Taking a personal item as a memento risked Meieruita tracking him via it later.
An Luo thought it over and decided to keep a diary.
Record the details of living with the protagonist. When he missed Meieruita later, he could pull it out and read.
Hey, great idea!
Memorial effect, totally safe—no tracking worries. Perfect!
Plus, it kills time.
The Apprentice Exam was imminent. Most apprentices didn’t know the format had changed and were buying potions or Witch Tools against Magic Plants and Magic Beasts like before.
A short line formed at Alden’s counter—seven or eight people scattered.
“I want a bottle of Amber Potion.”
“Please give me a portion of Soul Mourning Mist and a Thunder Light Net.”
An Luo was last in line. When his turn came, he said, “I want a thicker notebook.”
Notebooks were high-volume consumables; Alden had plenty in stock. He pulled out a thick, ornately bound one for An Luo, then casually mentioned while taking payment, “Heard this Apprentice Exam is different from before.”
An Luo looked up at him: “Different?”
“Who knows, but I figure preparing more stuff against people can’t hurt.”
Clearly, these wizard apprentices with connections had gotten some intel.
An Luo pocketed the notebook: “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Alden gave him a knowing look that said everything without words: “No need.”
His attitude reminded An Luo of Meieruita’s earlier words.
The Authority of the Creator?
No no no. An Luo shook his head, thinking this probably didn’t count as authority.
More like “affinity,” or simply, being likable.
Alden certainly wouldn’t harm his own interests to help An Luo, nor would he obey An Luo’s commands. But at times like this, he would proactively share some important information with An Luo for free.
That was already quite extraordinary.
Think about it—this was a dark wizard world. For self-serving wizard apprentices to show him even a bit of goodwill meant that once An Luo successfully slipped away to the outside world, he would thrive even more.
Magic plants and magic beasts… weren’t a big issue anyway, since the ordinary world didn’t have such things.
In this light, the future seemed full of hope!
An Luo spread the notebook out on the desk, dipped the quill in ink, and decided not to write only about Meieruita. He would write as much as possible.
That way, when he looked back later, there would be plenty to satisfy him.
He started from the last page, so that flipping open the cover revealed only blank pages at first, making it hard to notice.
He wrote and paused, paused and wrote, his thoughts jumping around. A diary wasn’t a novel; it had no main storyline or writing rules, so he could jump from one segment to another, writing whatever he wanted however he wanted.
An Luo stared at the rows of letters on the paper and suddenly felt a sense of unfamiliarity. He recalled Earth and modern life—only a few months had passed, yet it felt incredibly distant.
Did he want to go back?
Of course he did; the wonders of modern life couldn’t compare to this place.
An Luo shook his head and quickly dispelled the nostalgic thought.
He was a practical person.
With danger not fully behind him, he needed to focus all his efforts on escaping. He could reminisce once he was settled.
The quill dipped in ink left row after row of writing on the blank paper:
[I wondered if, by sticking with Meieruita, I could wait until he fully mastered witchcraft knowledge of time and space, then have him send me back to Earth. Since I could come here, there must be a way back.]
[But on second thought, it was too risky. Leaving aside whether it was feasible, even if Meieruita took pity and helped, what if he checked out Earth afterward and thought, “Oh, not bad,” then turned it into his resource hub? That would be game over—literally game over.]
Since getting used to typing, An Luo rarely handwrote anymore. Typing was faster and easier to edit. But now, as he wrote, he discovered that handwriting had its own unique charm, something keyboards couldn’t replicate.
He wrote and paused, and when he snapped back to reality, he had filled three full pages. An Luo checked the page numbers and realized he had rambled on quite a bit with miscellaneous thoughts, but it was about enough.
He flipped to the first page on the front side, lifted the pen, and unleashed his soul artist’s wild imagination.
After scribbling a messy abstract painting of who-knows-what, An Luo nodded in satisfaction.
He wrote beside it: Chaotic Thoughts · Abstract Style
Coming back with a notebook but leaving it blank would arouse suspicion.
But if the first page displayed his unparalleled “art,” even if Meieruita flipped it open, he would probably give it the look of an old man baffled by his phone and quickly lose interest.
Perfect spy tactics!
An Luo closed the notebook. He recalled a old joke: “Who writes diaries anyway?” Back then, he had agreed wholeheartedly, especially in games when stumbling upon scattered diary entries—it only reinforced the idea.
But now he realized his past self had been too young.
