The Solson City Lord personally received An Luo and Meieruita.
He had a massive belly, and the oil on his face could probably fill half a small oil flask. His clothes were luxurious, but his extreme obesity made even the finest garments look unflattering. As he walked, the fat on his body jiggled like wobbling jelly, causing his clothes to shake along with it.
“Gentlemen, please come in, please come in.”
The Solson City Lord wore an obsequious smile and respectfully ushered the two inside. “Please rest for a moment, sirs. I’ll issue the orders right away to summon all males and females in the city aged fourteen to eighteen for aptitude testing.”
“Mm.” Meieruita replied coldly. “Go on.”
The Solson City Lord looked as if he’d been granted amnesty. He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his sweat, then glanced at An Luo standing to the side. His tone grew even more enthusiastic and deferential. “I’ve already prepared resting quarters for you gentlemen.”
He beckoned with a wave and called out loudly, “Butler.”
A middle-aged man in a butler’s uniform hurried over and bowed his head. “Yes, master.”
“Gentlemen, please follow me.”
An Luo and Meieruita were led to an opulently decorated lounge. The butler bowed and retreated. An Luo noticed sweat beading on his forehead too—despite his efforts to maintain a calm and respectful expression, his heart must have been racing in terror.
It couldn’t be helped. Wizards had a notorious reputation.
Nobles might lord over commoners, but they were ordinary people at heart. If a wizard killed one, there was nowhere to seek justice.
The darkness and cruelty within the Wizard Towers were utterly unknown to these ordinary folk. Traveling Wizard Apprentices never spoke of it, lest they diminish their own prestige. Thus, in the eyes of commoners, Wizard Apprentices were the personal students of wizards—untouchable figures who could not be offended.
Many Wizard Apprentices came from humble origins. When they ventured out and encountered these formerly arrogant nobles, they often sought to vent their grudges.
That was why nobles were always so nervous when hosting Wizard Apprentices.
But Meieruita was different from other Wizard Apprentices.
Though he too had risen from lowly beginnings and suffered under nobles in the past, he never deliberately tormented them.
He saw no point in it. It wasted time and hampered task efficiency.
Venting anger?
Meieruita rarely acted on mere emotion.
Even when swayed by feelings, if he wanted something done, he weighed it rationally first. Emotion never overrode reason.
For example, in the story, when Meieruita left the Gu-Raising World owned by this Ancient Wizard, he nearly got captured as a slave. After escaping, he vowed revenge.
Later, when he’d amassed enough power to retaliate, he realized the Ancient Wizard had great utility.
So he shelved his vengeance and initiated a partnership.
That collaboration lasted two hundred years.
Outside the Gu-Raising World, things were relatively normal. Two centuries were enough for the Ancient Wizard to trust Meieruita, even viewing him as a promising junior.
Yet once that utility expired after two hundred years, Meieruita reactivated his revenge plan. He skinned and dismantled the Ancient Wizard, squeezing every last bit of value from him.
Hatred mattered, but profit always came first.
That was Meieruita’s rationality.
The lounge offered snacks and tea. An Luo felt a bit thirsty and poured himself a cup. Just as he lifted it, Meieruita said, “Wait.”
An Luo looked at him. Meieruita took the teacup from his hand, tilted it to pour a bit into his palm, then brought it to his lips and licked it.
A few seconds later, he handed the cup back. “No poison. Drink.”
An Luo: “…”
Was such caution really necessary?
He thought so, but he knew it was perfectly in character for Meieruita.
Even with his poison resistance now, he never casually consumed things provided by others when out.
His vigilance was extreme.
It was a setting An Luo had written himself, so he couldn’t complain. With mixed feelings, he drank the tea.
The snacks on the table looked delicious, and An Luo wanted to try one. But he figured if he did, Meieruita would insist on testing it for poison first.
He wasn’t averse to his protagonist doing it—he just felt it was a bit much.
Imagine: the protagonist destined to stand at the world’s pinnacle as a Ninth-Tier Legendary Great Wizard, taste-testing snacks for you… How embarrassing.
Forget it. He wouldn’t eat.
As if reading his mind, Meieruita picked up an exquisite pastry from the dish, broke off a small edge piece, inspected it carefully, then offered the rest to An Luo. “No poison. Eat.”
An Luo: “…Thanks.”
He didn’t know what else to say.
Truth be told, though Meieruita was a dark protagonist, this attentiveness was too gentle.
No wonder those won over by his softer side fell for it. Who could resist?
