Hello, motherfuckers.
Yeah, you.
I know some of you degenerates are probably right now stroking your limp little micro-dragons while watching some pixelated hentai where the girls moan like dying cats, and the others?
You're probably daydreaming like the pathetic worms you are — imagining that some girl with curves like rollercoasters and melons attached to her chest is gonna walk up to you, eyes sparkling, lips quivering, whispering, "I love you, my darling. I can't live without you."
Bitch, please.
None of that shit's happening.
But lucky for you, your favorite host is back.
I, Lee Cheon-myeong, your only real friend in this sad, miserable world, am here to drag your sorry asses into another session of reality.
Today's topic? The continuation of that masterpiece we roasted yesterday — Return Of The Immortal Emperor.
Actually, scratch that. That name is too generous.
Let's call it what it really is:
Return Of Someone No One Asked For.
Heavy sigh.
What can we even do? The market is saturated. The authors keep writing it. The dumbasses keep reading it. And here I am, stuck with a microphone and a brain cell, forced to bear witness to this circus of recycled plotlines.
But today, my fellow brain-dead readers, we are not here to discuss Wang Lin's bullshit again.
No.
Today, we are going to pay respect — no, let's say we are going to expose — the most important existence in every goddamn cultivation novel since the moment cavemen picked up sticks and declared themselves "Dao Seekers".
Without them, no story would function.
Without them, no MC could shine.
Without them, these authors would have no idea how to fill even 10 chapters.
Yes, brothers and sisters, today we talk about the Young Masters.
Ah, Young Masters.
The golden children of Chinese webnovels.
Who are they? What purpose do they serve?
Well let me paint you a picture.
You ever walk into a luxurious shopping mall, the kind that smells like money you will never make in your entire existence? And then suddenly, out of nowhere, a rich, young, handsome douchebag, dripping with daddy's money, blocks your path with his fake Rolex and permanent smirk?
No?
Of course not.
Because you're poor.
So fucking poor that even the homeless man sitting on the street corner looks at you and goes:
"What you staring at, beggar? Get lost, you're embarrassing real poverty."
Yeah. That's you.
But I'm kind enough to educate your miserable existence. That rich asshole? That's your classic Young Master.
These Young Masters have only two hobbies:
Flashing money they didn't earn.
Looking for MCs to pick fights with over absolutely nothing.
And don't ask me why they exist.
Even God is up there like,
"I just made them for entertainment value."
These Young Masters be living their lives like this:
One minute, they're watering plants with their 3-inch family jewel at midnight, probably crying about how their daddy doesn't hug them enough.
Next thing you know, they spot the MC accidentally breathing near their women, and suddenly, BAM:
"HOW DARE YOU LOOK AT MY WOMAN?! DIE!"
And let's not even dive too deep into the truly cursed territory.
Because trust me — every Young Master secretly lives in fear that one night, while they're out for a midnight pee, they'll stumble upon the MC rearranging their mother's insides behind the garden bush.
"Please, my son will see us!"
"Don't worry, my love. It's not like your son will randomly come out at this exact moment to take a piss and catch us in 4K."
And he does.
Every. Fucking. Time.
But let's not go that dark right now.
The Young Master isn't done yet.
No, no. His real power is not his cultivation. Not his martial arts. Not his brain, since he doesn't have one.
His real power?
Calling for backup.
"You dare touch me? My father will kill you!"
"My grandfather is an elder of the Supreme Sky Sect!"
"My great-grandfather is a retired heavenly general!"
"My ancestors will come back from the grave and slap you into the abyss!"
It's like a fucking gacha game of relatives.
I don't even know how so many generations of these clowns are still alive. It's a goddamn miracle that their entire family tree hasn't collapsed under the weight of its own stupidity.
Scientists are still researching this phenomenon, by the way.
But of course, the MCs aren't any better.
When the Young Masters pull out their 18 generations of grandpas to fight…
The MC simply raises a hand and:
SWAT.
Every ancestor?
Dead.
Wiped out like flies on a windshield.
It's a generational massacre that keeps repeating in every novel like a broken record on loop.
....
The newly awakened Immortal Emperor, Wang Lin, after 24 hours of 'I-am-no-longer-the-trash-you-think-I-am' transformation, suddenly finds himself loaded with cash.
Where the fuck did the money come from?
Who cares.
The plot provided.
Shut up.
And of course, what's the first thing you do after becoming rich overnight?
Invest?
Start a business?
Travel?
NO.
You go to a high society party.
Because that's where drama grows like weeds.
Wang Lin steps into the grand ballroom wearing a suit so expensive it could buy your family's entire bloodline.
The chandeliers sparkle.
The champagne flows.
And the background music is that same generic piano piece every one of these novels use when the MC enters.
As he strolls in, who the fuck do you think approaches him?
That's right.
The ex-girlfriend.
The bitch who dumped him literally yesterday because he was "trash."
Ex-Girlfriend (arms crossed, nose up):
"Wang Lin? You? How did you even get in here? This is not a place for lowly garbage like you.
Cue fake giggles from the side bitches standing behind her.
Wang Lin (calm, cool, full of forced mystery):
"Why? Is it so surprising? I was invited."
Ex-Girlfriend (snorting like the pig she spiritually is):
"Invited? Hah. Stop making up such pitiful lies. A piece of trash like you? At this party?"
Because obviously, ex-girlfriends in these novels never have brain cells.
As if on script, here comes the Young Master, sliding into the scene like diarrhea after street food.
Young Master (smirking like the human version of hemorrhoids):
"Xiaoyan, is this the filthy mongrel who used to follow you like a stray dog?"
