Welcome back, my beloved degenerate audience.
Today, we're gonna dissect the most retarded cancerous tumor inside the rotting corpse of these novels — the Main Character's Personality.
Let's start from the root.
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Our dear Immortal Emperor Wang Lin, before his tragic rebirth into the land of garbage-tier plot, was living the so-called heavenly life.
Picture it:
He's sitting with his fiancée, under the full moon, being a hopeless romantic dickhead.
Wang Lin (stroking her hair like some softcore hentai protagonist):
"Oh my love, how many stars are there in the sky?"
Fiancée (smiling like the devil in Victoria's Secret):
"Go count them yourself, my love."
Then — BOOM — like every single one of these plot-recycled shits, she shoves a kitchen knife straight into his gut.
And not just any knife.
No, my dear viewers — this one was exclusively purchased from my very own:
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Only $99.99. Free betrayal included.
Wang Lin stares at her, his eyes wide with betrayal dripping from his pupils like diarrhea sliding from an infected anus.
Wang Lin (spitting blood like an anime side character):
"Why…? Why did you do this?"
Fiancée (smiling like she just took a shit on Buddha's head):
"Because the plot demands it."
And then he dies.
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But wait, this story doesn't end with that logical conclusion.
No.
Because death is just part-time vacation for these motherfuckers.
Wang Lin reincarnates straight into the body of another Wang Lin — this time, a campus joke, weakling, punching bag of young masters, and all-around human toilet.
The very moment he wakes up, he makes the vow:
Wang Lin (gritting his teeth like he's constipated):
"In my last life, I trusted everyone. And they betrayed me. This life... I shall trust no one!"
Wow.
Character development?
No, don't get excited yet.
You know damn well how this will go.
—
So now Wang Lin parades around acting like he's some cold-blooded alpha killer.
Arms crossed.
Dead stare.
Speaking in one-liners like a 13-year-old edgelord on Discord.
Then, one day, she shows up:
The Cold CEO Lady™.
You know, that 26-year-old billionaire with absolutely zero business sense but perfect waist-hip ratio, whose grandfather, of course, owes his life to Wang Lin because of some mosquito-hand-wave miracle earlier.
CEO Lady (biting her lip seductively):
"Lin-ge… you're not like the others."
Wang Lin (instantly forgetting his vow):
"Yes… I can trust you because you're different."
Oh, you thought that's where it stops?
Bitch, please.
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Next enters:
The Cute Adorable Little Sister Type™.
Because no harem is complete without the legal-but-suspect loli character who cooks for him, calls him "Onii-chan," and triggers half the FBI.
Loli Girl (sparkling eyes, blushing):
"Oppa… I'll always be by your side."
Wang Lin (already melting like butter in microwave):
"Yes… I can trust you because you're different."
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And then, of course, the final boss of this idiotic romance ladder:
The Mature Understanding Older Woman.
The one with "experience," tragic backstory, and two metric tons of emotional baggage.
Mature Lady (soft smile, wine swirling in glass):
"Wang Lin… you're special."
Wang Lin (his brain already fried beyond saving):
"Yes… I can trust you because you're different."
Hold up.
Let's recap here for the retarded squirrels in the audience:
"I won't trust anyone again!"
Meets one woman: "I trust you."
Meets second woman: "I trust you too."
Meets third woman: "Yeah, let's all trust together."
Bitch, are you building a trust fund or a fucking cult?
What happened to your cold-blooded, ruthless personality, you lying piece of narrative shit?
You got emotional whiplash worse than a teenage girl after her first heartbreak.
And then — because we're not done torturing logic yet — this dumbass stands on top of some sacred mountain and screams to the heavens like a goddamn K-drama actor overdosing on steroids:
Wang Lin (tears dramatically flying):
"I will protect everyone because I love them all!"
And the readers — you bunch of walking sperm donations — you sit there wiping your eyes, clapping like trained seals, shouting:
"So emotional! That's my man!"
"Such character growth!"
"I wish I was him!"
"Oppa saranghae!"
Meanwhile, I, your brutally honest host, sit here gripping my chair whispering:
"Suck my dick, bitch."
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What the actual flying fuck is this?
You take a man who was supposed to be a ruthless lone wolf, and within five minutes, he's building a goddamn harem bigger than Saudi royalty?
And don't even get me started on the readers who swallow this diarrhea soup like it's grandma's chicken stew.
Are your brains made of expired tofu?
The MC feeds you one pile of shiny polished dogshit after another, and you motherfuckers open your mouths wide like:
"Ahhh, more please! Oppa Wang Lin so cool!"
No, he's not cool.
He's a walking contradiction wrapped in plot armor thick enough to survive a nuclear holocaust.