Even An Luo, the all-knowing author, was nearly swayed.
Frankly, he’d written plenty of similar scenes. The deluded antagonists always went through stages: “I don’t trust him—maybe I can a little—he seems decent— he’s trustworthy.” Exactly like An Luo now.
Then the ending hit: heartbreak, guts flying.
True mixed with false, false with true—what was real?
An Luo couldn’t tell.
He wasn’t some genius who saw through human nature at a glance. Even though he’d created Meieruita, he couldn’t fathom what the man truly thought.
Trust? Don’t trust?
That lingering doubt kept him from fully believing Meieruita.
The cost of misplaced trust was too high, too devastating.
What if it was all an act? Everything fake?
Thus, no matter how well Meieruita behaved or how tenderly he treated An Luo, he never wavered from his resolve to escape at the first chance.
Because if it turned out fake, he was done for.
An Luo’s mood was profoundly complicated.
He ate the pastry.
It tasted decent.
It would take until afternoon to gather everyone, so An Luo took a short nap on the lounge couch.
Though called a lounge, it was a suite with three bedrooms beyond the main hall. But with business in the afternoon, An Luo feared oversleeping if he got too comfortable in bed.
He simply dozed lightly in the outer room.
Before closing his eyes, he saw Meieruita reading a book with his head bowed.
An Luo felt admiration: As expected of a great man—superior self-discipline.
He didn’t have trouble sleeping anywhere and drifted off quickly. When he woke, Meieruita was still beside him, reading—but a different book.
Noticing An Luo stir, he closed the book, stood, and approached the couch. “Time to get up. It’s almost time.”
“Mm.” An Luo rubbed his eyes and sat up. Meieruita handed him a cup of tea. An Luo yawned and took it, sipping.
The people of Solson City had already lined up in the city lord’s mansion hall, murmuring softly among themselves.
But when An Luo and Meieruita appeared, the crowd fell utterly silent.
Meieruita placed the Aptitude Testing Crystal Ball on the dais and had them test one by one.
The first was the Solson City Lord’s son, sixteen years old.
Perhaps Westerners just aged visibly—An Luo thought he looked twenty-six.
The crystal ball accurately displayed the tester’s age, though, leaving no room for cheating.
But Meieruita didn’t have that issue.
An Luo glanced at Meieruita, who looked eternally young and strikingly handsome.
After pondering, it hit him:
It was the face factor…
The City Lord’s son had inherited his father’s build—round and pudgy.
He placed his hand on the crystal ball; each finger bore at least four rings, almost like sausages laid atop it.
An Luo caught his gaze and offered a polite smile.
The results came: regrettably, below standard.
The Solson City Lord’s expression was complicated—relief or disappointment, hard to say. His son, however, looked crestfallen. He glanced at An Luo a few times and ventured cautiously, “This lord…”
Before he could finish, Meieruita cut him off coldly: “Unqualified. Next.”
Those gray-green eyes fixed on the son, black brows furrowed over an expressionless face—the boy nearly lost his soul in fright. He scurried off without another word, stumbling over his own feet.
Testing continued. From the long line, seven ultimately qualified.
Their backgrounds varied, but now they outranked every ordinary person present. An Luo noted how they all lifted their chins, brimming with pride.
He couldn’t help recalling the plot: What had Meieruita been like when his talent was tested?
In An Luo’s writing, Meieruita had stayed composed, even tolerant toward Lan Lian. Comparing that to the current Meieruita—who’d scared off the City Lord’s son with a single look—felt regrettable.
“Curious about how I was back then?” That evening’s banquet would follow, after which An Luo and Meieruita could head to the next city. Back in the lounge—the seven qualified youths housed elsewhere by the City Lord—the room was quiet, save the faint crackle of the fireplace.
An Luo: “A bit curious, yeah.”
Meieruita lowered his gaze. “But I don’t want you seeing me like that.”
He paused, then added softly, “It wasn’t pretty.”
An Luo considered it and agreed—that had been Meieruita’s low point. No one liked their abject moments witnessed. Fair enough.
An Luo noticed Meieruita’s eyes lingering on a butterfly specimen on the wall and looked too.
A beautiful butterfly, mostly black with blue patterns edging the wings and tails, elegantly shaped.
“Like it?” An Luo asked Meieruita.
Meieruita’s peripheral vision caught An Luo’s profile. “I do.”
An Luo: “Then take it. If you like something, grab it.”
He demonstrated, unhesitatingly removing the wall-mounted specimen. Up close through the glass, the wing patterns were even clearer.
