Chapter 28: “I Don’t Have a Lover.”

Meieruita finished writing the letter quickly. An Luo was about to take it to send, but as he reached for the paper, he noticed that Meieruita’s fingertip was pressing down on one of the blank corners.

“I’ll take it to the task hall and mail it later.”

Meieruita deftly folded the paper and slipped it into the envelope.

He glanced at the reference letter and envelope An Luo had set aside for copying, a flicker in his eyes. He then withdrew the paper from the envelope, added an inconspicuous vertical crease, and put it back.

An Luo didn’t notice the small detail.

Sensing Meieruita’s gaze, he felt a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t write the original that detailed.”

“So, how did you write it?” Meieruita folded the envelope and softened the sealing wax over the candle.

The block of sealing wax slowly melted under the high heat.

An Luo said, “I just wrote that your imitation matched Lan Lian’s exactly, without raising any suspicion.”

Meieruita gazed calmly at the wax melting in the spoon. “Just a general summary?”

“Yeah.” An Luo replied, “It’s a novel, after all. You can’t describe every little detail, or it’d be too wordy, and readers wouldn’t like it.”

“I see.”

So you’re not all-knowing about this world, not even the parts you’ve already written.

Meieruita poured the liquid wax from the spoon onto the envelope flap and pressed the seal.

His movements flowed seamlessly.

Not a hint of clumsiness—he looked like a true noble.

An Luo wasn’t surprised.

He had set Meieruita up with keen observational skills.

“What are you thinking?” Meieruita asked.

An Luo figured there was no point hiding it. “I read a famous book where the female protagonist, from a young age, paid close attention to everything when she went to her grandmother’s house.”

Meieruita understood. “Part of my character draws inspiration from her? The observational skills?”

An Luo nodded, glancing cautiously at Meieruita. But Meieruita didn’t seem to mind; instead, he appeared interested in Dream of the Red Chamber. “Can you tell me about this famous book?”

His gaze swept quickly over An Luo’s face, and he added flatly, “It sounds different from knight novels.”

“Of course it is!” An Luo thought. This was a literary masterpiece—how could those messy knight novels compare to Dream of the Red Chamber?

Given its length and complexity, An Luo couldn’t summarize it in a few words. As he pondered a simpler way to describe it, Meieruita said, “Just tell me about the part where the female protagonist goes to her grandmother’s house.”

“I’m just curious about my inspiration source.”

Oh, just the Lin Daiyu Enters Jia Mansion section?

That made it easy.

An Luo gave a rough account, emphasizing Lin Daiyu’s sharp insight at such a young age. “She was only six, and already that perceptive.”

“Mmm.” Meieruita’s expression didn’t change, giving no hint if he found it impressive or not.

Such nobility, such rigid rules.

Sumptuous and splendid.

Compared to the “Jia Mansion” An Luo described, Lan Lian’s family seemed crude and shabby—not noble at all.

Forget Lan Lian’s family—even the royal house fell short.

Yet An Luo spoke of nobility so casually, without a trace of awe.

He said he was an ordinary person, so in his world, had nobility ceased to exist?

Perhaps it had existed but vanished.

Noble houses like Jia Mansion would never willingly relinquish power, so the change must have come through violence.

And An Luo had grown up in the world after that violent upheaval, where nobility was gone.

What were the basic rules of that world?

Meieruita suddenly asked, “If a noble house like Jia Mansion appeared before you and ordered you to do something, would you obey?”

An Luo: “Of course not… uh, unless they paid.”

A hint of amusement flashed in Meieruita’s eyes.

Ah, understood.

Money had replaced power, at least on the surface.

He pocketed the envelope. “I’m heading out.”

An Luo walked him to the door. “Be careful on the way.”

“Mmm.”

Meieruita gripped the door handle and said flatly, “My dormitory is locked. If you want to see John, I can take you now.”

“Really?!”

An Luo had been worried about John but hadn’t dared mention it, fearing it might backfire.

He’d planned to wait until Meieruita left, then buy a contract from Alden and bring it up naturally.

Meieruita didn’t reply. He unlocked his dormitory door.

John lay unconscious against the wall in the corner, looking stable enough.

“He’ll wake up tonight,” Meieruita said. He showed no intention of letting An Luo inside and relocked the door in under a minute. “I’ll bring back a contract scroll.”

An Luo: “Let me give you the money.”

