Chapter 1
Hello, this is Lee Cheon-myeong from Earth 0079, not from the Earth you know because in this Earth everything exist that you have only read in the webnovel.
You must be thinking what I am, so to tell you the truth, I am NovelTuber, novel version content creator of the YouTubers.
Now back to the topics, what are we gonna talk about?
Nothing much, we are just gonna talk about that one person who has hands and legs like every human being but he is not a human.
That one person who has eyes like us, you, me and everyone yet his eyes is the only that seem to hold the power to burn everyone in his rage.
That one great man who does nothing but lives in his superior complexity delusion.
Of course, who else but the great man, one who originates from Return Of The Immortal Emperor webnovels, Wang Lin!!
You must have heard once in your life what this Wang Lin truly is.
For those who have not heard, let me introduce you to him today in my Novel Channel, your one and only—Bullshido.
---
Now listen up.
Wang Lin ain't just a character. He's a walking, talking, ego-inflated statue of every single wet dream a 14-year-old "cultivation" fanboy ever had.
This man breathes like it's a flex. Wakes up and stares into the fucking horizon as if he's about to kill God with his presence. And goddammit, people eat it up like it's gourmet.
Let me paint a scene.
Wang Lin enters a tavern.
Not a bar, not a lounge, not a tea shop. A tavern. You know the place where low-level NPCs go to drink cheap liquor and cry about how their crops failed? Yeah, that place.
He walks in slow, because apparently his divine feet must bless every inch of the ground with heavenly aura.
The door creaks open. Everyone stops.
And you know what they do?
They fucking bow.
Yeah.
Not one person in that cheap ass pub questions why some half-naked man with a dragon tattoo on his chest and hair longer than his sword just waltzed in like he owns the place.
Oh but wait—Wang Lin raises one eyebrow. That's all it takes. He raises one eyebrow and suddenly, the entire tavern is kneeling like he's Christ doing a live concert.
Motherfucker hasn't even said a word yet.
Meanwhile I'm sitting here, in the corner, holding a mic in my head and trying not to puke.
And you know what's coming next.
"Hmph."
That's his fucking catchphrase. "Hmph." Like a walking sound effect. Every time he sees something beneath his notice—which is everything that breathes—he just lets out that nasal scoff like he's better than oxygen.
And then he orders Heavenly Spirit Wine. Not regular beer. Not ale. Not soju. Heavenly Spirit Wine. That thing's made from the tears of phoenixes or some other overhyped fantasy bullshit.
Oh, and let's not forget the women.
The moment Wang Lin sits down, some lady from the back who was just cleaning cups a second ago suddenly turns into a seductive vixen with "hidden spirit roots" and "immortal dual cultivation potential."
She doesn't know him.
But she wants to die for him.
Why?
Because he's "different."
Fuck you. Different? Bitch, he's the same copy-paste alpha male with a tragic backstory and a superiority complex larger than the moon.
Let me be real—if you stuck all these immortal emperor fuckers into a battle royale, they'd all die of narcissism before the first punch is thrown.
But no. Wang Lin? He'll survive.
Why?
Because he's the main character of some overrated cultivation novel written by a guy who probably never got past level 10 in his own MMORPG.
And what does he do once he's done flexing?
Oh, he stands up. Stares at the sky. Talks about destiny. Then flies away on a goddamn sword like a glorified Uber driver. Leaves destruction, broken hearts, and empty logic behind.
---
Anyway. That's the guy.
That's the "Immortal Emperor" who has a whole religion of readers licking his boots every time he says some vague ass line like:
"In this world, power is everything."
Power? Bro, you couldn't power a lightbulb with that brain.
But here's the problem. People eat this shit up. Like pigs in a trash buffet. The more bland, emotionless, and socially constipated these MCs are—the more the readers go "YES KING SLAYYYY."
The comments are even worse.
["Wang Lin is so deep. His pain… it speaks to me."]
["I cried when he destroyed that sect. They deserved it for disrespecting him."]
["He's so cold and ruthless. I love how he just murders anyone who disagrees with him."]
Oh yeah? Murder's a personality now?
Maybe I should start killing every waiter who forgets my order and call it character development.
Jesus.
....
Let's take a good long look at this dump of an apartment.
