The guests downstairs had waited long for the host to appear, but the music had started, and the banquet proceeded as usual. Amid the finery and perfumes, acquaintances clustered together, gossiping about the host.
“Mei Xiu? I don’t think I’ve heard that name.”
“Me neither.”
“There’s no famous noble in the empire by that name.”
The guests puzzled over it, but glancing around dispelled their doubts. The manor had once belonged to a fallen noble; its furnishings sold off, it had fallen into disrepair. Now, it gleamed with gold and brilliance, lamps ablaze. Snowy tablecloths bore delicacies and rare fruits, served in endless streams.
The floor tiles gleamed like mirrors. At the center, a massive hollow glass sculpture of red wine poured through dragon-head spouts at the base, with servants filling glasses and weaving through the crowd.
What extravagance! Though doubts lingered, the guests didn’t question the host’s identity too deeply.
At that moment, the host, Mei Xiu, descended from the second floor. All eyes turned to him.
He walked down slowly, a faint smile on his face. The banquet hall’s lights seemed to converge on him. Silence fell, save for the diligent orchestra’s music echoing through the hall. His footsteps rang in every heart.
Mei Xiu smiled and delivered the usual opening remarks. He seemed so mysterious and elegant, his posture ramrod straight, his features superior—like a male protagonist from Lor’s novels stepping into reality. Standing there, he made everyone else mere backdrop.
Some guests harbored fantasies, but though Mei Xiu appeared approachable, an aloof arrogance lurked beneath his gentle smile.
As people chatted with him, they found him vastly knowledgeable and eloquent. Mei Xiu maintained his mild detachment until a guest mentioned Lor’s novels. Only then did he show clear interest:
“I quite admire Lor’s works as well. I sent him an invitation for tonight’s banquet, but it seems he didn’t come?”
“He never attends banquets,” a noble young lady said immediately upon hearing Mei Xiu’s words. “We’ve sent him countless invitations—for balls, banquets, small reading clubs, salons—but he never comes.”
“That’s right,” another guest chimed in. “He’s such an eccentric recluse. Other normal writers would kill to cozy up to us, but he does the opposite. Though, to be fair, we can’t blame him. He’s frail and sickly; a gust of cold wind outside is enough to lay him low. Even if he wanted to come, he’d be willing in spirit but weak in body.”
The guests chimed in one after another. Mei Xiu listened for a while before saying indifferently, “Perhaps he needs a skilled doctor.”
“Yes,” the noble young ladies and matrons present agreed—many of them fans of Lor’s works. Though they’d been skeptical at first, Lor had been this way for years, so they believed it.
After all, who would willingly forgo connections with nobles like them?
One noble young lady shook her head. “But Lor is stubborn and refuses to see doctors. We’ve sent physicians before, but he panics at the mere mention of bloodletting and refuses outright, preferring to stay sick.”
“Maybe it’s just one of his quirks.”
Mei Xiu shifted the topic to the works. “So, what do all of you think of Doris?”
The guests immediately buzzed with discussion. When they grew emotional, some even dabbed at their eyes with handkerchiefs. Then, one noble young lady asked, “And what about you? What do you think of Doris?”
The smile on Mei Xiu’s face remained mild. “It seems our views align.”
His emerald-green eyes seemed bottomless. “The heroines in Lor’s stories are like my little sisters.”
“I can only say I’m deeply relieved they’ve all found their happy endings. Otherwise, I couldn’t stand here so casually—I’d have to take action.”
Mei Xiu’s words drew laughter from the guests, who thought he was joking.
Amid the rippling, trembling laughter, his gaze lowered, half-lidded:
Yes, fortunately, my “little sisters” all have husbands now. Otherwise, I couldn’t remain this calm.
By the time the banquet ended, it was deep into the night. Nobles were accustomed to inverted days and nights—a mark of their exalted status, free from the grind of earning a living, able to indulge at leisure.
Mei Xiu did not detain any guests. Carriages departed as slowly as they had arrived.
Yet the departing guests now fully believed in Mei Xiu’s identity. No matter what happened in the future, they would never doubt him again.
Mei Xiu stood by the window, gazing out—not at the leaving guests, but toward the civilian district on the other side of the city. His gaze burned like boiling water in a kettle, scalding hot, barely contained by a lid. It was only a question of how long it could suppress the churning water and steam.
He turned back. The manor had fallen silent. Servants, musicians, scurrying footmen—all had vanished like ghosts. In the empty hall, only the echo of his footsteps resounded.
Rain suddenly began to fall outside. It was spring, and the drops carried a chill, pattering against the glass panes. Mei Xiu sat alone at the table, a lock of golden hair falling over his forehead.
Several novels signed “Lor” lay spread on the table, each titled with the protagonist’s name. The more Mei Xiu looked, the more repulsive those names seemed.
“Don’t rush,” he murmured to himself, as if admonishing himself.
