poured down, washing the marble to a slick, glossy black. The white pillars on either side seemed to transform, before the imposing castle-like mansion, into gallows. The elegant carvings atop them gazed down with cold indifference.

Punishment—right here and now—had become the most tangible proof of rigid hierarchy.

“Why’s he making someone kneel there? What is Fourth Young Master trying to pull?”

“Obviously humiliating him for Third Young Master to see. I heard Third Young Master went to the Old Master this time to request a person—something about a dock project, I think. The Old Master had already agreed. But look—Fourth Young Master turned around and threw a fit, lashing out without even asking what was going on. Who’s going to stop him? After all, he’s the legitimate grandson of the main branch.”

“Doesn’t treat people as human just because of his birthright. I’d say everything that’s happened to him is karma.”

“Shh—keep it down. You want to lose your job?”

The small cluster of servants huddled by the restaurant windows pretended to be busy with their work, keeping their voices pitched low.

Among them, the youngest—a maid—kept stealing glances outside no matter how hard she tried to stop.

After several peeks, she finally asked: “Who’s the one kneeling? I’ve never seen him before.”

An older servant beside her gave her an amused look.

Teasingly: “What? Feeling sorry for him?” Then, as the younger girl’s face flushed crimson: “That’s Nie Xu. Two years ago, Old Master Ji personally sent him to serve as Fourth Young Master’s personal bodyguard. Fourth Young Master has been giving him trouble since day one. Every time, there’d be young girls like you quietly feeling indignant on his behalf. The result was always the same.”

“The same how?”

“The same—you couldn’t even get a word in with him. He doesn’t show up often.” The older maid paused, then added another warning: “If you ever date someone, absolutely do not find one like him.”

A man who’d entered the Ji family at twelve, hand-picked out of a brutal human defense training camp.

One who lived by the blade’s edge and was rarely ever seen.

Although he was kneeling here—

Servants who’d been at the Ji family long enough would generally recall that five years ago, the core security personnel of the estate had undergone a major purge. The man who had risen to the top as the core head of security back then had also been called Nie Xu.

Ordinary servants had little chance of interacting with the people over at the main building. This personal bodyguard—the one who always materialized whenever Fourth Young Master got into trouble outside—had only come into people’s notice these past two years.

As for Fourth Young Master…

The young master was probably truly done for.

The Ji family was so vast and powerful, with talent emerging from every branch. Third Young Master, in particular, was modest in demeanor and extraordinary in ability—no wonder the Old Master had delegated authority to him and let him into the group’s headquarters.

And yet here was Fourth Young Master, not only failing to make any progress, but escalating his behavior.

While everyone in the great hall was essentially thinking the same thing—

A sudden sound came from the second floor.

Thunk—

Thunk—

Thunk—

One after another, slow but unmistakable.

The next second, everyone turned their heads to see the person who had just been privately criticized for bringing it upon himself suddenly appear at the top of the staircase, leaning on a crutch.

This young master—who, without wearing his prosthetic leg and being fully dressed, would never appear before anyone—was now just thrown into a set of white pajamas, propped on a crutch, standing there with unstable balance. He looked like he’d just been fished out of water, his hair a tangled mess, making his pale, almost translucent skin stand out even more on a face no bigger than a palm. The wind from the stairwell blew, and his right trouser leg—the one that hung empty below the knee—swayed back and forth, back and forth.

Then, under the stunned gaze of the maid who was responsible for wiping the staircase, he spoke softly: “Excuse me—could you give me a hand? Thank you.”

That air of frailty, so delicate he seemed like he might collapse at any moment, hit everyone square in the face.

This person… was Fourth Young Master?

He could be this polite?

His face… had it always looked like this?

While the maid stood briefly dazed, then nervously stepped forward to help him down the stairs, another voice cut in from the side.

“Ji Yang.” The person who’d just hurried in from outside the main gate closed his umbrella. He wore a casual shirt, carrying himself with an air of cultured, refined elegance. Only his face, at this moment, was dark with barely suppressed fury. He blocked Ji Yang’s path and said flatly: “Enough, don’t you think? If you’re unhappy, you can take it out on me directly. If you have complaints, you’re welcome to get physical with me too. There has never been any sordid relationship between Nie Xu and me—not of the kind you imagine. He agreed to help me, and that was at Grandfather’s instruction. I advise you: know when to stop.”

Ji Yang had been through enough just getting down the stairs, and now he was being confronted point-blank.

He lifted his eyes and looked at the newcomer.

Ji Chengyi really was as the book described—not the very pinnacle of looks, but with a quality about him that transcended.

Neither servile nor overbearing, restrained and dignified.

A kind of tenacity born from the mud.

If not for someone crossing the line, this level of aversion likely wouldn’t have been revealed to the public so early.

