Thighs. Smooth, pale thighs.

Black stockings traced alluring curves, hugging plump, supple skin with a faint sheen.

Gu Qinghan froze, staring at the drowsy girl beside him. His Cortex refused to catch up.

Where was he?

He glanced around. The narrow bedroom lay in dim shadow. Vaguely, someone seemed to be sleeping near the pillow.

Beside it, a beautiful girl flushed faintly, crimson lips slightly parted, breathing softly.

Waking up next to a stunning girl.

Not exactly a dream scenario.

Gu Qinghan swallowed hard. His heartbeat quickened.

Scenes like this usually meant trouble.

Who was she? Why in *his* bed?

Squinting through the sliver of light from the curtain gap, he studied her face.

Around eighteen. Disheveled clothes. A quick glance down her neckline revealed a generous expanse of snow-white skin.

Elegant black lace adorned her slender arms. A dark, frilled round-neck dress framed delicate collarbones.

Her voluptuous figure strained against the fabric.

The very image of… no, an exceptional cosplayer.

Gu Qinghan was certain he didn’t know her.

But something felt off.

The bedsheets beneath her weren’t familiar either.

His expression tightened. Eyes locked on the rough linen—rarely used nowadays.

Medieval Western European style.

Not just the sheets. Floor, hanging lamp, walls—everything had changed.

The uneven old wooden table stood where his gaming desk should be. A pot of fragrant violets sat atop its sandalwood surface.

Thick black curtains blocked most light, casting the room in eerie stillness.

A faint beam highlighted the girl’s delicate nose bridge.

A throb pulsed at Gu Qinghan’s temples.

What happened?

He glanced again at the girl. The truth dawned slowly.

It wasn’t that a girl woke in *his* bed.

This wasn’t his bed at all.

He’d woken in a strange room.

With a beautiful girl beside him.

Temple throbbing, memories surfaced.

Yesterday after school, his mischievous friend sent him a game via QQ.

Rumored to be the foremost of the "Twelve Demon Artifacts"—a title triggering a terrifying 404 error for anyone under eighteen.

Gu Qinghan, nervous, double-clicked.

Screens of beautiful girls blurred time.

He’d pulled an all-nighter. Two nights straight.

Then—a spasm. Chest tight. Breath short. Consciousness faded.

Now, staring at the girl beside him, understanding crashed down.

An absurd possibility.

He’d died from that unspeakable game.

Transmigrated.

Straight into this bizarre world.

Heart hammering, he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Trembling, he saw it clearly. Mouth dry.

Crimson lips slightly parted. A beauty mark like ink at the corner.

A delicate gold necklace graced her snow-white neck.

No doubt.

Liana. One of the heroines from the game.

Lying right beside him.

Head pounding.

So transmigration was real?

And of all places—*this* game?

At least language wasn’t censored here.

The game: *Revenge Hypnosis*.

Medieval fantasy. Two nations: the Empire of Indulgence in the west, the Kingdom of Pure Love in the east.

The Empire thrived on decadence and betrayal.

The Kingdom cherished lifelong monogamy—marriages lasted till old age.

Clashing ideologies sparked endless conflict.

Players became the protagonist: the Grand Enchanter, Hohenheim.

Born in the Empire, he infiltrated the Kingdom, using hypnosis to bewitch girls.

Through the yellow-haired villain’s despicable acts, he seized their bodies and wills, shattering the Kingdom’s foundation for revenge.

Yes—a villain protagonist. Hohenheim was both hero and antagonist.

Gu Qinghan’s scalp prickled.

This was the CG scene: Hohenheim’s first conquest.

Liana.

And she appeared… post-encounter.

He’d transmigrated *right after* it happened.

Worst timing imaginable.

Worse: he had none of Hohenheim’s hypnosis powers.

When she woke, she wouldn’t obey. She’d resist. Revenge.

Gu Qinghan breathed deep, accepting reality. Assessing the danger.

In this Kingdom, premarital intimacy meant disgrace.

Discovery? Severe punishment.

Church whippings and public scorn were minor.

Arrest, confinement, candle wax, whips, "confinement play"—all trivial.

Severe cases faced the "Juice-Squeezing Maiden" punishment: relentless humiliation driving victims to despair.

Standard procedure.

Even a "Pure Love Inspection Squad" conducted surprise room checks.

This nation’s obsession with "pure love" had twisted into grotesquerie.

Danger was immediate.

Gu Qinghan’s pulse raced. One thing mattered: escape.

Hohenheim did this—not him. Zero responsibility.

Slip away. Now.

He quietly slid to the bed’s edge, glancing at the half-dressed girl. *Sorry. It was Hohenheim. Please don’t report me.*

After a silent wish for her well-being, he dressed swiftly.

Just as he stood—

Creak—

The bed trembled behind him.

A faint rustle. The girl stirring.

He turned. Slanted sunlight illuminated her red hair, her skin.

Her lovely form, like a budding white lotus, fully exposed in morning languor.

Gu Qinghan froze. His Cortex went blank.

The girl was awake.