This person is clearly a male protagonist in a female-oriented novel, yet he is excessively lucid.

(This book is not the kind of satisfying novel where revenge is taken on the spot. If you punch me, I'll kick you. That's something only children do. In the workplace, you greet people with a smile if you don't lay a hand on them, but once you do, you'll be slapped to death.)

If we can't be friends, we'll make sure you don't even have the ability to be an enemy.

So if you don't have the patience to read on, please skip this.

(Just enjoy reading the novel; if you don't like it, don't read it, and please don't criticize it!)

My name is Chen Zhou. I'm an ordinary person, the kind who would disappear completely in three seconds if thrown into a crowd.

It's the kind of office worker who gets woken up by an alarm clock every day, squeezes into a sardine-can-like subway in the morning to eat steamed buns, and then types code on a computer screen until their eyes ache at work.

And today, I woke up to a soft touch.

I opened my eyes groggily, only to find that I wasn't lying on that creaky old bed in the rented room at all.

A crystal-cut, gilded chandelier hangs overhead, casting a warm glow. Wine-red velvet curtains drape to the floor around you, and even the sheets that your fingertips brush against have a delicate silky texture.

Everything before me exuded an exquisite quality that was "not my daily routine," so novel that it instantly snapped me out of my daze. When I sat up, clinging to the headboard, my mind was buzzing and confused.

I stumbled to the bathroom vanity, clutching the gold-framed mirror, touching and pinching my face repeatedly, checking the strange yet familiar face that now belonged to me.

With sword-like eyebrows, bright eyes, a high nose bridge, and even a jawline so finely sculpted it looked like it had been carved with a chisel, it was nothing like my face, which was oily from working overtime.

After figuring out the situation, I returned to my room, slumped into a velvet chair, and felt it necessary to share two pieces of news with "the past corporate slaves who have sunk": one good news and one bad news.

The good news is: I've transmigrated! Not some random passerby, nor a villainous cannon fodder, but I've been parachuted into the male lead of a TV series, the kind of chosen one with the triple halo of good looks, status, and ability.

The bad news is: I've transmigrated! I'm not the male lead in a hot-blooded, action-packed novel, nor the male lead in a political intrigue drama, but rather the male lead in a female-oriented novel that can drive men to the brink of a heart attack.

As we all know, female-oriented fiction is a magical realm where logic seems to have completely broken free.

Here, the male protagonist giving up his billions for the female protagonist is called "deep affection," and going against the whole world for her is called "devotion." Even being used as a free nanny by the female protagonist's whole family can be packaged as a "model of doting on his wife."

Even the most absurd plots can be justified by the word "love" to create a sense of "destiny." This is ridiculous and has always been a basic tactic in female-oriented fiction.

And I, by sheer coincidence, stepped into a melodramatic soap opera where I was still arguing with the girls online before going to sleep.

In the TV series "Medical Journey with You," adapted from the female-oriented novel "My Nemesis Boyfriend," I became the male lead who made all male viewers' blood pressure soar—Yu Chenzhou.

Even their names carry a sense of "destiny," but this destiny is a bit too hot to handle.

"With You on the Road to Healing" sounds like a positive medical drama about nurses saving lives, just from the title.

When I finally watched the full movie, I realized that the scalpel was just a backdrop; the main storyline was about romance, and it had absolutely nothing to do with saving lives. It was a complete sham.

When this show aired, the reviews were so polarized that they sparked heated debates on social media for three days and three nights. The core reason is quite simple: male and female viewers were watching completely different shows.

In the eyes of female viewers, Yu Chenzhou is the perfect male god template that comes out of a fairy tale.

He has a face that can make girls scream in the comments section. His eyelashes are so thick that they are even more delicate than the female lead's carefully drawn eyeliner. When he smiles, the curve of the corners of his eyes looks like it has been precisely calculated.

Gentleness is also his signature trait. When the female lead is feeling down after working overtime, hot milk tea is delivered to her even before takeout, and he even remembers the sugar level clearly.

On rainy days, he always holds an umbrella to protect the female lead completely, while half of his shoulder gets soaked, and he still laughs and says, "Men are tough, they're not afraid of the cold."

He is responsible; whenever there are medical disputes or trouble at the hospital, or when the female lead is harassed by her colleagues, he is always the first to step forward and take responsibility.

With his top-notch medical skills and swift actions, he swept away all obstacles and shielded the heroine from all the storms, never wanting her to suffer any injustice.