“No need.” Meieruita was already striding down the corridor, his voice drifting back faintly. “This is my business.”

An Luo: “…”

That single sentence instantly reminded An Luo of his earlier deductions.

Sure enough, Meieruita had done it on purpose.

His business.

Simple words that would baffle An Luo if he hadn’t pieced it together before.

But combined with his prior reasoning, those five words carried profound implications.

An Luo shrugged and returned to the dormitory. He wasn’t angry about Meieruita’s scheming.

He’d always been clear-headed. After all, Meieruita was the protagonist from his pen—every trait, every quirk, was his creation.

So An Luo harbored no illusions of true friendship with Meieruita.

Their current surface-level amity was enough for him.

Even if Meieruita was faking it, An Luo had no plans to stick around long-term.

Once the time came, he’d slip away. As long as he could harness magic power to activate his Hanzi runes, his safety would be assured.

Then he could reminisce about this bizarre time with his own created protagonist.

Meieruita returned at dusk.

A fire blazed in the hearth, with a candle flickering on the table corner.

An Luo sat at the table reading a book, scribbling notes as he went.

“Back?” He didn’t turn at the sound. “Dinner’s heating in the pot. We’ll go see John after you eat.”

“Mmm.” Meieruita walked to the hanging iron pot.

Without a lid, An Luo had used a round wooden board as a cover.

Meieruita lifted it, revealing two upturned bowls steaming in the gently boiling water.

His palms were broad, fingers long. The bowl rims scalded, but his face remained impassive as he deftly lifted them out.

Years of servant life had toughened his hands with calluses; heat didn’t faze him.

Lifting the top bowl revealed pale yellow steamed egg in the bottom one—custard-like, but not quite.

“This is steamed egg.” An Luo closed his book and sat at the table. “I found some eggs at the trading post today and bought a few. Tastes pretty good.”

Meieruita picked up the iron spoon nearby and scooped a spoonful. The egg quivered softly in the spoon, melting tenderly on his tongue. After swallowing, his gaze turned to An Luo, who waited nearby.

An Luo propped his elbows on the table, fingers interlaced under his chin. In the firelight and candle glow, his dark eyes shone brightly.

Meieruita had noticed early on how An Luo’s features stood out—soft and unlike anyone around.

In the dim yellow light, he bore no resemblance to any “father” Meieruita had known.

“You’ve been here a while,” Meieruita said softly. “Do you miss your wife and children?”

An Luo: “…Huh?”

Wife and children?

Do you even hear yourself?

“I’m just out of university.”

“Mmm?” Meieruita seemed puzzled. “No?”

His voice was even. “You said you’re twenty-three. Normally, people marry by then.”

An Luo got it.

Ordinary lifespans here were short, so people married young.

“It’s different where I’m from,” he explained. “I just started working. No one marries that early—we wait a few years, save up some money first.”

“Besides, I haven’t decided if I even want to marry.”

“Why?”

An Luo: “I’m just an ordinary guy. My society’s cutthroat. People like me are called corporate drones or workhorses. Surviving alone is tough enough.”

“If I had kids and they ended up living like me, better not to have them. Too exhausting.”

“A fine idea,” Meieruita said. “I approve.”

“In knight novels, protagonists have lovers—their motivation, supporting them through trials, driving them forward. So who drives me? Who am I advancing for?”

Meieruita spoke softly. “Who’s the lover you arranged for me?”

His tone held no joy or sorrow, no curiosity or expectation.

An Luo: “…Uh, sorry, I didn’t arrange one.”

He hurried to explain. “I’m no good at that stuff. But if you want, find one yourself.”

“And you advance for yourself, not others. Getting stronger is reason enough.”

Meieruita finished eating and stood to wash the bowls. “And you? Who’s the lover driving you forward?”

“I don’t have a lover,” An Luo said. “Real life isn’t like knight novels. I’ve never even dated.”

“But that’s fine. Otherwise, if I suddenly transmigrated here, my lover would worry.”

Meieruita murmured in acknowledgment. From across the room, his voice reached An Luo faint and soft.

Cold water flowed over his palms.

What kind of protagonist would feel joy at his author’s isolation, solitude, and dire straits?

“You’re the protagonist. This world revolves around you.”

An Luo had once told Meieruita that.

Meieruita dried the bowls and stacked them neatly.

He heard An Luo ask, “Shall we go see John?”

Meieruita lowered his eyes. “Alright.”