Chapter 1: The Origin of All Evil

On a day blessed with gentle winds and warm sunshine, the newly appointed junior officer began his shift. In an ordinary city, an ordinary police officer rarely encounters any major incidents—public security in the country is nothing to scoff at, after all.

But the past few days had been an exception.

The young officer regarded the familiar youth before him and couldn’t help but ask, “You again?”

The young man nodded heavily. “What a coincidence.”

The officer fell silent for a moment. “This is the police station. Meeting me here isn’t much of a coincidence, is it?”

“I’ve only been on the job for a month, and I’ve seen you—” he paused to count on his fingers, “four, maybe five times. Are you planning to get a monthly membership here?”

“Does the membership include meals?” the young man asked sincerely. “Is it expensive?”

“Is that really the point?” The young officer sighed. “Mo Fei, you’re a good person. You’ve done nothing but acts of courage and justice, but how do you end up in so many incidents?”

Mo Fei looked utterly innocent. “I have no idea.”

But in truth, he knew. Ever since he’d obtained the role-playing system six days ago, his life had been a nonstop string of events.

At first, he thought he’d finally awakened his golden cheat, but after a while, he realized it wasn’t exactly pure gold—more like a copper-chromium alloy with a bit of tungsten mixed in, the sort you could touch all you wanted and still not grow taller.

The system was simple: draw cards to obtain skills. If he managed to survive seven days with the drawn card, he’d permanently acquire one of its skills.

It sounded wonderful. In such a lawful society, what could possibly be difficult about surviving seven days? And who would complain about learning too many skills?

But as it turned out, nothing came at a higher price than something free. That copper-chromium alloy cheat’s very first card gave Mo Fei a blow to the head.

[Identity: Buddha’s Disciple
Active Skills:
Mastery of Buddhist Teachings (How could a Buddha’s Disciple not be versed in Buddhist scriptures? Once learned, you become familiar with all Buddhist texts, adept in philosophical debates and accumulating merit through salvation.)
Compassion (As a Buddha’s Disciple, you cannot ignore the suffering and injustice of sentient beings, and must intervene.)
Wrathful Vajra (Buddhism has its wrathful guardians; physically subdue those who deserve to be sent to their final rest.)
Passive Skills:
Equality of All Beings (Not to single anyone out, but everyone present is rubbish.)
Benevolent Aura (A monk’s halo: people’s favor toward you increases.)
Moths to Flame (The good attract evil; the probability of bad things happening around you increases.)]

Everything else seemed unremarkable, but put [Compassion] and [Moths to Flame] together—

Trouble comes looking for you, and you’re compelled to intervene!

What kind of trap card was this? Buddha’s Disciple? It might as well be called Harbinger of Death in a School Uniform! Even the infamous “death elementary schooler” from those urban legends didn’t have it this rough.

At first, he hadn’t realized how dangerous [Moths to Flame] could be—until he’d landed in the police station four times in six days.

Six days, four times. Did anyone know what he’d been through?

Take the time he stopped a robbery: if it hadn’t been for [Wrathful Vajra], he’d have been stabbed in the kidney on the spot. And a man’s kidneys are vital, aren’t they?

He’d ended up sobbing as he pummeled the would-be mugger’s head with a stick. It wasn’t that he wanted to cry—at first, he hadn’t even meant to get involved, but when [Compassion] kicked in, a crushing sense of guilt overwhelmed him. The kind of guilt that would make his ashes, centuries later, scatter themselves with a lament of “I truly deserved it.”

And so, there he was, a handsome young man, crying as he beat someone up—looking more aggrieved than the criminal himself.

The video was already circulating online. Many viewers speculated on what could drive a good-looking man to assault someone while in tears. Some guessed it was a lovers’ quarrel—rumors ran wild.

It wasn’t until the police issued their official report that Mo Fei’s innocence was restored.

His four trips to the police station in six days, yet coming out unscathed, was largely thanks to [Benevolent Aura]. He simply didn’t look like a criminal. When he kept his mouth shut, he exuded such kindness he could have been mistaken for a living saint.

Not that it did him much good—he was only playing the Buddha’s Disciple, not the real thing. And besides, even real monks need to eat.

This time, he breezed through the process in under an hour. Stomach growling, he stepped out of the station to find a tall woman waiting for him.

Mo Fei approached and called out obediently, “Sister Lu.”

Sister Lu, whose full name was Lu Chunqiu, was Mo Fei’s agent. She was good-looking, once had a fiery temper, but had been worn smooth by society’s grind and was virtually unknown in the industry.

She gave Mo Fei a quick once-over. “You did well this time. Jiang Shaoyu’s agent called me—wanted to thank you and offered you a role. Make the most of it.”

Jiang Shaoyu was the lead actress who’d nearly been poisoned—the current rising star. Mo Fei had noticed someone tampering with her cup and intervened. When the substance in the cup was tested, it turned out to be paraquat. Mo Fei had saved her life.

“Even if it’s just the fifth male lead, it’s still a proper supporting role, and it’s Director Wang’s film. Perform well and you might open up some connections.” Lu Chunqiu glanced at her phone. “I’ve got things to do, you—”

She looked Mo Fei up and down, her brows knitting. “I hear Director Wang’s film is a suspense drama. Fix your demeanor.”

“You’re there to sell your looks, not to save souls.”

With that, Lu Chunqiu strode off in her high heels.

Mo Fei touched his face, a little helpless.

The first time he’d landed in the police station, Lu Chunqiu had been startled by his change in temperament. Of all the minor internet celebrities, magicians, and obscure actors under her management, Mo Fei was by far the best-looking.

If he suddenly renounced the world and became a monk, her already difficult career as an agent would only get worse.

Fortunately, Mo Fei had assured her he was simply immersing himself in a role, and that in time his demeanor would return to normal. Lu Chunqiu had breathed a sigh of relief.

She’d never witnessed a method actor at the level of a film emperor or queen; surely a change in aura was, well, normal? Lu Chunqiu tried to convince herself.

Mo Fei calculated—six days had already passed. By noon tomorrow, he could swap out the Buddha’s Disciple card, shed this cursed identity, and join the production seamlessly. That was the only good news lately.

Just thinking about it gave him hope. Smiling, he walked briskly toward his tiny rented apartment.

Until noon tomorrow, it was best to hole up in his room and ride out this cursed state.

Mo Fei lived in a run-down residential complex, tucked away in an inconvenient location with incomplete facilities, but at least the neighborhood was relatively safe.

The only residents here were retirees and broke young professionals.

Mo Fei, of course, belonged to the latter group.

His entire savings barely covered three meals a day of plain noodles in broth—adding a packet of pickled vegetables was a luxury.

He hadn’t yet received payment for his latest extra role, so he was scraping by, waiting for his part in Director Wang’s production, where at least there would be boxed lunches.

Splendid.