With Wei Qiming smiling with a knife behind his back earlier, and now the universally adored protagonist shou standing here for comparison—in the book, when questioned, “Ji Yang” had taken the whip in hand and cracked it straight across Ji Chengyi’s face, wrecking the living room and ultimately summoning Old Master Ji. The Old Master had been absolutely furious, revoking the last shred of mercy he’d shown since Ji Yang’s leg was broken two years ago, and pulling Nie Xu away—which was the direct reason the original owner had lost all standing within the Ji family.

As for cracking a whip now—there was no cracking anyone’s whip.

The sharp pain in his leg had morphed into a dull, aching throb, as though sourness seeped through the gaps in his very bones. Merely enduring the discomfort consumed eighty percent of his strength.

Ji Yang offered a weak smile. Without even needing to deliberately lower his voice, it was already trembling and unsteady. He said softly: “Third Brother.”

The address visibly cracked the other’s composure. Ji Yang pretended not to notice and continued: “Third Brother is too kind. I’m nothing now but a useless cripple—I can’t do anything.” As he spoke, his gaze drifted toward the door, and he lowered his eyes, unable to hide the disappointment. “You’re extraordinarily capable. It’s perfectly normal for anyone to admire and value you. Unlike me—who right now has only one person worth trusting by my side. I admit it. I like him. I’m just jealous. I can’t stand the thought of Third Brother competing with me for him.”

Then, as Ji Chengyi’s expression grew steadily uglier, he added: “But him—I really can’t give him to you.”

A brief, deathly silence fell over the entire hall.

Then came the sound of sharp intakes of breath.

Quite a few people were thinking: What was wrong with Fourth Young Master today?

Shouldn’t he have hurled abuse at Third Young Master upon seeing him—calling him a bastard or something?

The way he spoke—measured and tactful, yet each word needled beneath the surface—it was practically plastered across his face: deliberate.

No one had time to process this rapid cascade of changes and shocks before they watched the man brush past Third Young Master’s shoulder and stride toward the door on his own.

Ji Yang crossed the great hall, stepped over the threshold, and stood on the stone steps.

Rain dripped in thin lines, splashing against the ground and sending up droplets.

With one glance, Ji Yang spotted the man below.

Iron chains and a silver lock. Even kneeling under that heavy, brooding sky, all that could be felt was a sense of torn restraint and coiled power—broad shoulders, a wide back, and even from his knees, those legs were visibly, impossibly long. It was just that his body, washed ever clearer and more terrifying by the rain, the scars carved into him made Ji Yang’s eyes hurt—and made his own good leg ache in sympathy.

Tap.

Ji Yang’s crutch struck the step.

A sharp stab of pain shot through his knee, and the step was slick with rain. Before Ji Yang could even react, his center of gravity tilted, and the crutch slipped from his hand. He felt himself tumble several times, and when he opened his eyes—amid the spinning and turning—he found himself sprawled right between the kneeling man’s knees.

Looking up from below, that face was cold and sharp as a blade carved in stone.

Those eyes slowly opened.

Ji Yang: “…”

His throat tightened slightly. It took effort to get the words out: “You… are you alright?”

After a long two seconds of eye contact, the other’s thin lips parted. His voice sounded like sand scraping against rusted iron.

“The person who isn’t doing well right now, from what I can see, isn’t me.”

Ji Yang choked up on the spot.

He didn’t know whether the other had heard what he’d said to Ji Chengyi just now.

Ji Yang propped himself up—then lost his strength and flopped back down.

His body had simply given up.

Two falls in a single day!

His fingers clawed at the ground. He really wanted to curse someone out.

But in the end, he simply let himself wallow in his own miserable state, letting the rain drench him through. His palm, pressed against the ground, slowly turned upward until it happened to reveal the sharp jut of his wrist bone and his pale, bluish fingertips. In a hoarse voice, he said: “Here’s the key. Get up first—I don’t have the strength anymore.”

Then, in the other’s unmoving silence, Ji Yang lifted his eyes slightly, letting the rain streaks trace across the reddened corners of his eyes—the redness born from pain. Portal: Ranking List | Transmigration Pro-Shou Novel, Easy Listening Original

His expression carried genuine remorse: “I just… wanted to come and apologize.”

He lowered his gaze and said softly: “I didn’t want it to be like this. I’m sorry.”

His eyelashes trembled faintly, as though he had something to say but couldn’t force it out: “I just… truly…”

Love you so much.

He nearly gagged.

Ji Yang honestly couldn’t tell if he was simply too disgusted by his own melodrama, or whether he’d actually given himself a concussion from the fall. But then another thought struck him—“a disabled white lotus flower” was pitiable at best; but once you added “hurt by love turned to resentment” as the backdrop, it beat being purely vicious.

A little too tea-ish, perhaps.

If he kept the proportions right, he probably wouldn’t end up dying on the streets with no intact corpse, right?