The Holy Father Protagonist’s Persona Has Collapsed [Transmigration] - Chapter 1

Once upon a time, a friend asked Jian Yao: if he were ever to transmigrate into a book, which novel would he choose?

The only condition was that he couldn’t be the protagonist.

After serious consideration, Jian Yao decided that he couldn’t choose any of his favorite “invincible hero” (Long Aotian) novels. If he transmigrated as the protagonist’s enemy, he lacked the power to compete with a “cheat-coded” hero; if he became a lackey, his personality wouldn’t allow him to suck up to someone without feeling disgusted. If he were just a random passerby, there was no point in going at all.

So, he looked through the books he didn’t like. Finally, he picked a novel titled Jingzhe (Awakening of Insects). He had been tricked into reading it by a deceptive “invincible hero” synopsis, only to find the content was a total mismatch. The protagonist wasn’t a powerful “Tom Sue” lead; instead, he was the most infuriating, brainless “Holy Father” (overly self-sacrificing saint).

He wasn’t a fake saint who benefited himself at the cost of others—he was a true saint who harmed himself to benefit others. He never defended himself against frame-ups and took the blame for others’ mistakes. Anyone could use him: for something as small as petty theft or as large as murder, as long as the person was heartless enough, the protagonist would bear the guilt.

Reading it, Jian Yao initially hoped for a counterattack, but eventually gave up, concluding that a “steamed bun” like the protagonist deserved to be bitten by dogs. Yet, if forced to choose a world to live in, Jian Yao realized with a shock that this was the only logical choice. He wouldn’t have to worry about being the hero’s enemy or flatterer; with just a bit of elementary-school-level cunning, he could easily reap benefits from the guy.

However, at this very moment—

“Xiao Yao, want some sunflower seeds?” An auntie in a floral shirt grabbed a large handful from her pocket. Her palm, as big as a fan, held enough seeds to fill both of Jian Yao’s hands.

Jian Yao was forced to reach out and take them, looking down in near-despair at the seeds, which were still covered in dust. If there were truly gods or buddhas in this world, he’d definitely be brave enough to pick a fight with them right now.

Receiving no response, the auntie looked up at the dazed Jian Yao. Just as she was about to speak, her tone shifted: “Goodness… kids from the big city really are handsome.”

The sunlight scattered over Jian Yao, settling on his curled eyelashes like golden sand and casting soft shadows. His baby fat hadn’t faded yet, and his naturally curly short hair took on an orange tint under the sun. His skin was smooth and delicate, looking out of place in these surroundings—pale as if it had never touched the light. His eyes lacked focus, making him look like an angel who had just fallen into the mortal world.

Suddenly, despite the clear, bright weather, a crack of thunder echoed through the sky.

Startled, a terrifying thought surfaced in Jian Yao’s mind. In novels, transmigration always accompanied lightning strikes or car accidents. Since it was thundering, did that mean if he got hit by lightning, he could go back?

Once the idea appeared, it wouldn’t go away. Jian Yao stared blankly at the sky, seemingly observing where the lightning might strike.

Before sleeping last night, he had been lying in his small rented room holding his university admission letter. As an orphan, he had relied on years of relentless effort to get into a top-ranked national university with a full scholarship. It meant he no longer had to balance work and study just to survive; it meant his fate had been completely rewritten.

A beautiful life had just opened its doors to him, but he woke up to find himself as the “Jian Yao” of another world. Over a decade of hard work had vanished in an instant. He hoped it was a dream, but the reality of his senses reminded him he was in a physical space. Pain and consciousness couldn’t wake him from this “dream.”

“Xiao Yao, what are you looking at?” The auntie watched him curiously, following his gaze to the sky. Seeing nothing unusual but gathering dark clouds, she said dismissively, “It hasn’t rained for days; it’s about time.”

Suddenly, she slapped her forehead and spoke with a mix of disdain and schadenfreude: “Xiao Yao, you just moved here so you don’t know. That family next door to you… they have a son about your age. You’d better stay far away from him.”

Jian Yao’s mind wasn’t on the auntie at all, and he barely heard her. But she didn’t care; she didn’t need him to respond to keep going.

“You don’t know, but that kid, Huo Yan, has been a pretender since he was little. He only looks sensible, but from stealing money to stealing things—he’s done every bad deed in the book!”

She glanced at a nearby open clearing where a crowd had gathered. Pouting her lips in disgust, she said, “He used to just steal little things, and being neighbors, no one held it against him. But this time, he’s in real trouble.”

Jian Yao, who had been tuning everything out, suddenly went stiff. He heard the only two words familiar to him in this strange world. Like grabbing a life-saving straw, he looked at the auntie, staring intently as his lips moved: “Huo Yan?”

The auntie, finally getting a reaction, became even more excited. Her face lit up as she said, “Yes, him! A gold chain that big!”

“How much must that have cost! Tens of thousands! And he actually dared to steal it!”

She shouted this and glanced at Jian Yao, worried he’d think she was unsophisticated. Most of the neighbors were locals; only Jian Yao’s family was different. Having just moved in, the neighbors were exceptionally polite to them.

