When Meieruita returned, it was already very late.
He walked alone down the dark, winding corridor, appearing to have regained his usual composure.
At least on the surface.
He quietly reflected on the mistake in his decision that day.
In his original plan, he would obtain the detailed plot progression ahead, as well as the ancient runes that An Luo had mastered. In exchange for that, the cost of An Luo gaining the basic knowledge of sensing magic power was acceptable.
To protect himself, Meieruita had no intention of letting An Luo grow stronger.
If An Luo became powerful and believed he had enough ability to interact with the outside world without harm, he might soon discover the influence of his identity as the Creator in this world.
It was an authority that even a lowly, mindless man-eating flower would instinctively wag its tail and beg toward him.
If he wielded that authority and issued commands to Meieruita, Meieruita truly could not think of any way to resist.
He looked down at his hands.
The fingertips that had trembled uncontrollably gradually regained control after distancing himself from An Luo, becoming steady and controllable once more.
His boot tip stopped at the entrance to An Luo’s dormitory. After hesitating for a moment, he stepped forward toward his own dormitory.
Candlelight flickered to life, and in the dim firelight, Meieruita recorded his observations about himself.
Perhaps An Luo’s authority has a limited range. After pulling away in distance and time, its influence on me gradually diminished. I should try staying away from him to verify if this hypothesis is correct.
After writing, he put away his notebook and decided to resist the temptation of An Luo’s authority.
He placed the man-eating flower fruits he had brought back—yes, he had once again uncontrollably committed such an absurd, foolish, and meaningless act—along with the bag on An Luo’s desk.
An Luo was already fast asleep, his even breathing faint but incredibly clear in Meieruita’s ears.
Compared to Meieruita’s cold, slightly damp dormitory, An Luo’s was warm and dry, carrying the aroma of food.
It was the dinner An Luo had left for him in the pot, still steaming hot thanks to the layer of boiling water.
This environment should have been relaxing and calming, yet it stirred even more unease in Meieruita’s heart.
He tried his best to avert his gaze from An Luo’s presence—a near-foolish self-deception, as if An Luo ceased to exist as long as he couldn’t see him.
Meieruita hesitated for a long while, but his originally ice-firm resolve quickly melted into a puddle of spineless water.
While hating his own weakness, he sat down to enjoy his dinner.
As he rinsed the man-eating flower fruits, the icy water overflowed his hands. Once it grew too cold, it brought a burning sensation. When Meieruita lifted his hands, his originally pale skin had developed a faint redness, and his fingertips had gone numb.
Suddenly, Meieruita recalled his frail childhood.
He rarely dwelled on the past, as it was meaningless—it only evoked useless emotions without providing any real benefit.
But now, he remembered a certain winter night.
Children like him, orphaned and without support, rarely survived the first winter after their parents’ death.
Yet he endured.
Lan Lian had been young then but already displayed the innate cruelty and malice of nobility. He found it amusing and said, “This weed of yours is pretty resilient. I want to see just how tough you really are.”
He ordered Meieruita to spend the night outdoors in the biting wind and snow, announcing to everyone that no one could let him inside without his permission.
“I’ll come see you tomorrow morning,” Lan Lian said with a grin.
Meieruita spent the night outside, but the next morning, Lan Lian did not appear.
Only in the afternoon did he show up. Seeing Meieruita still alive, he was astonished. “You’re still alive! I couldn’t last half an hour out here.”
A nearby servant flattered Lan Lian. “You were born noble, so naturally you’re delicate and tender. He’s born lowly—the more base something is, the tougher its vitality, like roadside stones. But how can a stone compare to a beautiful flower!”
Lan Lian laughed happily. “You’re right.”
Then he waved grandly. “Alright, you’re permitted to come inside.”
This memory surged abruptly into his mind, and Meieruita asked himself:
Had he not struggled through countless hardships to escape a fate of being at others’ mercy? Was he really going to weakly allow someone to slip a noose around his neck again now?
What a foolish act that would be!
Absolutely not!
Meieruita closed his eyes, wiped his hands clean, and left calmly.
An Luo noticed that Meieruita had plunged into busyness.
He no longer stayed in the dormitory for long periods, moving away all his books and experimental instruments. He vanished mysteriously with them, and An Luo only caught rare glimpses of him.
Perhaps he was researching new witchcraft? An Luo speculated.
In the plot he had originally written, Meieruita should have been constantly slapping the faces of veteran apprentices trying to trouble him, as well as the newcomer Evans, who was deeply jealous of Meieruita.