After so much time and effort, he’d finally found him. This time, he absolutely could not fail.
Below the embossed gold “Doris” on the cover was slightly smaller text: “Lor.”
Mei Xiu took out a sheet of paper, wrote “Meieruita,” and pressed it firmly over “Doris.”
He toyed with the two names. “Mei Xiu, Meieruita.” Then he curled his lips into a smile.
Over these three years, he’d gradually realized how much this world favored An Luo. Even as the protagonist, he couldn’t interfere with An Luo’s choices. The world eagerly fulfilled An Luo’s will. Before, Meieruita had always missed by a hair’s breadth through mishaps. Only after realizing this and transforming into Mei Xiu did he locate An Luo.
So unwilling to see me? To even approach me?
An Luo had been straightforward in the farewell letter. Recalling its words, Mei Xiu gritted his teeth and sneered coldly. “So distrustful of me? Afraid of me?”
In the silent, cavernous hall, echoes faintly reverberated. Three years had passed, and An Luo had kept his promise perfectly. He’d lived safely and steadily among ordinary folk, never mentioning anything related to Meieruita—not the slightest threat.
If he wants to leave, just let him go—what’s the harm?
This question had lingered in Meieruita’s mind for three years. Before finding An Luo, he’d been filled with hatred and rage, justifying his pursuit with, “If An Luo reveals my secrets, I’ll be in grave danger.”
They had a contract, but An Luo was the author. If he wanted to expose him, he’d find a way.
Once he’d found An Luo, that seemingly ironclad excuse crumbled.
So the question resurfaced.
An Luo posed no threat now—so why pursue relentlessly?
Meieruita couldn’t answer himself.
He reframed it: Just let go, then. An Luo can live as he wishes, and Meieruita can get back on track. How about that?
The answer came instantly: Absolutely not!
He didn’t understand his obsession with An Luo, but he couldn’t tolerate An Luo living peacefully in some distant place while he churned with turmoil.
Forcibly capturing him wouldn’t work. This world executed An Luo’s will. If An Luo wanted to leave, coincidences would always make it happen. This time, An Luo had to want to stay by Meieruita’s side willingly.
An Luo’s distrust ran marrow-deep. Meieruita had seen the root of it long ago. As the author, An Luo instinctively trusted the plot he’d written—to the point of blind faith. He knew the entire book’s shape, including Meieruita’s future.
The world felt alien and frightening to him, so he clung to the familiar plot like a drowning man to driftwood.
Meieruita knew this and encouraged it, even fanning the flames to deepen the impression. It served his goals perfectly.
Everything he’d done in the Wizard Tower—An Luo hadn’t suspected a thing.
But it had become a double-edged sword.
“He’s just bad at math,” Mei Xiu said calmly. “He doesn’t account for how adding variables changes the outcome.”
How to make An Luo want to return to Meieruita’s side?
Meieruita couldn’t use external forces, nor allow insignificant characters to touch An Luo. He adopted a new identity, cloaked in an aura of righteousness and justice, to handle it himself.
When choosing his appearance, the image of that golden-haired, blue-eyed John from the Wizard Tower came to mind.
After acquiring the Wizard Tower, he’d driven out the apprentices. He’d shadowed them secretly, but An Luo never appeared by John’s side, nor left any message.
This brought Meieruita both pain and a sense of superiority.
Pain at losing the trail, ignorance of An Luo’s whereabouts.
Superiority in realizing An Luo hadn’t valued John enough for a farewell.
Even so, Meieruita mimicked John’s old appearance—but perfected, idealized.
Anyone seeing him now would think him an upright, noble knight.
Doesn’t An Luo love this type?
He hated Meieruita? Fine. What about this Mei Xiu now?
Every detail matched An Luo’s tastes. He should accept him gladly.
At the thought, uncontrollable anger and hatred surged. Meieruita lowered his eyes, forcing it down.
No matter. Soon, An Luo will realize how wrong his choices were.
If a seemingly kind and gentle good man tried to harm him, to profit from him…
Then, in desperation, would An Luo pitifully, pleadingly call out Meieruita’s name?
Would he recall the protagonist he’d rejected?
An Luo would realize his Creator authority couldn’t guarantee safety—that the golden-haired, blue-eyed knight might harbor a venomous heart.
Only then, after rescue, would he know: only by Meieruita’s side could he be protected.
If the flower fairy king courted Thumbelina at the story’s start, she’d likely rebuff him.
She was happy then, cared for by her parents, carefree.
Only after Thumbelina’s trials and tribulations, hitting rock bottom, would the flower fairy king’s appearance feel like salvation—something she’d seize desperately.
But this time, Meieruita wouldn’t help An Luo for free.
After all, he was the cruel, evil wizard—the fearsome protagonist.
He would demand remuneration.
A lot. A great deal of remuneration.
