This isn’t a strong heroine story, or a strong hero story. It isn’t a wish-fulfillment story, or a frustrating one. It’s just the birth of a premise.
After I died, I transmigrated into a broken world where a beautiful, powerful, disabled villain had killed the Son of Heaven.
The System assigned me a mission: reform the villain and lead the world toward peace and light.
But the villain was truly villainous, and I really had no plot armor at all. Luckily, the System got me a golden finger: no matter how I died, I’d never stay dead.
After dying 3,768 times, my perseverance and courageous spirit moved the gods. Now all I had to do was complete 100 idiotic little tasks to earn a new life.
The tasks involved sexually harassing the villain in all sorts of ways. I died every time I tried, and sometimes I died before I could even harass him.
But then one day, as I grabbed the villain’s hand to harass him, he didn’t kill me. Instead, he just stared at me with an inscrutable gaze…
Three thousand worlds, three thousand feet.
All come like moths to a flame.
Never angered, yet ever alive.
How can I look upon my heart, as the moon’s embers sink?
I recall the year heaven and earth broke apart, and I stormed into his hall.
Flesh torn, bones red, no worldly feeling could obstruct the sword’s light.
Why does it now hurt so, shaking my soul to pieces? Tears flood my every orifice.
Why ask? Why want? Why does hatred never end? My heart runs dry, love surges forth.
To see the moon as wrath, to see wrath as the moon. To think of the moon with no moon, to think with no wrath.
