The protagonist suddenly collapsed to the ground.
An Luo was momentarily stunned, then found himself trapped in a difficult dilemma on the spot: should he help or not?
On one hand, he suspected the protagonist might have some scheme. According to the setting, even if Meieruita only had one breath left in front of An Luo, this “archenemy,” he would absolutely grit his teeth and hold on without closing his eyes. He would never allow himself to fall into a coma, leaving himself completely vulnerable.
On the other hand, An Luo’s modern mindset kicked in, making him think, What if? Fainting wasn’t something one could control at will. Maybe the protagonist was just too weak and had passed out?
He urgently searched his memory for the plot.
It had been over two years since he started writing the story, and it was a multi-million-word epic. Even though every word had been typed by An Luo himself, he still couldn’t remember many details clearly.
Especially the beginning.
As a novice author, Supreme Wizard was An Luo’s first novel. Dreaming of instant success with a single book, he had tried his best to craft a solid opening—aiming for those golden three chapters—and revised the plot repeatedly for better effect.
This left his memory of it rather fuzzy.
An Luo carefully recalled for a moment and finally remembered this part of the plot.
Then, he fell silent.
…This really was his fault.
In the original plot, this was the protagonist’s “low point.” Although Meieruita had narrowly escaped death and survived an extremely dangerous mission, he had been afflicted with a deadly poison. This toxin caused intense agony before killing its victim.
Almost no one could endure it, except for Meieruita, who had the protagonist halo.
Meieruita endured in agony for an entire night, relying on his iron will, survival instinct—and protagonist halo—to tough it out.
After dancing on the edge of death, Meieruita truly felt the terror of mortality. Already burdened with survival anxiety, this experience piled on even more. The next day, he unhesitatingly used the cursed witch tool he had unexpectedly obtained to eliminate the cannon fodder Lan Lian, who had framed him.
And the protagonist even turned misfortune into fortune, gaining basic poison resistance from then on, rendering ordinary poisons useless against him.
When writing it, An Luo hadn’t thought much of it. He just wanted to compress the spring—depress first, then release. The more the protagonist suffered early on, the more satisfying the revenge would be later.
After all, it was just a story. Who could have imagined that his flop novel would actually become a real world?
This was completely unscientific!
An Luo looked at the protagonist curled up on the ground, eyes tightly shut, face drenched in cold sweat, and a twinge of guilt bubbled up in his heart.
Sigh, kid, Dad’s sorry for letting you down.
If he had known the novel he wrote would come true, he would have penned a sign-in upgrade power fantasy instead, letting the protagonist cruise effortlessly to the top. Wouldn’t that be great?
That settled the help-or-not question.
An Luo cautiously touched the protagonist, worried that suddenly lifting him might trigger a reaction. Then he pulled back his hand and delivered a firm slap.
According to the setting, the protagonist hated people approaching him when he was weak.
But An Luo couldn’t leave now—the contract wasn’t signed yet. He feared that if he walked away, the protagonist would kill him the moment he woke up.
Meieruita showed no reaction to An Luo’s touch. His entire body trembled from the poison’s onset.
An Luo tried to help him up and encountered no resistance as expected.
With some effort, he placed the protagonist on the rickety little wooden bed, removed his shoes, and pulled over a blanket to cover him.
Then An Luo didn’t know what else to do.
According to the original plot, Meieruita endured it on his own, so An Luo just needed to wait.
But watching Meieruita suffer like this, An Luo felt compelled to do something.
Just standing there watching went against his basic sense of decency, making him deeply uncomfortable.
As an ordinary person, though, he only had experience with common ailments like fevers or colds. Poisoning was way beyond his expertise.
Just treat it like a fever, An Luo thought.
Before becoming a wizard apprentice, the original Lan Lian had been a noble young master with refined tastes, always carrying a handkerchief. An Luo pulled it from his pocket and wiped Meieruita’s sweat. Before long, the handkerchief was soaked through.
Meieruita remained unconscious, sweat pouring out, teeth clenched, breathing rapid, yet he didn’t make a sound.
The sweat on his forehead kept coming back after being wiped away.
How much pain must this be?
Strictly speaking, An Luo was innocent too, but this plot was something he had written himself.
Looking at Meieruita’s state stirred a slight sense of guilt in his heart.
The wizard apprentice dormitory had something like running water, provided by a water elemental magic array at the base of the tower, which delivered it to the rooms through simple conduits.
An Luo fetched a bucket of water and made a trip back to his own dormitory to grab a blanket.
Compared to Meieruita’s place, the original Lan Lian’s dormitory was worlds apart. From An Luo’s modern perspective, Lan Lian’s room was just so-so—not even as good as his old rental—but next to Meieruita’s dilapidated shack without even a door lock, it was practically a five-star hotel suite.
Incidentally, the lack of a door lock was something An Luo had deliberately arranged.
Meieruita had severe insecurity and deep survival anxiety, so An Luo gave him a broken door with no lock—anyone could burst in at any time.
This kept Meieruita anxious and uneasy, fueling his drive to escape his circumstances by any means.
But this oppression didn’t last long. After all, it was web novel fare—the main tone was shuang. Soon after offing the cannon fodder Lan Lian, the protagonist claimed all his assets and naturally upgraded to a better living situation.
