Those Years I Dismembered Corpses at the Imperial Cemetery

Go do bad things, commit rape, robbery, and all sorts of evil deeds, and then die at the hands of the protagonist.

It's ridiculous. I've encountered another author with a screw loose. He made a mistake and insisted on explaining it. How can I put it? Dangerous jobs like this usually have a premium. Sigh, otherwise nobody would do it, dude. Nobody's stupid. 30 Coins a month? That means you can't even afford a steamed bun after 30 days of work. Don't be ridiculous. Even slaves in ancient times got paid.

I lost patience after reading a few chapters. This book is the pinnacle of padding in writing; it's full of meaningless drivel, and every single sentence can be stretched into ten paragraphs of filler. Even foot binding cloths aren't as long and smelly as this. Reading it feels like a waste of time, utterly devoid of any educational value, and purely torture for the reader.

Well, the selection criteria are harsh, the working conditions are terrible, and there's always a risk to one's life. The salary is only thirty coins, enough to buy just a few pounds of rice a month. I don't really understand why it's structured this way, or why it's so stable. Even begging earns more than this.

The magic the protagonist acquired, and the supporting characters—it just gets more and more disgusting the more I watch.

The result is extracting the remaining extraordinary materials from the remains of mutated creatures. The energy radiation during this process will kill ordinary people, and if left undissected for a long time, they will mutate and decompose into some unknown monstrosity. You can only say it's about cleansing sins; that's good for fooling others, but don't fool yourself. Ordinary people who haven't even entered the Dao, dissecting something as high-level as sins? Are you asleep or am I?

No, what does the protagonist do all day? He fantasizes, undergoes sex reassignment surgery, sheds his skin, and dissects corpses.

A collection of bizarre short stories about supporting characters' ripped crotches.

It's not a matter of whether the characters are highly skilled or not; the author writes it like rats getting pregnant dozens of times. For example, the protagonist's destiny requires 100,000 deaths to produce one. Even if everyone else dies for every few thousand, that's still about a million deaths. So, dozens more people with that destiny die every year... In three years, everyone will be dead, and as many people without that destiny come, they all die... It's more prolific than leeks.

The subject matter and writing style are novel, but it's toxic. The protagonist, a time traveler, seems to have absolutely no history knowledge. Furthermore, the protagonist's personality is severely flawed; he lacks independent thought and is completely manipulated throughout the story. Proceed with caution if you find this offensive.