Chapter 6: Aren’t You the Author? How Come You Don’t Understand?

An Luo drowsily opened his eyes.

The dim light softly entered his view. He squinted, habitually reaching for his pillow to grab his phone and check the time.

It should still be early…

After groping around for a bit, he suddenly realized the texture felt wrong.

The bedsheets in his rental apartment were cotton, soft to the touch, but what was under his hand now felt particularly awful.

Moreover, his mattress was gone. The bed beneath him was as hard as stone, making his whole body ache uncomfortably.

“What are you looking for?”

Suddenly, a unfamiliar voice calmly inquired.

An Luo subconsciously replied, “My phone… Huh?”

Memories flooded back in an instant. An Luo jolted awake, immediately sobering up as he shot up into a sitting position.

He looked toward the source of the voice. Meieruita sat not far away, holding a book in his hand. At that moment, he lifted his head to look at An Luo.

Even though it was daytime, the Wizard Apprentice Dormitory remained dim due to poor lighting, but the burning campfire provided some illumination.

An Luo glanced at the bedside table. The contract lay there, spread open and stained with black ink, rendered unusable.

His heart pounded nervously.

Without the contract, he felt like he could die at any moment.

It wasn’t that he was too cowardly; it was just that the protagonist was too terrifying.

Truth be told, An Luo was certain Meieruita had deliberately ruined the contract. Given the protagonist’s personality, it wasn’t just possible—it was definite!

Meieruita’s unwillingness to sign the contract—what did that mean?

It meant he definitely still wanted to kill An Luo!

Calm down!

He still had utility value, so Meieruita probably wouldn’t kill him right now. Otherwise, the protagonist could have simply strangled him in his sleep and spared him from seeing another sunrise.

“Sorry.” Meieruita noticed An Luo’s gaze on the contract. “Last night, after I sobered up and wanted to sign it, the pain hadn’t fully subsided yet, and I accidentally knocked over the ink bottle.”

What a sincere apology. What a pure and kind protagonist.

If An Luo weren’t the author himself, he might have actually believed it.

Though An Luo knew full well that Meieruita was spouting nonsense, he didn’t dare call him out directly with something like, “Stop pretending; I know you did it on purpose.”

If the peaceful facade shattered, and the protagonist dropped the act, that would be disastrous.

At least for now, he was still willing to keep up the pretense, which meant he wasn’t ready to tear the mask off just yet.

Moreover, Meieruita had mentioned “pain,” which made An Luo feel a twinge of guilt.

Sigh, whatever. Call it even.

But going without a contract really left him feeling insecure. An Luo tentatively said, “It’s fine. I’ll go get another one.”

“You really want to do that?” Meieruita asked softly. “Have you noticed the changes in yourself?”

Changes?

Before An Luo could think further, Meieruita held up a cracked mirror in front of him.

The person in the mirror felt somewhat familiar, with features somewhat similar to An Luo’s own.

Dull gray-gold hair and eyes that had dimmed considerably stared back at An Luo through the glass.

An Luo hadn’t looked in a mirror before, but he knew Lan Lian’s original appearance couldn’t have been like this.

He remembered frequently describing Lan Lian’s eyes—they were a signature trait of this villainous character: narrow, sinister, and full of malice.

When plotting against the protagonist, those eyes would dart around slyly.

Whenever An Luo wrote it, he couldn’t help imagining that “sneaky” emoticon face.

And then he’d burst out laughing uncontrollably.

But now, the eyes in the mirror weren’t narrow at all. Instead, they were somewhat round, with the outer corners slightly upturned—just like An Luo’s original eyes.

Meieruita’s pale fingers pressed against the edge of the mirror. “Your soul is very powerful and is influencing your body. Your appearance will continue to change until it fully matches your soul.”

An Luo suddenly recalled this setting.

“For safety’s sake, you shouldn’t meet anyone else for a while.” Meieruita withdrew his hand, letting An Luo hold the mirror himself. “Until your appearance stabilizes completely.”

“But even after that, you need to be careful.”

An Luo knew things were dire even without Meieruita’s reminder.

This was another massive pitfall.

His appearance had suddenly changed out of nowhere, turning him into someone completely different. If that drew attention, he might get captured by wizards and dissected!

An Luo: “…”

If he were a reader, he’d curse out the idiot author for this idiotic setting. What a pure scam!

But now, he was that idiot author, and this idiot setting had come straight from his own hand. Back when he’d come up with it, An Luo had even patted himself on the back, thinking he was a genius.

Until now, when the boomerang from his past smacked him right on the forehead with a resounding thwack.

So depressing.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry too much.” Meieruita said. “Many wizard apprentices don’t show their true faces. Wearing a hood shouldn’t draw attention.”

An Luo: “…What about my voice?”

He felt like his voice had changed a bit too.

Meieruita suggested, “Then… speak less?”

An Luo: “…”

I’m done for.

When it comes to digging pits and burying myself, I really have a talent for it.

About to bury myself alive.

He hadn’t even gotten past the protagonist crisis yet, and now another huge one loomed.

Either killed by the protagonist or sliced up by wizards—wolves in front, tigers behind. Might as well just jump off a cliff.

