Brother Dao Took the Entertainment Industry by Storm, Fans Beg Me Not to Kill Anymore

The knife in Xiao He’s hand isn’t real.
The blood on the floor is.
The system in his head hums contentedly: life value +1.

Yesterday he was a sleepy college kid cramming for exams. Today, some bugged "cheat" binds itself to his soul and demands one thing to keep him breathing: keep stabbing people. Literally.

Xiao He swears, out loud and often. He has zero interest in becoming a murderer. Then he notices a glitch—on set, the numbers jump when he drives a prop blade into an extra’s chest. Fake corpses, real points. If the system’s satisfied with pretend violence, there’s a way out.

So he changes majors: from undergrad nobody to full‑time scum of the silver screen.

Chainsaw-wielding maniac in a horror flick. Calm, meticulous serial killer with neatly stacked bodies. A greasy romance scammer who leaves broken hearts and emptied bank accounts. A notorious fugitive whose wanted posters cover every bus stop in the city. The more reprehensible the character, the safer Xiao He sleeps at night.

Inside the industry, everyone gets the joke: the higher the body count in the script, the faster Brother Dao signs on. Outside, people aren’t laughing. Reporters rewind his performance frame by frame. Police quietly double-check old case files. Even his own fans crowd the comment sections: “Ge, please stop killing people. We’re scared the handcuffs will be real next time.”

Meanwhile, the true parasites of showbiz are paraded away in squad cars, one by one, while the man who looks most like a villain keeps walking red carpets, arms full of trophies and fake blood still drying on his sleeves.

As long as the cameras roll and the knives stay rubber, he gets to live—loved as a monster, safer on the killing floor than in the light.