Meieruita knelt down on one knee and carefully observed An Luo’s face.
Perhaps due to extreme exhaustion, An Luo fell into a deep sleep shortly after closing his eyes, showing no reaction to Meieruita’s gaze.
The face before him was still that detestable one belonging to Lan Lian—the arrogant noble young master’s appearance was not bad, but the viciousness in his brows and eyes, along with the gaze filled with malice and jealousy, made him even uglier and more repulsive in Meieruita’s view than a Man-Eating Flower.
However, perhaps because it had been occupied by a different soul, the same features no longer filled Meieruita with an urge to kill. He could now regard it with a calm mind.
No… they were not completely identical.
Lan Lian’s original eyes had been narrow and elongated, always carrying a sinister intent when sizing people up. But now, they had become slightly shorter and more rounded.
The change was not very obvious, but Meieruita had the deepest impression of Lan Lian’s eyes. Every time those narrow, venomous eyes swept over him, something bad would happen.
This subtle change corroborated the claims of the person before him, who called himself “An Luo.”
According to the basic introductory books he had obtained after entering the Wizard Tower, souls and bodies influenced each other. Weak souls would be assimilated by the body, but powerful souls could instead alter the body, making it conform to the soul.
He truly was no longer the original Lan Lian.
That made sense—Lan Lian should have died long ago under the effect of the Cursed Witch Tool.
Meieruita disliked prolonging matters, so he had used the Cursed Witch Tool on Lan Lian the moment he obtained it.
However, to evade the Wizard Tower’s surveillance, Lan Lian would “voluntarily” take on a high-danger mission the next day, dying a natural death in the process.
Meieruita put away the strand of broken hair he had taken from An Luo’s shoulder.
He reached out, his pale, broad palm gently encircling An Luo’s neck.
Beneath the warm neck, blood flowed vigorously, rising and falling slightly with each breath.
All it would take was a firm squeeze and a twist to the side, and this fragile life would cease to exist, vanishing completely.
And he wouldn’t have to worry about any consequences—after all, An Luo and Lan Lian were no longer the same person, were they?
Lan Lian’s death could simply be pinned on An Luo.
Meieruita could walk away scot-free.
An Luo’s warm breath brushed against the back of Meieruita’s hand. He was still deep in sleep, utterly unaware of what was happening.
Meieruita watched him.
Whenever he wished, he could end this person’s life in his sleep.
Moreover, he should do so, shouldn’t he?
The firelight illuminated his face, casting deep shadows. Half of Meieruita’s face was hidden in the darkness.
The author… knew all of his life trajectory, understood all his weaknesses, and even comprehended his every thought completely. It felt as if his outer skin had been peeled away, his internal organs yanked out one by one, exposed under the bright sun for all to inspect.
The protagonist?
A creation from his pen?
Meieruita loathed this identity and could not tolerate the existence of someone who grasped his past and future in this world.
But… no.
Not now.
Meieruita withdrew his hand.
The soul currently inhabiting this body, named “An Luo,” was very young, and its threat level was not high.
Meieruita’s initial lapse into unconsciousness had not been by choice, but he soon regained most of his will.
The agony brought by the deadly poison was tormenting, but not unbearable. He had to wake up quickly, or he might lose his life.
After his consciousness slowly recovered, Meieruita did not open his eyes immediately.
He was still very weak and could not confront An Luo head-on. If An Luo intended to kill him, his only chance would be to wait until An Luo drew near and let his guard down, then strike back.
Meieruita did not consider himself paranoid.
If what An Luo said was true, and his concerns were genuine, then An Luo had every reason to seize this opportunity to kill him.
An Luo was the Creator, and this creation of his clearly did not meet his expectations.
When a Creator deemed his creation dangerous, potentially threatening his own life at any moment, what would he do?
Moreover, Meieruita could indeed pose a direct threat to An Luo.
An Luo had sought cooperation and proposed a Contract precisely because he felt he could not confront him at that moment.
Meieruita had agreed to the Contract for the same reason.
He did not want to clash directly with An Luo.
Besides, he had already used up that Cursed Witch Tool. Unless he acted personally, he had no way to threaten An Luo indirectly.
The intense pain had already begun to take hold. He had strained to control himself, lest An Luo notice his weakness and strike directly.
Meieruita did not care about An Luo’s talk of “plot” or “knowledge.”
Though those things sounded tempting—as if agreeing to An Luo’s terms would let him avoid many detours and obtain the optimal answers directly—it was impossible.
Furthermore, An Luo’s memory of the plot did not seem that detailed. At least, he had gaps regarding Lan Lian’s death.
Meieruita did not believe in gods and had never dealt with a Creator, but he knew what superiors were and what nobles were like.
As the author, An Luo had once been high above, with Meieruita merely a character in his hands, manipulable like a puppet on strings. Now, to survive, he had to seek out Meieruita and propose cooperation. Could there truly be no resentment in his heart?
There must be.
Nobles disdained interacting with commoners. If circumstances forced them to communicate with—or even transact with—a commoner, exchanging conditions for their own survival, their hearts would surely churn with humiliation and unwillingness.
The moment an opportunity arose, they would do everything to put that threatening commoner to death.