Yes, this crusty little shoebox is exactly where Return Of The Immortal Emperor decides to begin. Because apparently, every story that dreams of being "epic" needs to start in a roach-infested apartment that smells like ramen, regret, and cheap enlightenment.
Why?
Who the fuck knows. Maybe the author ran out of imagination and just said, "Screw it, throw in a bed, call it destiny."
And now we're here.
This room. This sacred, mold-covered, piss-colored room where all fates are supposedly rewritten. You'd think there's a goddamn monster under the bed. The kind your mom warned you about when you refused to eat your vegetables.
But nah.
There's no tentacle beast hiding in the closet. No dimensional crack in the bathroom mirror. No spooky demon waiting to hand out business cards for "Monster Inc."
It's just… a room.
A shitty one.
But because this is cultivation bullshit world, we gotta act like this fucking 5x5 cave is somehow soaked in destiny.
And right there, snoring on a mattress that looks like it came from a murder scene, is our "hero"—Wang Lin.
Ah yes, Wang Lin. The guy whose entire existence checks every box on the Generic Main Character Application Form.
Let me tell you about this clown.
He's poor. Of course, because being broke is apparently a personality trait in these novels.
He's got a sweet, adorable little sister. Because of course he does. Oh, and guess what? She's only one month younger than him.
Suspicious?
Very.
And here's the spicy part—90% chance she's adopted, step-related, or just "technically not blood-related."
You know why?
Because these sick fucks reading this shit need their morally-safe incest bait, that's why.
They want to shout "Brocon! Siscon!" and stroke their egos—and something else—knowing that it's "okay" because technically they're not related. Fucking degenerates.
Now back to Wang Lin.
Just yesterday, the dude got wrecked.
Cheated on by his girlfriend—classic.
By his best friend—even more classic.
Then the whole university laughed at him like he was a fucking stand-up routine.
They called him trash, kicked his ass, flushed his lunch money down the toilet, and now? He's the official university punching bag with a bonus membership to humiliation.
But oh, don't worry. The plot's not done jerking itself off yet.
Because far, far away in the clouds of Heaven—or wherever the hell cultivation protagonists hang out—an Immortal Emperor was betrayed.
Betrayed by his fiancée, stabbed in the back, tossed off some divine cliff like a sack of dog shit wrapped in betrayal and man-pain.
And guess what?
That same Immortal Emperor, with his 10,000 years of trauma and cosmic constipation, just possessed Wang Lin's body.
No warning. No ritual. Just snap, new soul, who dis?
And now, suddenly, this loser becomes the vessel of a celestial war god with the personality of a tax collector and the charisma of a dead fish.
What's the first thing he does?
Does he breathe deep and reflect?
Nope.
He gets up and punches the fucking wall.
Like that's supposed to be a character reveal. Like "Oh shit, he's back! He's angry! He's strong!"
Bitch, you just damaged someone else's apartment wall. That's not badass, that's being a dick.
"This vessel is weak…"
He mutters it like a K-drama villain with hemorrhoids.
Oh? Really? Is the vessel weak?
No shit, Sherlock! You just hijacked a noodle-armed college kid who eats instant noodles for breakfast, lunch, and despair.
Congratulations. You're now the strongest has-been in the body of a human disappointment.
And guess what? The world's about to burn. Not because he's angry.
But because the plot demands it.
---
Now you're seeing it, aren't you?
This ain't a comeback story. This is the same old pile of recycled trash, just with better lighting and a new coat of "Immortal Cultivator" paint.
Wang Lin isn't special. The Immortal Emperor isn't noble.
They're just two assholes stacked on top of each other in a trench coat made of clichés.
And me?
I'm Lee Cheon-myeong, your NovelTuber, sitting here with a mic in my hand and a middle finger raised to every motherfucker who thinks this is the peak of storytelling.
....
To all the readers out there who think they're smarter than the story—sit your ass down.
You think you know cultivation? You think you've seen all the twists, understand every Dao, and have memorized the ninety-nine heavenly tribulations?
Then answer me this, O wise bastards of the comment section:
What killed 90% of the Immortal Emperors in all these goddamn novels?
...
See? You don't know shit.
Let me help your dumbass.
They were killed by a knife.
Not a spiritual blade forged in a star.
Not an ancient god-slaying sword.
Nope.
A vegetable knife bought by their fiancée from the local street vendor near the tofu stall.
Spits
Shame.
Ten thousand years of cultivation.
