In the lingering chill of early spring, when An Luo woke up, it was drizzling outside the window.
A layer of cold hung in the air—this kind of weather was perfect for staying in bed. An Luo sat up, pulled the blanket a bit higher, took a book from the bedside table, and flipped through it leisurely.
In material terms, his current life was still quite comfortable. Days were peaceful and steady, with no worries about making a living.
He could even use the witchcraft he had mastered to solve some minor troubles in life.
But spiritually speaking, it was a different story.
In the modern world, though An Luo had no close friends and stayed home after work without socializing, there was the internet, games, all sorts of entertaining movies, TV shows, and novels, plus social media to share joys and sorrows—he never felt lonely.
If he ever felt truly lonely, he’d just play a few competitive matches. If he ran into a sneaky player or suffered a losing streak, forget loneliness—he’d want to be alone to cool off.
But things were different here.
Every day felt endlessly long. Sometimes he’d think he’d done a lot, only to check the time and see just one or two hours had passed.
The only person he could somewhat confide in, Meieruita, was gone forever.
An Luo sometimes wondered if his initial choice had really been right.
If he’d chosen to stay by Meieruita’s side, what would life be like now?
The rain was blown by the wind, pattering against the glass window. He shook his head, deciding not to romanticize the path he hadn’t taken.
If given another chance, he’d still walk away without hesitation.
He was reading absent-mindedly while daydreaming about playing on his phone when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Thinking it was Eiffel coming up for candy, he hesitated but decided to get up and check—strict supervision to prevent her from pouncing like a tiger, grabbing handfuls, and chomping away until she ruined her teeth.
An Luo threw off the blanket, got up, draped on a long coat, and opened the door. Someone was sitting quietly in the living room reading a book. Hearing the noise, the person looked up, their eyes meeting An Luo’s.
It was the blond, green-eyed youth on horseback he’d seen on the street before—the great noble from the Imperial Capital, according to Eiffel. What was he doing here?
“Mr. Lor?”
He stood up. His clothes were nobly ornate, as nobles often wore—lavish outfits that overpowered their looks, turning them into walking Christmas trees. But this man was the opposite: his appearance dominated the clothes, making him the focal point.
Still, a noble meant trouble. Alarm bells rang in An Luo’s mind as he smoothly coughed twice, bowing his head. “Sorry, I’ll change clothes right away.”
Closing the door, An Luo grabbed a set of clothes from the wardrobe specially for placating nobles. He disliked such flashy attire, but there was no choice—dressing too casually might be seen as offensive. Though An Luo had the Creator’s affinity, making people more tolerant, he still believed in observing the basics.
After washing up and combing his hair simply, he coughed twice at the mirror and went out to greet the guest.
“Forgive my unannounced visit—I’ve been rude.” The blond youth stood, his face apologetic. “I invited you to the banquet yesterday, but you didn’t come. I heard from others you might be ill and was truly worried. I wanted to visit after the banquet, but it was too late, so I came early this morning. I hope you’ll forgive my boldness.”
Banquet?
Was this the reader who’d written that thick letter, discerning An Luo’s subtle intentions?
…If he questions me, I’ll play dumb.
An Luo exchanged pleasantries, then smoothly feigned illness. “The banquet last night must have been lively, but I’m in poor health and can’t go out in the wind. I regret it too.”
“I haven’t asked your name yet?”
“Ah, look at me—I forgot to introduce myself. Just call me Mei Xiu.”
An Luo chatted politely with him for a bit. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he felt something lurking beneath that seemingly saintly, gentle facade.
Normal for a noble, though.
Mei Xiu didn’t stay long and, unlike An Luo’s fears, didn’t grill him about the plot. He left a gift and departed. An Luo changed clothes back in his room, with a decent impression—mainly because he hadn’t caused trouble and left promptly.
An Luo had thought Mei Xiu was just an ordinary noble who’d soon fade away like the others, but reality proved him wrong.
Mei Xiu visited several more times, but oddly, he never delved deeply into the novel’s plot. When An Luo probed, he’d swiftly change the subject.
An Luo: “…”
He couldn’t figure it out.
A reader seeking out the author, yet not wanting to discuss the story?
Too strange.
“I know you dislike noise,” Mei Xiu said on another visit. “My home has only me as master—very quiet.”
Hearing this, An Luo’s mind flashed to that classic line: They call me Brother Jie. I live alone, my place is pretty big. You’re welcome to come over anytime. Get tired from playing? Just crash—no problem.
An Luo: “…”
What the hell is my brain on?