An Luo threw off the blanket and got out of bed, intending to head back to his own dormitory. Suddenly, he realized that he should have fallen asleep on the stool last night, yet now he was in bed.

The protagonist must have carried him up there.

When a person was bad enough, even the tiniest good deed would skyrocket their reputation.

An Luo actually felt a bit flustered by the favor. “Did you put me on the bed? Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Meieruita smiled in response.

An Luo: “Then I’ll head back.”

“Can I come with you?” Meieruita asked. “Since we’ve reached an agreement, I’d like to ask for your help with something.”

An Luo: “Sure, what is it?”

Meieruita: “My reading and writing aren’t proficient yet. If possible, I hope you can help me.”

Oh…

According to the plot, Meieruita was still semi-illiterate at this point.

If things went as planned, after taking out the cannon fodder Lan Lian, he’d use the cannon fodder’s wealth for a stable period to continue self-studying until he fully escaped illiteracy.

But now Lan Lian had become An Luo. Having someone teach him would definitely be faster than self-study. No reason not to take advantage.

When it came to self-improvement, Meieruita was always extremely proactive.

An Luo relaxed a little more.

The more useful he was to the protagonist, the higher his survival odds.

Once he finished teaching letters, he could keep clinging to life with Chinese characters.

Speaking of Chinese characters, An Luo immediately thought of the “fire” rune he’d slipped into Meieruita’s blanket last night.

The protagonist must have seen it by now.

Anyone with some knowledge of wizard power wouldn’t ignore its value, and the protagonist certainly knew what it signified.

“Did you see that rune?” An Luo turned to look at Meieruita.

Meieruita straightforwardly replied, “Of course.”

“I’m very grateful you gave it to me.” The protagonist said softly. “It’s so warm. I’ve never felt this kind of warmth before.”

An Luo: “…”

Stop acting, big bro. You’re scaring me.

An Luo cleared his throat lightly. “What I meant was, I know a lot more runes like that.”

He looked at Meieruita. “If you want to know them, I can tell you all.”

Meieruita smiled, looking genuinely pleased. “Thank you.”

During the first three months of the adaptation period upon entering the Wizard Tower, new wizard apprentices had no mandatory tasks. They took on missions voluntarily.

As long as they could cover their living expenses and pay the monthly rent for their apprentice status on time, they could slack off entirely for those three months without issue.

The apprentices in the Wizard Tower fell into two main categories. Nobles, who mainly burned money. And commoners, who served as the tower’s laborers. Without funds, they had to earn Contribution Points and take missions to keep the tower running.

The original Lan Lian had been the former type.

He’d been here for about two months and hadn’t taken a single mission, but with money, he could buy a witchcraft book to study.

Lan Lian planned to use the three months of freedom to learn a witchcraft spell. Two months or so of meditation was enough to sense magic power, and one month to master the simplest spell wasn’t an issue. That way, when the adaptation period ended and missions became mandatory, he’d have better survival odds.

This was the choice of most noble-born wizard apprentices.

But Lan Lian’s talent was truly mediocre. After over two months, he still hadn’t successfully sensed or converted magic power.

He grew anxious, and thinking of how a mere servant like Meieruita had such high talent made him grind his teeth in hatred.

He had to put the protagonist to death.

The rundown Wizard Apprentice Dormitory had been nicely renovated. It looked just okay in An Luo’s eyes, but at least the door had a lock—far better than Meieruita’s bare-bones place that was practically empty.

They locked the door, and An Luo and Meieruita sat at the table. He used the open witchcraft book on the table as teaching material, reading it word by word.

He’d never been a teacher, but Meieruita didn’t need one either. He just needed someone to read the text aloud, turning words into spoken language so he could grasp the meaning. The rest, he’d handle himself.

This was a book on the Fireball Spell, full title Rules and Basic Applications of Fire Element Control.

It was basically the most common, easiest witchcraft to learn.

Bar none.

At first, An Luo could barely make sense of it, but after flipping a few pages, he went numb.

He recognized every word, but strung together, it was total gibberish.

Heh…

He glanced at Meieruita beside him.

The protagonist kept his eyes lowered, gaze fixed intently on the page. His expression was calm and composed, as if the content posed no difficulty at all.

Perhaps An Luo’s bewilderment was too obvious, because before turning the next page, Meieruita paused and asked, “Do you have doubts about the content here?”

An Luo knew he’d misunderstood.

Meieruita probably thought An Luo’s confusion stemmed from errors in the book, but that wasn’t the case.

He pondered for three seconds whether to lie.

But he quickly decided against it.

If it were history or literature, he might try bluffing, but this was hardcore academic knowledge.

Life might deceive you, but math, physics, and chemistry wouldn’t.

If you don’t know, you don’t know.

“No.” An Luo said expressionlessly. “I just don’t understand it.”

Meieruita raised his brows in surprise.

An Luo: “Yes, you heard right. I don’t understand a single bit.”

He could almost feel the question bubbling up from Meieruita:

Aren’t you the author? How come you don’t understand?

An Luo: “I wrote it blindly. I can’t understand it myself.”

Meieruita: “…”