The rhythmic bubbling of the electric kettle echoed through the cramped, eight-square-meter rented room. A dense cloud of white steam rose steadily, swirling in the dim light before dissipating into the dark corners of the ceiling. On the edge of a simple bed, a young man in his late twenties leaned back, his exhausted face illuminated by the glow of his smartphone as his fingers moved like frantic shadows across the screen.
He was a veteran reader of over a decade, a man who found his only solace in the harsh, ruthless logic of old-school "villain" tropes. His taste had long since soured on idealistic protagonists; instead, he craved the cold, calculated maneuvers of those destined to fall. With a flick of his thumb, he opened a classic cultivation novel he had read countless times befor