Ten thousand years of surviving heavenly fire, demonic beasts, and plot holes so deep they scrape the core of the Earth…
Only to get shanked in the back by your woman while she's making soup.
And don't get me started on the betrayal speech:
"You were always chasing the heavens, but you never looked at me…"
Then stab. Right in the kidney. While the noodles boil behind her.
And hey! While we're on the topic—
Sponsored moment, baby!
Yes, yes. We sell out now. But we sell out with flavor.
Introducing: Handmade Kitchen Knife™
—only $99, with $1 delivery charge (because even fate can't escape shipping fees).
What's special about it?
Don't ask me.
Ask the wives of dead Immortal Emperors.
They didn't just slice onions with it—they sliced lifelines.
Buy now. Cut through vegetables, betrayals, and your boyfriend's divine meridians in one smooth motion.
---
Alright, commercial break's over. Back to the carnival of clichés.
Now, let me tell you what happens next in every goddamn Return Of The Immortal Emperor story:
Wang Lin—yes, our bootleg emperor of boredom—goes out for a casual walk.
And what does he find?
No, not enlightenment.
Not a dragon egg.
Not even a ramen shop.
He finds… an old man doing martial arts in a public park.
Wow. Never seen that before. Someone call the originality police.
But here's the thing—
Instead of just walking past like a normal human being, what does Wang Lin do?
He fucking inserts himself.
Like an unwanted USB.
"Your form is wrong, old man. Your breathing is off. Your stance is garbage."
Excuse me?
This is some wrinkled grandpa just trying to stretch his legs and hit a few poses so he doesn't die of boredom, and you're out here criticizing him like a gym bro correcting a yoga instructor.
The old man, understandably, is like:
"Oh? You think you know better? Why don't you show me?"
And what does Wang Lin do?
Let's play a little game, readers.
What do you think happens?
Option 1: He respectfully demonstrates martial arts.
Option 2: He beats the old man senseless.
Option 3: He flicks his hand and reality collapses.
Go on, pick one.
Done?
Alright. The correct answer is: He moves his hand. Slightly.
That's it.
One limp-wristed flick.
And suddenly, the old man falls to his knees like he just saw the gates of Nirvana open.
"Wha… What mastery… Such profound movement… It contains the Dao of eternity!"
Shut the fuck up.
He just waved his hand. That's not martial arts. That's a mosquito slap.
You know what I saw? Nothing.
I saw a man move his hand like he was brushing off dust.
But apparently, that hand movement shattered the old man's worldview and made him question his life choices, marriage, pension plan, and existence itself.
So what did I do?
I phoned a friend.
Lee Sang-wook, my local Dao expert, guru of logic, and certified "bullshit detector."
I asked him, "Brother, what did this Wang Lin just do?"
He watched the scene. Paused. Took a deep breath.
Then said:
"Absolutely fucking nothing. The plot just needed it."
There it is, folks.
The truth.
The real Dao.
Everything happens because the plot demanded it.
---
But wait—we're not done with this hell ride.
Next moment, from the heavens themselves, descends...
A sexy CEO.
Yes, of course. Who else?
A tall, slender goddess in heels sharper than your logic, with red lipstick, cleavage window, and a company worth billions.
Why is she here?
Because the old man is her grandfather, duh!
And obviously, this random old man is secretly the founder of a trillion-dollar conglomerate, a secret martial arts master, and now suddenly a matchmaker.
Because why the fuck not?
He sees Wang Lin and immediately goes:
"Granddaughter, marry him. Right now. This man waved his hand and made me shit my pants with awe."
Meanwhile, the CEO lady looks at Wang Lin like he's a god.
Heart racing. Eyes sparkling. Legs trembling.
"Who is this mysterious man? Why is my heart beating so fast?"
Because plot, honey. That's why.
Your entire character arc is contractual romantic interest. Nothing more.
As for Wang Lin?
He's standing there, cool as fuck.
Sunglasses? Check.
Dead eyes? Check.
Acting like none of this affects him even though five minutes ago, he was a university meme.
Cool. As. Fuck.
Or at least that's what the author wants you to think.
---
Anyway, that's enough horseshit for today. Let me know when you're ready to descend deeper into this flaming dumpster of a genre.
Lee Cheon-myeong, NovelTuber, signing off—for now.
Next part, whenever you're ready, bitches