Planning to feign illness again, Mei Xiu beat him to it by removing his cloak, shaking it out, and draping it over An Luo.
Mei Xiu was lightning-fast: shake, flick, drape—in an instant, he was fastening the ties for An Luo.
The cloak was warm, carrying the previous wearer’s body heat. An Luo got goosebumps—he wasn’t used to being this close to near-strangers, let alone such intimate gestures.
But An Luo had no chance to refuse. Mei Xiu fitted the hood over his head, then smiled. “Better now, right?”
“My carriage is waiting at the door.” Mei Xiu stepped back slightly. “I’ll escort you personally—no cold wind will touch you.”
An Luo: “…”
He desperately wanted to say he didn’t want to go, but after so many refusals, with Mei Xiu going this far, it felt awkward to decline again. Sighing inwardly, he headed out.
Despite his efforts to hide it, reluctance showed on An Luo’s face. Mei Xiu noticed and smiled, seeming in a good mood.
The carriage headed to Mei Xiu’s manor. Perhaps sensing An Luo’s silence, a brief quiet fell in the compartment.
Mei Xiu sat opposite. An Luo could clearly see him.
He found Mei Xiu strange.
From their interactions so far, he seemed like an unusually enthusiastic fan—affable, considerate, matching his gentle looks, without the nobles’ haughtiness. Yet he never discussed the novel’s content.
It seemed he was more interested in An Luo himself.
An Luo disliked talking about himself and brushed off Mei Xiu’s questions. Fortunately, Mei Xiu never pressed, accepting the evasions.
They soon arrived at the manor—gilded and splendid, yet tastefully elegant without vulgar nouveau riche vibes. Mei Xiu led An Luo to the sitting room and reached to undo the cloak.
“I’ll do it myself.” An Luo tugged the ties, expecting it to loosen—instead, it tightened.
Bewildered, he fumbled at the knot but couldn’t undo it.
Mei Xiu chuckled. “Sorry, it’s not a bowknot.”
He leaned in to help. The knot, tugged tight by An Luo, now pressed against his neck skin. Mei Xiu’s cool fingertips worked at An Luo’s nape. Uncomfortable, An Luo tried to pull back, but his neck was gently held.
Mei Xiu’s voice was mild: “Don’t move—almost done.”
Once undone, An Luo quickly claimed a single armchair. “Thanks.”
He wasn’t used to, nor fond of, such closeness from someone he barely knew. It felt like an intrusion. He knew Mei Xiu meant only friendliness, no malice, but it still unsettled him.
Incense burned in the sitting room—pleasant, not overpowering. Perhaps because of it, An Luo gradually relaxed, feeling unusually comfortable.
Good stuff!
Wonder if it’s expensive. If not, he could buy some.
Mei Xiu sat opposite, gazing at An Luo. Those emerald-green eyes oddly reminded him of Meieruita—too vividly green, almost eerie.
Staring into them, An Luo blanked out, unsure why such a thought crossed his mind—their looks were worlds apart.
Meieruita’s eyes were gray-green, narrow and sharp. Mei Xiu’s were brighter green, softer-shaped, exuding gentleness, even a compassionate air when downcast.
“What’s wrong?” Mei Xiu asked softly. “You’ve been staring at my eyes. Did I remind you of someone?”
“A bit.” An Luo had nothing to hide. “You suddenly made me think of someone very important to me.”
“Is that so?” Mei Xiu’s throat bobbed subtly, his expression and voice unchanged. “Care to share?”
An Luo shook his head. “Nothing to say—we won’t meet again anyway.”
“Oh?” Mei Xiu lowered his eyes, pale golden lashes veiling the green. “What kind of person was he, roughly?”
An Luo hesitated, then said: “Great, exceptional—the best I’ve met so far, and I doubt anyone will surpass him.”
“Really that good?” Mei Xiu smiled faintly. “From how you describe him, I’d like to meet him.”
His face betrayed nothing, but venomous fire raged inside, scorching his veins and surging through his limbs. Gazing at oblivious An Luo, he itched to rip off his facade and demand: Is that damned John really that great?
He’d never imagined An Luo meant him—after all, this appearance was modeled after John’s type.
But reason quelled the surge; his performance remained flawless.
Mei Xiu eyed An Luo deeply, veins bulging on his hand on the armrest. He masked it casually, but looked up to find An Luo not even glancing his way.
Lost in reverie or memory, An Luo seemed immersed in his own world. Mei Xiu’s inner fire blazed hotter, nearly solidifying into molten lava, sizzling everywhere it flowed.
