An Luo smelled a thick stench of blood from far away.
Hearing John’s voice, he glanced outside.
Oh heavens, Meieruita was back!
An Luo’s current mood could be perfectly captured by one emoji:
Oh no, big king, a hairy-faced thunder-mouthed monk is charging over.jpg
Meieruita was covered in bloodstains. In An Luo’s opinion, he couldn’t possibly be this badly injured— at least half of it had to be for show.
But An Luo didn’t dare take it lightly at all.
The most taboo thing was for anyone to be near Meieruita when he was injured or weakened.
When he was vulnerable, anyone who tried to approach him would be seen as a threat.
Due to his paranoia and insecurity, he only wanted to hole up alone and lick his wounds.
The first time they met, when Meieruita had passed out from poisoning, An Luo had stayed by his side to get him to sign the contract.
As a result, once the protagonist woke up, he immediately retaliated by destroying the contract outright.
Up until now, the two of them had reached a delicate balance.
They had some mutual exchange of interests, but still no contract signed.
It was this in-between state, with Meieruita liable to flip at any moment.
An injured protagonist was like a highly venomous porcupine—whoever mistook him for a weak little fish and rashly approached would get pricked full of bloody spines without warning.
In that brief glance, An Luo caught sight of the protagonist’s eyes.
Gray-green, like those of an injured wolf king.
A wounded beast became extremely reactive when faced with threats, far more ferocious than usual—several times over.
He shuddered involuntarily.
Once bitten, twice shy. An Luo slammed the door shut.
His action made it clear that he absolutely had no intention of prying or taking advantage.
Rest assured, protagonist. I know my place.
An Luo had often written in the novel about the protagonist giving a “casual glance” that left others “scared silent.”
It was mainly to boost the protagonist’s aura.
He had imagined it in his head but couldn’t picture what kind of gaze it was.
So he made up something like “piercing electric eyes.”
Or like Superman, with laser beams shooting from his eyes.
Biubiu, and the little villain turned to ash.
It was too abstract; even An Luo had cracked himself up while writing it.
Only just now did he finally witness what that gaze was really like.
An Luo’s mind went blank for an instant.
Too terrifying!
An Luo reviewed his own actions just now and felt they were beyond reproach. Meieruita probably wouldn’t come looking for trouble.
He took off his disguise. On the table sat a small plate of smoked fish.
John had originally planned to give An Luo the whole bag, but after being refused, he insisted on leaving a little. An Luo had kept a token amount.
It was called smoked fish, but An Luo thought it was more like dried salted fish.
He took a bite—fishy and salty.
How to put it? Compared to black bread, it counted as gourmet food.
An Luo didn’t put the smoked fish back in the food cabinet.
He was worried the stinky dried fish would taint the other food.
From John, he had learned that low-level tasks were generally divided into two categories: gathering and hunting.
The safest tasks were gathering missions for magic plants with low aggression.
“Sometimes you’re lucky,” John had said. “You can even pick up the required items right off the ground.”
But these safe low-level tasks got snapped up the moment they were posted at the start of the month.
Some noble wizard apprentices would bribe Aogufusi to reserve the safest ones.
There were many ins and outs to survival for these weak wizard apprentices at the bottom. An Luo was clueless about most of them.
Even though he was the author, his writing had focused on the protagonist, who never dealt with this stuff.
A child of destiny charged ahead triumphantly—why would he linger at the bottom, scrambling like a dog?
An Luo had often glossed over it in background introductions.
“Hope next month brings better luck.”
An Luo organized John’s meditation experiences into a list of tips, reviewed them one by one, then prepared to try again.
As expected, failure.
So how exactly was he supposed to sense the free-floating energy in the air with his eyes closed?
An Luo decided to switch approaches.
He recalled passages from cultivation novels where protagonists drew in qi, closed his eyes, sank his energy into his dantian, and began channeling.
A meditation method more suited to Flower Country folks’ constitutions.
He channeled for a bit, but nothing happened.
An Luo: “…”
It seemed constitutions varied from person to person.
Not long after his failure, there was a sudden knock at the door.
As usual, An Luo cautiously peered out through the small hole in the door first.
He met a pair of gray-green eyes.
Meieruita?
No way, right?
An Luo nervously opened the door.
Once it was open, Meieruita walked in, bringing a faint smell of blood.
His previous blood-soaked, ragged appearance was gone; he had cleaned up thoroughly, but a lingering bloody scent remained—probably from wounds hidden under his loose wizard robe.
Alarm bells rang in An Luo’s head.
An injured protagonist was more irritable and suspicious than usual. He had to be careful.
“Is there something you need?” An Luo asked cautiously.
“Who was that person just now?” Meieruita asked. His gaze seemed directed elsewhere, but he was actually watching An Luo’s expressions and movements via the reflective surface.
“That’s John,” An Luo answered honestly. “Next month will be the fourth. I have to take a task, so I asked him to show me around.”
Meieruita nodded, appearing calm. “What role is he?”
An Luo understood immediately upon hearing that.
He was injured, and now a relatively unfamiliar person had appeared—he naturally wanted to check if there was any threat.
Very reasonable.
An Luo relaxed a bit. “He’s not a villain or anything important. He’s a very kind person.”