Lan Lian was a vivid example.
Simply because Meieruita’s talent in the test surpassed his, Lan Lian felt immensely insulted and was determined to see him dead.
Let alone An Luo, who held an even higher status as the so-called Creator.
Perhaps he would weave lies to deceive, or deliberately provide false information to lead Meieruita into certain death.
As long as he killed Meieruita, he would no longer have anything to worry about, right?
Meieruita sensed An Luo drawing near.
The pain from the deadly poison mixed into his bloodstream. Meieruita struggled to control his body, but he could not even twitch a finger.
An Luo was getting closer and closer.
With his life under fatal threat, on the verge of ending at any moment, Meieruita tensed up, desperately trying to struggle.
The pain was accompanied by extreme cold, reminiscent of the many icy nights he had endured.
Nobles lit fires in their manors, lounging comfortably on soft sofas, but the servants’ quarters had no such luxury—only frigid air, meager straw, and thin blankets.
It was cold.
As cold as now.
Meieruita had spent countless nights freezing awake, but he had persevered until now.
He absolutely refused to die in such an icy night.
Meieruita regained some control over his body. He moved his fingers, preparing to act the moment An Luo came a bit closer.
He forcibly suppressed himself to avoid alerting An Luo prematurely.
However, what came was not a weapon, but a handkerchief wiping the cold sweat from his forehead and cheeks.
An Luo apparently had no intention of killing him for the time being.
Meieruita did not let his guard down because of this. He used the time to continuously wrest back control of his body.
Soon after, a warm, thick blanket was draped over him, and then An Luo lifted the covers.
…Was he about to strike?
Meieruita’s muscles tensed, ready to counter at any moment.
But what came was still not a weapon.
Instead, it was a strange piece of paper emanating warmth.
Meieruita heard An Luo murmur to himself, “If I’d known it would be like this, I wouldn’t have written such a plot… Sigh, Dad’s sorry to you…”
…Dad… Father?
Meieruita immediately realized he could exploit this.
An Luo did not want to kill him and even saw himself as Meieruita’s “father.” In that case, the original deal might be worth trying.
As the cold gradually receded, Meieruita pondered in the warmth.
If An Luo was not acting from a “Creator’s” mindset, then how much could he extract from this “child”?
The night deepened, but Meieruita’s mind grew clearer.
An Luo was very sleepy. In the dim light, Meieruita silently opened his eyes to observe.
He waited, watching as An Luo grew sleepier.
Just as An Luo’s drowsiness peaked, on the verge of nodding off the next second, Meieruita acted.
Some residual pain from the deadly poison lingered, but it posed no hindrance to his movements. Meieruita quietly got out of bed, glanced at the Contract by the bedside, and gently knocked over the ink bottle.
Black ink spread silently, thoroughly ruining the Contract.
Since he was no longer weak, there was no need to sign any Contract with An Luo.
Meieruita walked toward An Luo, meeting those hazy, sleep-filled eyes.
Lan Lian had typical blond hair and blue eyes, with the blue pupils being very pale, like cold, empty glass beads. Meieruita had many times wanted to dig out those eyeballs with his own hands.
But now, their color had deepened, gradually turning gray-blue.
Upon closer inspection, other changes were evident too.
His hair color had deepened as well.
That venomous facade was transforming due to the different soul inhabiting it.
“Sign the Contract…”
He heard An Luo say.
Why sign? Now that he had passed the most dangerous and weakest period, what need was there to put his name on it?
With a hint of malice, Meieruita replied, “The Contract is stained with ink and no longer valid.”
The deed was done—what would he do?
Would he angrily rebuke this disobedient “child,” or throw a father’s tantrum out of frustration?
Meieruita waited leisurely.
“Then… what do we do?”
No rebuke or anger—just a dazed question, like sleep-talk.
An Luo was no father, Meieruita concluded.
He was probably too young, yet to taste the power and status fatherhood brought.
The threat level dropped further. Perhaps he could get more from An Luo.
“No need for the Contract. I agree to your terms,” Meieruita said, nearly laughing at his own words.
Verbal promises were the most feeble things—how could one rely on words that dissipated into the air the moment they left the mouth?
But An Luo seemed to believe it. He pondered laboriously for a moment before piecing together a response: “Oh… okay, good. Thanks.”
Gullible, easily deceived.
Good.
Very good.
Meieruita stared at An Luo. He still saw him as a threat, albeit a low-level one.
Crisis and opportunity coexisted. With An Luo’s current danger level not high, Meieruita would seize the chance to extract as much as possible from him.
For instance, this incredibly profound Fire Rune.
The Wizard Tower was far more dangerous and deadly than the noble manor Meieruita had been in before.
To survive here, he needed greater strength and more knowledge.
Thus, he would grasp the opportunity, take more from An Luo, and then kill him when no longer needed.
He had no need for an author, a Creator, or a father bossing him around and pointing fingers.
Until then, he would play the role of a somewhat obedient creation.
The boiling water in the iron pot still bubbled away. Meieruita thought for a moment, bent down, picked up the soundly sleeping An Luo from the chair, and placed him on the bed.
He ought to leave a good impression on his “father,” shouldn’t he?