He's not cold.
He's emotionally unstable.
He's not ruthless.
He's a simp in emperor's clothing.
He's not strong.
He's just carried by the author's inability to write consistent characters.
.....
Ladies, gentlemen, degenerates, and the walking brain-dead readers who still believe that every Immortal Emperor novel is some peak art form —
Welcome back to today's special Bullshit Dissection Session.
Before we continue butchering our beloved Wang Lin and his mentally handicapped storyline, I, your humble host Lee Cheon-myeong, have prepared a very, very special guest.
Please give a round of applause to the father of Return Of The Immortal Emperor Garbage Literature, the legendary 61-year-old master of recycled diarrhea storytelling —
Mr. Wen Chen!!
(Crowd claps — half of them are brain-dead readers, the other half are still jerking off to CEO romance fantasy)
[An old man, Wen Chen, walks in. His back slightly hunched, eyes full of experience, or perhaps just regret. He takes his seat, smiling nervously.]
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Lee Cheon-myeong:
So, Mr. Wen, first of all — thank you for crawling out of your cave of plot repetition and joining us today.
Wen Chen (nervous chuckle):
Thank you for having me, Mr. Lee.
Lee Cheon-myeong (smiling like a serial killer):
Let's get straight to the point, shall we?
What made you write this… I don't even know if I should call it a novel or a professional insult to literature.
What was your inspiration behind Return Of The Immortal Emperor?
Wen Chen (fidgeting with his fingers):
Well, you know… when I first started writing, I wanted to create an intense revenge plot, full of drama, love, betrayal—
Lee Cheon-myeong (slamming table):
Cut the bullshit before I break your teeth with this hammer, Mr. Wen.
Spit the truth, right here, right now.
Wen Chen (sweating like a pig):
…Alright, alright!
The truth is… I had no fucking ideas left.
I ran out of brain juice.
So I thought — why not copy the formula that all these dumbass readers love?
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Lee Cheon-myeong:
There we go. That's more like it.
Let's get real.
You, Mr. Wen, are the Michelangelo of Copy-Paste.
You took every single recycled garbage trope from every webnovel and just threw them into a blender, didn't you?
Wen Chen (nodding):
Yes.
Return after betrayal? Check.
Cultivation? Check.
Harem? Check.
Young Masters? Check.
Ancient grandpas popping out of nowhere? Check.
Villains dumber than a goldfish? Check.
Women falling for MC after breathing the same air as him? Double check.
Lee Cheon-myeong:
Bravo. Absolutely shameless.
I respect the honesty at least.
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Lee Cheon-myeong (mocking tone):
Now tell me, Mr. Wen —
How did you come up with the Betrayal Plot Device™?
You know, the one where every Immortal Emperor gets stabbed by his fiancée with a $2 kitchen knife bought from Walmart?
Wen Chen (shrugging):
Simple economics.
Knives are cheap. Betrayal is cheap. Readers are cheap.
Combine them, and you've got yourself a plot that can last 2,000 chapters.
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Lee Cheon-myeong (smirking):
Ah yes, true art.
And what about the Cold CEO Female Lead™ who always appears out of nowhere to fall in love with MC after he does literally nothing?
Wen Chen (nodding proudly):
That's called "reader fantasy injection," Mr. Lee.
You see, most of my readers are broke, jobless, lonely virgins sitting in their mother's basement.
They want to live through the MC.
So I give them what they crave — sexy, rich women falling head over heels for a man who has the emotional depth of a soggy potato.
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Lee Cheon-myeong (sarcastic):
Ah, you mean the "Wish-Fulfillment Power Fantasy Protocol."
Interesting. Very scientific.
Wen Chen:
Exactly.
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Lee Cheon-myeong:
And tell me, what about the Young Master Population Explosion™?
How do you manage to create thousands of these brain-dead sperm donors in every city, sect, and clan?
Wen Chen (grinning like a criminal):
Simple.
I have a secret Young Master factory in my mind.
Every time I write one, I multiply them by five.
After all, nothing creates more drama than some entitled brat with an unlimited bank account trying to steal MC's girlfriend every two chapters.
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Lee Cheon-myeong:
And somehow, they always have backup, right?
Father, grandfather, great-grandfather, 9th ancestor, 108th patriarch—all of them miraculously alive for no fucking reason.
Wen Chen (laughing nervously):
Yes, yes!
I call that The Eternal Family Tree of Dumbfuckery™.
They exist to create mini-boss fights for MC while making him look cooler.
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Lee Cheon-myeong (gritting his teeth):
And how exactly does MC always stay "humble" while being the biggest egomaniac in the room?
Wen Chen:
That's a psychological trick, Mr. Lee.