He stuffed the notebook into the drawer of the bedside cabinet. Leaving it like that casually would actually make Meieruita less suspicious; deliberately hiding it might backfire.
Meieruita returned after nightfall and placed a vial of potion on the desk.
“An Luo.”
“What is it?”
He gestured for An Luo to come over. “This is a bottle of shrinking potion. On the day of the apprentice exam, I can carry you with me to ensure your safety.”
“The apprentice exam only checks credentials, so no need to worry. Just hand the credential to me.”
Meieruita handed the potion to An Luo. “I’ve done many experiments; this batch has no side effects and lasts about three hours. But those were on frogs and monkeys. To avoid issues during the exam, drink it now and test the effect.”
“I’ve also developed an antidote, but to confirm the duration, we’ll try that tomorrow.”
The wizard apprentice exam was tomorrow afternoon, and Meieruita clearly had great confidence in his creation.
An Luo held the potion, utterly shocked. “This must be something you could only research at the wizard academy!”
Wasn’t this insane? The protagonist was already ahead by an entire version?
“not difficult,” Meieruita said. “Give it a try.”
The glass vial felt hard and cool in his hand. An Luo hesitated for a moment but still uncorked it.
Their previous conversation was still fresh in his mind. If Meieruita wanted to harm him, there was no need for such roundabout methods.
He leaned to the bottle’s mouth and sniffed the potion’s scent.
An Luo remembered from the story’s lore that this potion tasted awful, yet Meieruita had drunk it without flinching.
…Huh?
This smell didn’t match the “fishy bitterness” described in the original text?
“I adjusted the flavor,” Meieruita said. “It’s not great, but not bad either.”
“Ah… thanks…?”
This was completely unexpected.
An Luo glanced at Meieruita, who met his gaze. The gray-green eyes held no particular meaning, only saying simply, “Drink it.”
Meieruita had noticed An Luo’s hesitation but didn’t point it out or try to persuade him further.
He was like a highly venomous snake that had already embedded its fangs in the prey’s neck.
Now, he just needed to coil his long, scaled body tightly around it.
The venom would soon take effect.
An Luo tilted his head back and drank.
The cool potion slid into his stomach, and the effect kicked in quickly. His vision blurred, then darkened—his shrunken body was now buried under his clothes.
An Luo: “…”
Damn, he had forgotten: the potion only shrank the person, not the clothes.
In the story, Meieruita avoided this because he already had a wizard robe that changed size with him.
But An Luo wore ordinary clothes.
He struggled awkwardly, like a skydiver trapped under a parachute. Soon, he spotted a sliver of light.
Meieruita had lifted a corner of the fallen clothes from the floor.
An Luo poked his head out and wrapped himself in the edge of the fabric. “The effect seems fine.”
He looked around—this appeared to be the cuff?
He didn’t hear Meieruita’s response, so he raised his voice and repeated himself.
“Mm.”
Meieruita’s voice came from above. An Luo looked up; Meieruita knelt before him like a living giant.
He gently scooped An Luo up, along with the wizard robe, onto the desk.
An Luo was now about the size of his hand.
Suddenly, Meieruita extended a finger and lightly poked An Luo’s face. Despite the gentle touch, An Luo wobbled unsteadily, then steadied himself.
Fair enough, An Luo thought. He couldn’t blame him.
If their roles were reversed, An Luo would want to poke a tiny Meieruita too.
Though out of self-preservation, he’d probably only imagine it, not act.
“Could you grab me a sock?” An Luo said. “I have a clean pair of wool socks in the wardrobe.”
He couldn’t wear his clothes now, but he couldn’t go naked either.
Meieruita agreed, picked up An Luo’s scattered clothes from the floor, shook them clean, and hung them on the rack by the bed.
Soon, he brought over a brand-new wool sock.
The gray wool sock hovered before the wizard robe’s cuff, then a small hand yanked it inside.
Next, the sleeve wriggled like a silkworm chrysalis—bulging and receding from outside, accompanied by rustling sounds.
Finally, An Luo emerged from the sleeve, fully wrapped in the gray wool sock.
“It’s still a bit inconvenient, but no better option for now.”
An Luo recalled the “sack race” game from childhood and hopped forward a couple more times, fully escaping the wizard robe’s coverage. “Next, we just wait and see if the duration holds?”
Meieruita didn’t respond.
An Luo: “…Meieruita?”
Still no answer.
“Meieruita!”
“…Mm?” Meieruita lowered his gaze. “…Yes.”
