The Abusive Novel System Pleads with Me to Resign

Ji Liantan was startled, unsure what this guy was up to.

Clearly, the other "Ji Liantan" thought the same.

When Shen Ying walked straight up to him, "Ji Liantan's" face showed obvious bewilderment.

Shen Ying spoke first: "Senior Brother, if you defeat my real senior brother and get out, will our previous agreement still hold?"

Ji ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌‍Liantan, hearing this from a distance, was nearly infuriated—so she was only after his face and body, and it didn't matter whether he was real or fake?

But while Shen Ying's words reached Ji Liantan's ears, they clearly didn't register with the "Ji Liantan" in front of her.

The other frowned after she spoke, his expression showing clear frustration at the lack of communication.

Meanwhile, the "Shen Ying" standing nearby glared at her warily and said something.

To Shen Ying, it was just another indistinguishable jumble of noise.

Still, it was clear the other was on guard.

Shen Ying began to form a suspicion. She glanced around but found nothing useful.

Then she turned to the cultivator from the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect and asked, "Fellow Daoist, do you have paper and brush?"

The Ten Thousand Poisons Sect disciple replied, "I have a brush but no paper."

Shen Ying: "Lend it to me."

After borrowing the brush, she tore a strip of fabric from her outer robe, wrote a few characters on it, and held it up for "Ji Liantan" to see.

A few moments passed with no reaction.

However, though "Ji Liantan" didn't follow Shen Ying's written instructions, he took the brush from her.

Mimicking her, he tore off a piece of his own robe, scribbled something, and showed it to her.

Shen Ying looked—the characters were twisted into unrecognizable scribbles.

But she had already guessed that written communication was also impossible.

So while he wrote, she carefully observed the strokes of his brush.

Though the text didn't convey meaning, she deciphered the movements of his hand.

[Who are you?]

A satisfied smile crossed Shen Ying's face. She waved at Ji Liantan and the others. "Senior Brother, come here quickly."

Then she called to the two in the arena: "Stop fighting."

Only one person present understood her, but the battle was at its peak, and neither dared withdraw recklessly.

Seeing this, Shen Ying sighed and flicked the silk cloth into the bloody mist.

The ordinary fabric she had torn from her robe suddenly expanded, growing larger and larger until it resembled a massive umbrella covering the entire space.

The umbrella spun wildly, dispersing the bloody mist before deftly enveloping the two cultivators.

The others retreated hastily, narrowly avoiding the cloth.

Since her goal was only to separate them, Shen Ying retrieved the fabric once they were apart.

The "Shen Ying" across from her scowled, adopting a defensive stance.

She spat out what was likely a demand to know why Shen Ying had interfered.

Shen Ying raised a hand in a calming gesture.

Before "Shen Ying" could retort, "Ji Liantan" beside her spoke, soothing her.

By then, Shen Ying's group of three had gathered close, and the proximity put both sides on edge.

Ji Liantan asked, "Why did you stop their duel? Did something happen?"

Shen Ying nodded. "Yes. These people aren't mere copies—they're fully conscious cultivators."

The disciples from the Blood Flame Sect and Ten Thousand Poisons Sect looked shocked, but Ji Liantan wasn't surprised.

He had suspected as much when he saw Shen Ying borrow the brush.

Especially since the others' reactions were too vivid—not mere imitations of behavior, but genuine curiosity, inquiry, and initiative to escape their predicament.

Worried that his junior sister might take liberties even with copies, Ji Liantan had paid close attention to the duplicates.

He noticed their demeanor and reactions differed entirely from his own.

These weren't his replicas—they were living people who merely wore his face.

Seeing Ji Liantan nod in understanding, Shen Ying said, "I've realized something. While the Ancestor blocked verbal communication and distorted written or lip-reading attempts, there's still a loophole."

Ji Liantan voiced his guess: "Brushstroke movements?"

Shen Ying confirmed, "Exactly."

A transparent screen materialized before Ji Liantan—a square, almost futuristic display in this world of cultivation.

He slowly traced characters with his finger, writing a message stroke by stroke.

The "Ji Liantan" opposite him wasn't slow either. Realizing the method, he watched the movements carefully.

[I am Ji Liantan. Who are you?]

The other's previously mild expression darkened the moment he deciphered the words.

Coolly, he wrote back:

[Just a rogue cultivator, not worth mentioning.]

Then "Ji Liantan" said something to his companions. The other three, including "Shen Ying," visibly brightened, their hostility fading.

"Little Nine" hurried to the "screen" and scrawled:

[Senior Brother, it's me, Little Nine! Why do you look like that outsider our senior sister brought in? Where is Senior Sister? Is she with you?]

Ji Liantan's face twisted as if he'd eaten something vile. Seeing Ye Qingchen wearing his face, he snapped.

With a flick of his sleeve, crimson ribbons shot forth—deceptively light, but lethal.

The "Ji Liantan" opposite—Ye Qingchen—drew his sword instantly, and the two clashed.

The sudden violence shattered the fragile truce.

Only Little Nine, knowing it was his senior brother, remained unperturbed, confident in his unmatched strength.

Instead, he turned a cold gaze on Shen Ying, lips curling into a malicious smirk.

He lifted her chin with one hand and wrote on the screen with the other:

[Who are you? Parading around with my face displeases me. I should peel it off.]

[Let's see if you'd still look like me afterward.]

To both groups, the other appeared as their own duplicates.

So to Shen Ying, the other was "Shen Ying," while to Little Nine, she wore his own face.

Watching Little Nine—with her face—act so venomously was oddly satisfying.

Shen Ying reached out and wrote:

[I am your Senior Sister.]

Little Nine's sneer faded with every stroke of her finger.

Gradually, all traces of malice faded away, until finally, a smile bloomed once more—fresh and lovely as a lotus in a mountain stream at dawn, radiant with kindness.

With the other hand, she hastily scribbled: "Eldest Senior Sister, the man you brought in told me to say this."

"Before he fought with Eldest Senior Brother, he gave these instructions."