MC always says things like:
"I don't want trouble."
"I only act when pushed."
"I just want to live peacefully."
While simultaneously turning every city into a massacre site every time someone sneezes in his direction.
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Lee Cheon-myeong (clapping slowly):
Fucking brilliant.
Now — let's talk about the Emotionless Cold MC Who Trusts No One™ who somehow builds a harem the size of a football stadium.
Wen Chen:
That one is very easy, Mr. Lee.
Readers want their MC to be "ruthless" but also want him to collect waifus like Pokémon cards.
So I simply write:
"I don't trust anyone!"
proceeds to trust every single female with a pair of tits within 3-meter radius
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Lee Cheon-myeong (spits):
Disgusting.
Shameless.
Pathetic.
And yet… commercially successful.
Truly the dark arts of webnovel writing.
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Wen Chen (smiling with zero shame):
Mr. Lee, people don't want logic.
They want instant satisfaction.
I just give them the garbage buffet they paid for.
Lee Cheon-myeong:
Ah yes — fast food literature for spiritually obese readers.
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Lee Cheon-myeong (final words):
Well then, Mr. Wen — thank you for your honesty.
You've successfully proven that these novels aren't written by geniuses, but by desperate men who know exactly how to milk the simpletons dry.
Now that we've had enough of this educational interview with the King of Trash himself — we shall now continue with our original topic.
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[Lee Cheon-myeong sits back down, lighting up a cigarette as if he just survived cancer after interviewing Wen Chen.]
Alright, you retarded motherfuckers, let's get into today's roast topic:
MC's Personality — or should I say, complete fucking lack of it.
So we've already discussed this wannabe cold, ruthless, and edgy shithead.
He walks around with the face of someone who's been constipated for ten thousand years, looking down at everyone like they're ants.
"Cold."
"Ruthless."
"Emotionless."
"Heartless."
Blah blah blah— like a broken fucking record.
But here's where my brain cells commit mass suicide every time I read these novels:
HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE A 10,000-YEAR-OLD IMMORTAL EMPEROR, BITCH!
Ten fucking thousand years of life experience!
You know how long that is? That's longer than every single country's existence combined.
He's lived through wars, genocides, sect exterminations, betrayals, countless betrayals, more betrayals, betrayals after betrayals, then betrayal inside betrayal.
And yet this bitch acts like a fucking 20-year-old virgin who just learned what an erection is.
Where's your goddamn wisdom, old man?
Where's your centuries of knowledge?
Where's that "I've seen it all, nothing surprises me" temperament that a true 10,000-year-old should have?
Instead, you act like some hormonal brat who gets offended because some Young Master spilled wine on your sleeve.
You kill people for sneezing too loud, breathing in your direction, or simply existing in your peripheral vision.
HOW IN THE FUCK IS THIS WISDOM?
Oh wait, let me guess.
"Ruthless means wise."
"Cold equals intelligent."
"Emotionless means I'm a supreme being."
Get the fuck out of here.
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You see, I had this stupid belief, this naive thought —That wisdom was also a part of cultivating the Dao.
That intelligence, understanding, patience, seeing through mortal desires — all were the foundation of immortality.
But NO.
Apparently, cultivation just makes you stronger at punching people in the face while turning your brain into mashed potato..
Ten thousand years of cultivation turns you into a toddler with nuclear warheads strapped to his back.
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This motherfucker's "Dao heart" is so weak that a single glance from some average female will make him go:
"She's different. I can trust her."
His "ruthless" heart can't handle basic emotional control.
One insult?
Boom. Genocide.
One disrespect?
Boom. Sect annihilation.
One betrayal?
Boom. Kill everyone, their family, their ancestors, their pets, their shadows, even burn their great-grandmother's ashes.
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And you, you dumbfuck readers, sitting there with your greasy faces, clapping like trained seals:
"So cool."
"So ruthless."
"That's my MC!"
"Wow, he's alpha!"
ALPHA MY ASS, YOU BRAINDEAD MONKEYS.
You're literally getting off to watching a 10,000-year-old ancient virgin throw tantrums like a prepubescent TikTok influencer who lost his followers.
You want "wise"?
Go read philosophy, you dumb cunts.
You want "ruthless"?
Go watch a documentary on dictators.
You want "true Dao"?
Go study Buddhist monks or Taoist masters, not this diarrhea waterfall of recycled power fantasy.
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This ain't cold and ruthless.
This is infantile with extra steps.
And yet, here you are, worshipping this recycled dogshit like it's some kind of supreme literature.
You deserve every single brain cell that abandons you.
You deserve every IQ point that commits suicide while you read this garbage.
Fucking shameful.
Chapter ends.