An Luo soaked the handkerchief in the bucket, wrung it out simply, and wiped away the fresh sweat beading on Meieruita’s brow.
He vaguely recalled that in his description, this deadly poison made one feel extreme cold.
It triggered Meieruita’s memories of his past, where cold and hunger had permeated his life. A wave of flashbacks made the cannon fodder—who caused all this—even more detestable.
Killing off the cannon fodder felt all the more cathartic.
An Luo draped the brought blanket over Meieruita, sat on the edge of the bed, wiped his sweat for a while, then rested.
He thought for a moment and pulled out the paper inscribed with the “fire” rune from his pocket.
An Luo had no magic power to activate this talisman, but the ancient runes in the setting were high-grade. Right now, it emanated a cozy warmth.
Perfect as a hand warmer.
An Luo hesitated, then slipped the paper under Meieruita’s blanket anyway.
He could write another one—no big deal.
Whether the poison was wearing off or for some other reason, Meieruita stopped sweating coldly. An Luo lifted the wooden chair that had been propping the door, wiped it off simply, and sat down.
Better to keep a safe distance from Meieruita.
Stay far away to avoid being seen as a threat by the protagonist.
The wizard apprentice dormitory was poorly maintained—dim and damp overall—with only a small window higher up letting in a bit of moonlight.
The pale, ghostly light filtering in only added to the eerie atmosphere.
An Luo went to the iron pot setup and studied how to start a fire.
Many apprentices in the Wizard Tower set up pots in their rooms, with a fire pit below and the pot suspended on a rack above, for boiling simple meals.
Some apprentices researching witchcraft holed up for long stretches and stockpiled food like rock-hard black bread.
Black bread kept well but was tough to eat, so it needed hot water to soften.
The Wizard Tower wasn’t cut off from the world; some apprentices handled external trade. To eat or dress better, one exchanged gold coins or contribution points.
Few apprentices splurged on better food. Most subsisted on black bread.
The reason was simple: too many expenses in the Wizard Tower.
Skimp too much, and if you couldn’t afford the monthly rent for apprentice status after failing to learn witchcraft, you’d become a wizard’s lab rat next month—worse than death.
But Lan Lian, the cannon fodder, had money.
Lots and lots of it.
After all, An Luo had set him up as the protagonist’s starter gift package.
After Meieruita took him out, he never worried about money again during his Wizard Tower phase.
Now, as the gift package himself, An Luo: “…”
He didn’t want to open his eyes. He hoped it was just a dream.
After fussing for a while, he finally got the fire going.
To prevent the iron pot from scorching, he poured in water. Soon, it bubbled and boiled vigorously.
Sitting by the warm fire, An Luo desperately wanted to sleep.
No clock here, and An Luo couldn’t tell time by the moon, but after all this messing around, it had to be late.
No, he had to stay awake!
The contract with Meieruita wasn’t signed yet. He absolutely couldn’t sleep.
Otherwise, if something happened, he’d never wake up.
Who knew if the protagonist might change his mind? After this ordeal, he might decide all his suffering stemmed from An Luo, the author—An Luo felt more wronged than Lady Dou’e—then cut off the source to solve it.
And An Luo would slip into eternal slumber.
An Luo had been great at pulling all-nighters before. In the modern world, whether college student or office drone, everyone was a master of late nights.
Sleeping at 1 or 2 a.m. was commonplace.
But perhaps due to this body’s influence, An Luo’s stamina for it had plummeted. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier; he kept nodding off.
An Luo wanted to curse.
When he least needed to stay up, his ability was superhuman.
When he needed it most, it evaporated.
So sleepy…
Can’t sleep!
Reason and fatigue tugged back and forth; every minute and second was torture.
An Luo even had fleeting thoughts: Just sleep. Maybe I’ll wake up on the subway? Told it’s the end of the line.
Transmigrating into his own novel? Unrealistic anyway.
Probably just a dream?
But everything felt too real. An Luo didn’t dare risk it.
He still wanted to live.
While battling his drowsiness, An Luo occasionally glanced up at Meieruita, hoping the protagonist would wake soon, sign the contract, and let him go sleep.
After an unknown time, as An Luo looked up again, everything went pitch black.
At first, he didn’t register it. After a daze, he realized it was the wizard robe.
He looked up to find Meieruita awake, standing over him, looking down.
“You’re awake?”
An Luo tried to rally his brain cells, bracing himself, but he was too exhausted. His mind screamed sleep, sleep, sleep. He couldn’t muster it.
Every thought took forever.
Originally planning to showcase more value and negotiate, the words on his tongue turned into a stiff: “Then… sign the contract…”
It felt like a blink—or a long time—before Meieruita’s flat voice came: “The contract got ink-stained and is no longer valid.”
An Luo should have panicked—this meant he could die anytime—but exhaustion smothered it.
He asked blankly: “Then… what now?”
Meieruita lightly placed a hand on An Luo’s shoulder, subtly taking a stray hair that had fallen there. His gray-green eyes fixed on An Luo’s drowsy ones, and he said softly: “No need for the contract. I agree to your terms.”
“Oh… good, okay. Thanks.”
Whatever, figure it out tomorrow…