“He was originally supposed to die during last month’s rent payment because he couldn’t scrape together the money and became a wizard’s lab rat,” An Luo explained. “When I wrote it, I didn’t think too much—just wanted to show that good people don’t survive in the Wizard Tower.”
“Oh, a good person?” Meieruita glanced at the plate of smoked fish on the table. “You saved him. Changed your mind?”
An Luo: “Just felt a bit unwilling to let it happen.”
“I see.” Meieruita said offhandedly, “I thought you were really dissatisfied with me and wanted to switch protagonists.”
An Luo thought, As if I have that ability.
“How could I? The book is already at the finale.”
Meieruita looked up at him. “If you could switch, would you?”
An Luo: “…”
See? An injured Meieruita is hard to deal with!
This was probably suspicion kicking in—maybe he thought An Luo was teaming up with John to overthrow him.
Uproot the tyrant, slay the Qin emperor—Chen Sheng and Wu Guang rising up, huh.
Fast-forward to An Luo raising the flag, turning sticks into soldiers, and all the heroes (John) rallying…
Sorry, wrong play.
Stared down by those gray-green eyes, An Luo pulled back his wandering thoughts and focused entirely on Meieruita’s question.
If he could switch protagonists, would he?
No.
An Luo actually really liked Meieruita.
Even if he didn’t know why he’d come to this novel world and ended up in a “semi-hostile” relationship with Meieruita, he still liked him deep down.
This was the protagonist of his first novel, one he’d poured his heart into shaping.
First time, first one—always special.
In the university dorm, bathed in the glow of his computer screen, An Luo hammered out each word on the keyboard, racking his brains for the next plot twist.
The protagonist had to take the best path, get the best things, possess the strongest power.
Even setbacks midway were just to temper his mind and pave the way for greater triumphs.
Jade must be carved to become a treasure.
While tweaking the outline, An Luo hummed a tune:
“Bring the best ones over, send the bad ones away, oh~ courtesy costs nothing~”
Perfectly capturing his mindset.
From his junior year when he typed the first word, An Luo had accompanied his protagonist for over two years.
Or rather, Meieruita had accompanied An Luo through over two years.
Leaving the ivory tower and transitioning into society, An Luo smoothly vented his frustrations with life into the chapters, his fingers flying happily over the keys.
Encountered bad people or things? But in the real world, he couldn’t retaliate equally?
No problem—disguise them a bit and toss them into the novel for the protagonist to punish. Vent that anger!
Mess with me? You’ve poked cotton.
But wait for it—my protagonist isn’t to be trifled with. I’ll go home tonight and add you to the book.
Tremble, mortals!
Dealt with villains, taken a loss, or gotten played? An Luo’s anger never lasted long. He’d go home that night, bang on the keyboard, and get revenge.
So he always kept a fairly upbeat mood.
Sure, it was a bit cowardly, but as a newbie in society fresh out of college, An Luo didn’t have better options.
Outsmart them?
An Luo’s peak IQ moments were bedtime recaps of the day’s events. Then he was a master strategist, full of “I should’ve done this or that,” feeling like Zhuge Liang possessed him, schemes galore.
Too bad, come daytime during the actual events, he wasn’t so sharp.
He couldn’t just charge in and start a brawl, right?
Never mind if it was feasible—An Luo couldn’t even beat the geese back home…
His novel flopped hard, especially toward the end with barely any readers, but An Luo finished it anyway without dropping it midway.
If he hated his protagonist, he never would’ve done that.
Even though Meieruita was vicious, the “look from afar, don’t get close” type, An Luo absolutely wouldn’t choose to replace him.
He just wanted to slip away himself, stay far from the protagonist, find a way home—or at least a normal place to live.
Occasionally catch wind of protagonist rumors, guess where he was in the story, and feel a swell of pride.
So, if he could switch protagonists, would he?
No way!
An Luo met Meieruita’s gray-green eyes squarely and shook his head. “No.”
Meieruita lowered his gaze, avoiding An Luo’s eyes, his tone flat. “Why?”
“Several million words,” An Luo said. “You might not like hearing it, but I’ve grown attached.”
“And that John just now?” Meieruita looked like a flawless stone statue, devoid of emotion. “Grown attached after spending time together?”
An Luo: “…”
As expected, he was worried about An Luo teaming up with John against him.
Classic protagonist move.
“Even if I grew attached, he’s no threat to you,” An Luo hurried to say. “You’re a genius; he’s just ordinary. He can’t touch you.”
“I absolutely won’t breathe a word about you to him. Rest easy.”
An Luo: “We’re both nobodies. Together, we couldn’t match a finger of yours. No need to worry at all.”
Meieruita glanced at An Luo, his expression darkening a bit.
But he said nothing more, stood up, and left.
An Luo saw him to the door.
Once the door closed and he exhaled in relief, there was another knock.
Knock knock knock—three rhythmic taps.
Then silence.
Peering through the peephole, An Luo saw nothing.
He cracked the door open and found a bucket full of bloody flesh at the threshold.
Gory and gruesome-looking.
If he remembered right, this was what Meieruita had been carrying when he returned?
Uh… the otherworld protagonist version of tossing a dead rat at your door?
No way, did I piss him off again?