Ex-Girlfriend (locking arms with Young Master):
"Yes, Young Master Li. This pathetic loser used to beg me for scraps. I thought he was pitiful back then, but now he's just laughable."
Young Master Li (cracking his knuckles like a discount villain):
"Trash should know its place. I suggest you crawl out of here before you embarrass yourself further."
Wang Lin (calmly sipping champagne like a cocky motherfucker):
"You two might want to stop. You'll regret it soon enough."
Oh no.
The "You will regret it" warning has been dropped.
Trademark line #17 activated.
Of course, they don't listen.
Because arrogance is their only personality trait.
Young Master Li:
"Regret? You dare threaten me, peasant? You don't even know who I am!"
Ex-Girlfriend:
"Exactly! You're still trash, Wang Lin. No matter how much you pretend."
And right when these two were about to reach peak douchebag levels…
BOOM.
The atmosphere shifts.
The crowd parts like Moses splitting the Red Sea.
Everyone lowers their heads in reverence.
Who arrives?
The Unrealistically Sexy CEO Lady.
Yes, her.
The one from before.
The one whose grandfather saw the so-called "Dao of Eternal Bullshit" in Wang Lin's mosquito hand wave.
She walks up, her heels clacking like gunshots on marble, hips swaying like she's getting paid for every step.
CEO Lady (voice dripping with seductive power):
"Lin-ge... you're here."
She wraps her arms around his, pressing her massive god-given airbags against his shoulder.
The ex-girlfriend's jaw falls open like a rusty trap snapping.
Ex-Girlfriend (sputtering like a dying fish):
"Y-Y-You know each other?!"
CEO Lady (smiling sweetly like a demon queen):
"Of course. Wang Lin is... the most important person in my life."
Yeah. That line right there.
The "most important person" bullshit line — 100% required in every single one of these trash novels.
Ex-Girlfriend (shaking, eyes bulging):
"H-How is that possible? He's just trash!"
CEO Lady (smirking):
"Not everyone has your pitiful eyesight."
Young Master Li (eyes twitching in full meltdown mode):
"How dare you, bitch?! You choose this lowlife over me?!"
Bro, you literally met her 5 minutes ago.
Calm your balls.
Young Master Li (snarling like a puppy with rabies):
"You... you think this ends here, Wang Lin? I will crush you for daring to take what's mine!"
What's yours?
You weren't even invited to her life, you extra.
The security already starts looking around nervously because they know exactly how this shit always ends.
.....
Now before we move forward, let's all take a moment of silence — not for respect, but to simply acknowledge a universal truth in the world of cultivation webnovels:
"Every Young Master is, deep down, a goddamn matchmaker."
Don't believe me?
Alright, let's dissect one of the most gloriously retarded scenes that happens in every single novel you virgins drool over.
---
Our MC Wang Lin, still somehow surviving the shitstorm of bullshit that life keeps throwing at him, is chilling at some rooftop bar. Probably drinking some wine that costs more than your family's rent for an entire year.
Suddenly, cue the Young Master's brain damage activating again.
You see, this Young Master isn't like the other Young Masters — no, this one thinks he's smart.
Young Master (stroking his non-existent villain beard):
"Hmph. That bastard Wang Lin humiliated me at the party. But instead of confronting him directly, I will send an assassin!"
Genius plan, right?
No.
Because instead of hiring some normal thug, this dumbass hires the Cold-Hearted Emotionless Female Killer™.
Ah yes, this bitch right here.
Her entire resume is:
Murdered over 300 targets.
No emotions.
No feelings.
No mercy.
Deadly as fuck.
And of course — unrealistically sexy.
Because why the fuck would a hired killer NOT have double D cups, model face, long legs that never end, and high heels to fight in?
Young Master (smirking like an idiot):
"Once she kills him, I'll be free of that trash."
Bro, you're about to play yourself so hard, you might as well just start clapping.
—
Night falls.
Rooftop.
Full moon.
Cliché setup because authors can't write anything else.
The Female Killer steps out of the shadows, her tight black leather suit so impractical that even Batman would say:
"The fuck you wearing, girl?"
She points her blade at Wang Lin, her cold voice sharper than her sword:
Female Killer (emotionless voice):
"Prepare to die."
Wang Lin (barely glancing at her, still sipping his wine):
"I don't fight women. Especially not when they're this pretty."
Right here.
Right fucking here.
That's where the plot falls off the cliff.
The killer's expression twitches.
Why?
Because apparently, in this idiotic world, no one — literally no one — has ever called her pretty before.
She starts to hesitate.
Female Killer (monotone breaking slightly):
"Your flattery won't save you."
Wang Lin (smirking like he read the script already):
"I'm not flattering you. I'm just speaking the truth."
Boom.
Her ice-cold heart suddenly experiences a foreign emotion:
Love at first compliment.
Because apparently, killing 300 people couldn't shake her, but one simp comment did.
Female Killer (trembling):
"I… I don't understand… why do I feel this way?"
You feel this way because the author has one brain cell, honey.
—
Next morning, the Young Master receives a call.
Young Master (grinning):
"It's done, right?"
Female Killer (over the phone, voice shaky):
"I… I failed the mission. I cannot kill him."
Young Master (face exploding in rage):
"WHAT?! HOW?!"
Female Killer:
"I've fallen in love with him.
At this point, even the heavens facepalm.
Congratulations, Young Master.
You just handed your worst enemy a deadly assassin girlfriend.
You absolute fuckwit.
....
Alright bitches ,let us meet in next chapter ,till then jerk off till you fall asleep.