Jian Yao remembered these words. Even though he had only skimmed the book, this plot point had made his head spin with anger—back then, he’d wanted to jump into the book and crack the skulls of everyone framing the protagonist.

In the original plot, the father of the protagonist, Huo Yan, had stolen a neighbor’s gold necklace and immediately sold it to a second-hand shop in the county. The necklace, worth 80,000 yuan, was sold for only 30,000. While the owner searched everywhere, another neighbor claimed they only saw the Huo father and son passing by the owner’s house that day.

When the owner brought relatives with clubs to their door, the father quickly “confessed.” He claimed he knew nothing and that the thief must be Huo Yan, alleging that the boy had been acting suspiciously and using excuses to lure him away that day.

It was such a clumsy lie, yet everyone believed it. People assumed that “even a tiger doesn’t eat its cubs”—that a father wouldn’t frame his own son. Moreover, in the neighbors’ eyes, the father was a useless but “honest” man who didn’t cause trouble. Besides, it wasn’t surprising for a teenage boy to do something like that. No matter how well Huo Yan usually behaved, “you can know a face but not a heart”; even a murderer’s friends might say he was a “good person” normally.

And so, returning from school, Huo Yan was blocked on the road, surrounded and accused by everyone. He was defenseless because the person testifying against him wasn’t a stranger, but his own biological father.

Jian Yao also knew that Huo Yan would be sent to a juvenile detention center because of this. He wouldn’t finish high school or go to university; his life would fall into a bottomless abyss from this moment on.

When Jian Yao first started the book, he didn’t realize Huo Yan was a “Holy Father.” He had been waiting for the protagonist to slap some faces. But Huo Yan acted as if he were possessed by a saint, enduring all the suffering inflicted upon him. If someone slapped him, he’d probably worry if their hand hurt.

By the last chapter of the serialization, instead of the promised “face-slapping” satisfaction, Jian Yao’s own face felt slapped by the author. Before quitting, Jian Yao had indignantly left a long negative review, only for the author to reply instantly: “Thank you for letting me know there are still living people in the comments. This is the first thousand-word review I’ve ever received. Thank you for your hard work.” The author even sent him a 0.50 yuan digital red envelope! Utterly ridiculous!

Jian Yao could now be certain: he had indeed transmigrated into the book, specifically into the Jingzhe he had chosen, and had become Huo Yan’s neighbor.

“He didn’t steal it,” Jian Yao suddenly said. His voice wasn’t loud; it was more of an unconscious mumble to himself than a statement.

But the auntie’s hearing was superhuman. Her eyes widened, and she grabbed Jian Yao’s arm, pressing him: “How do you know? Did you see it?!”

Before Jian Yao could break free, she was already half-dragging him toward the clearing where the crowd had gathered. Ignoring his expression, she chattered, “If you know something, you have to say it…”

Jian Yao was annoyed, but he wasn’t the type to lose his temper with elders. Plus, the auntie, used to years of physical labor, was much stronger than him; he could only be pulled along passively. He knew she wasn’t actually trying to clear Huo Yan’s name—she just wanted the drama to escalate and to feel like a participant.

Because in the book, there wasn’t a single good person around Huo Yan.

The crowd gathered in the clearing like ants. In a place where nothing big ever happened, the theft of a necklace worth tens of thousands was a world-shaking event, well worth a heated reaction.

As Jian Yao was pulled to the edge of the crowd, he heard the gossip and criticism, delivered with a condescending tone of “moral guidance,” loudly flaunting their supposed ethical superiority.

“You really couldn’t tell normally.”

“Exactly. As the old saying goes, ‘you know the face but not the heart.’ Who knows if he’s a monster in human skin?”

“He still won’t hand it over? It’s probably sold already.”

“His family can’t afford to pay it back; he’ll definitely be locked up in prison.”

“We have to call the police and send him to juvenile detention! If he dares steal a gold chain now, who knows what he’ll steal later.”

“Right. A bad sprout from a good bamboo. How did Huo Gan and Jin Feng raise such a son?”

Jian Yao tuned out the noise. He peered through the gaps in the crowd.

In a flash of lightning, the person surrounded by the crowd also happened to look up. Their eyes met, and Jian Yao’s entire spirit shivered.

But Jian Yao’s gaze soon shifted. His attention was completely captured by the scar on the other’s temple. Having read the book just before sleeping, he wouldn’t forget it so easily. He remembered the description: hidden at the temple, it was barely visible from the front, but from the side, one could see the scar as sharp as a blade’s tip.

Unlike other scars, this one remained “ever-new,” always looking as bright red as if it had just been inflicted. He might misidentify a face, but he wouldn’t mistake that scar. No one else could have a scar that stayed perpetually crimson.

Having confirmed the scar, Jian Yao finally took a serious look at Huo Yan.

Just as the book described, Huo Yan had eyes that were focused and gentle, appearing to hold a vast, boundless ocean capable of containing all the world’s suffering. He had a proud bridge to his nose, and his thin lips didn’t make him look heartless.

Only that scar on his temple added a touch of ferocity to him—like a stone statue in a shrine that had been chipped, losing its divinity from that moment on.