But now…
The original protagonist had learned the plot ahead of time and chosen to quit acting. The face-slapping drama, full of back-and-forth hatred and near-murderous intent, had shifted to the veteran apprentice and Evans.
An Luo: “…”
In just the past week, he had witnessed several conflicts, with both sides clearly having torn all pretenses.
Those who didn’t know might think Evans was the protagonist.
In the center of the hall, the veteran apprentice glared viciously at Evans, looking as if he wanted to skin him alive. But Evans responded with utter contempt, taking the task the veteran apprentice had his eye on.
An Luo watched from the crowd, his mood complex.
Evidently, even without Meieruita, this troublesome bunch could fight among themselves.
He shrugged and returned to his dormitory, staying away from the battlefield and continuing his daily routine, just like any wizard apprentice providing psychological descriptions during a face-slapping scene.
During this time, An Luo formed a new plan.
Pretending like this all the time was no good—it was too much hassle, and discovery meant being captured and dissected.
An Luo had been pondering how to reasonably reveal his true appearance.
He recently had some ideas and was experimenting.
He wrote a note: Gradual Change.
The effect was promising so far.
Now, everyone was gradually accepting An Luo’s changes subconsciously. Even the “Lan Lian” engraved on his wizard apprentice credential was slowly transforming, faintly outlining An Luo’s name.
Of course, in this world’s language.
No one noticed anything unusual; they accepted his changes bit by bit.
In An Luo’s setting, Chinese characters held an extremely high status. Not even the wizards at the top of the tower could detect any anomalies.
Once the name on the wizard apprentice credential fully changed, this hidden danger of his appearance would be gone.
He would be even safer then.
An Luo calculated that by the end of the month, he would succeed.
The future looked bright!
Though activating it once a day consumed all his magic power and left him feeling utterly drained, barely able to do anything but collapse into sleep, it was worth it!
At least survival was no longer a big issue.
In fact, An Luo had also tried writing a note: Return Home.
But it required far too much magic power. To activate it successfully, he would need to input nonstop for centuries.
…Centuries? The vegetables would have gone cold by then.
What, use Longevity or Immortality to hedge the risk?
Too naive. Activating those runes would still require centuries of nonstop input—maybe even more.
In short, the more advanced the concept, the more magic power it demanded, akin to equivalent exchange.
Runes like Return Home or Immortality required an astonishing amount.
Utterly unaffordable.
It was like An Luo back on Earth not buying a house and choosing to rent instead—not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t afford it.
Beyond that, creating something from nothing was impossible.
Writing Gold Coins to get real gold coins? Completely out of the question.
An Luo had tried…
In summary, while the power of Chinese characters was godlike, the restrictions were severe.
They usually consumed enormous amounts of magic power.
He often ended up panting for ages, finally finishing a note, only to find it unusable.
An Luo could only glare at it helplessly, then burn all such unusable notes.
To avoid discovery and unnecessary complications.
But regardless, despite all these limitations, the ones An Luo could use were already ridiculously overpowered.
He was very satisfied.
He often thought: I’m so clever for setting this up—now it’s coming in handy!
He wasn’t venturing into the wizard world or becoming a wizard. He just wanted to survive five years, then find a relatively normal place to live a stable, ordinary life. No problem at all.
As the end of the month approached, the name “Lan Lian” on An Luo’s wizard apprentice credential was nearly gone, with only a faint trace left.
One or two more days, and it would vanish completely.
An Luo woke from his afternoon nap, ready to continue his morning routine of meditation followed by activation. But upon opening his eyes, he saw Meieruita sitting at the desk.
He was reading with his head down but looked up upon noticing An Luo’s movement.
“Uh… good afternoon?”
Nearly a month without seeing him, An Luo felt quite distant from Meieruita. “Is something up?”
“A letter.”
Meieruita’s voice was cold as he slightly lifted his chin. An Luo followed his gaze and saw a letter on the desk, already written and sealed with wax. “My research has reached a critical point. I can’t take it to post for you. Do it yourself.”
Oh right, it was time to send money to the Lanrian Family as per custom.
This period, An Luo had been swamped, either meditating or collapsing into sleep after inputting magic power. He had nearly forgotten this important matter.
With that, Meieruita put away his book, stood, and walked out.
“See you. Be careful on the way?”
“Mm.”
Just as the door was about to close, Meieruita seemed to remember something. “For next month’s task, wait for me to take you. Don’t…”
The second half of his sentence vanished into thin air before he finished.
An Luo: “Don’t what?”
“Nothing,” Meieruita said calmly. “I’ll find you when it’s time to pay the identity monthly fee.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
Their conversation had grown much more polite and distant.