He was also romantic; the anniversary surprises stretched from downstairs at the female lead's office to the riverbank, with roses arranged in a heart shape and even a band hired.

The sweet nothings whispered under the starry sky are so sweet they're almost cloying, each one hitting the softest spot in a girl's heart.

What's most touching is his "uniqueness"—even surrounded by wealthy heiresses from privileged backgrounds and gentle, considerate, and well-educated campus goddesses, his gaze always follows only the female lead.

He would travel across half the city to buy the strawberry cake that the female lead liked;

He never brushes off the female lead's occasional little tantrums, patiently coaxing her until she laughs.

He remembered the female lead's casual remark that "this ornament is pretty," and secretly bought it for her the next time they met.

For the sake of the female lead, he was willing to give up his savings, connections, and even hard-earned promotion opportunities without hesitation.

This kind of male protagonist is simply the embodiment of every girl's romantic fantasy.

He is a knight who protects the princess, a prince who shines with his own light, and a hero's dream in a tiring life. I can't bear to fast forward even a second when watching the show, for fear of missing any of his tender moments.

But in the eyes of us male viewers, the character Yu Chenzhou is, to put it nicely, deeply affectionate, but to put it bluntly, just plain stupid.

The female author generously gave him top-tier looks and top-notch medical skills that allowed him to handle any situation on the operating table, but forgot to give him a normal human brain.

He became a walking "sucker" in the hospital; when the emergency room was short-staffed, he had to rush over from home with just one phone call.

His colleague messed up the surgery, so he had to stay up all night to fix it and clean up the mess.

When a medical accident occurs, the leader is the first to push him out to take the blame.

But when it came time to distribute bonuses, all the credit went to the leaders, and all the benefits were taken by his colleagues; he didn't even get a sip of the soup.

If the author hadn't given him a stock-picking eye comparable to Warren Buffett, he probably would be sleeping on the streets.

At the heart of all these "unjust acts" is the female protagonist, Su Qinghuan.

Because her entire family treated Yu Chenzhou as a free ATM and an all-purpose nanny.

When Su Qinghuan's parents were hospitalized, Yu Chenzhou took care of everything from registration to surgery fees.

Her younger brother was all talk and no action, and he was unemployed. The money for his house, car, and wedding—the down payment and monthly mortgage payments—all came from Yu Chenzhou.

Her cousin was idle and couldn't find a job, so Yu Chenzhou used all her connections to get him a good job.

Her cousin took a liking to a new car, so Yu Chenzhou simply sent him her own car, which she had just bought a few days ago.

Even more outrageous is that when Su Qinghuan's younger sister's child wanted to get a Beijing household registration, or when a distant relative's child wanted to study abroad, Yu Chenzhou would fawn over her and run errands for them, providing both money and effort.

It's no exaggeration to say that men who want to watch this show should prepare their blood pressure medication in advance and save the 120 emergency number on their phones.

Seeing Yu Chenzhou being manipulated by Su Qinghuan's family again made me so angry that my chest tightened and my hands trembled. I wanted to jump into the screen and kill him every minute.

But despite all the complaints, looking at my ridiculously handsome face in the mirror and feeling the top-notch medical knowledge within me, I finally had to accept the fact that I had "transmigrated into Yu Chenzhou".

Fortunately, the original owner was a brainless idiot blinded by love, but I am not—I am a sober office worker who has been through the trials and tribulations of society.

"A normal person's brain, combined with the top-tier looks and medical skills of a male protagonist in a female-oriented novel, plus my God-like perspective of knowing the plot, wouldn't this be a complete rout?"

I raised an eyebrow at myself in the mirror, my fingertips tracing my jawline, and finally accepted my new identity as "Yu Chenzhou"—from today onwards, I'll be the male lead in this "victim's curse."

But now that I think about it, I can probably guess the reason why I traveled through time.

Last night before bed, I had a passionate three-hundred-round argument with a group of "fairies" in the comments section of a TV series. The argument was about "Yu Chenzhou," that love-struck fool, and I listed out his bizarre deeds one by one to complain about.

I guess I must have offended the goddess Aqua to be kicked into this show, giving me a firsthand experience of the "joy of being a victim of injustice."

It turns out that the "it smells so good" principle never fails to apply, but I never expected it to happen to me in such an absurd way.

I've ended up becoming the very person I hated most yesterday, the one I was frantically complaining about on the keyboard.

However, now I'm going to completely rewrite this "victim's script".