Chapter 68 Part 1

An Luo slept for a while and woke up, only to find that his dizziness hadn’t eased at all—instead, it had gotten worse. His entire body felt devoid of strength.

The surroundings were exceptionally luxurious, and the bed beneath him was so soft that it seemed to swallow him whole. An Luo felt a bit dazed, and it took him a good while to remember that he was currently resting in Mei Xiu’s manor.

The curtains on the glass windows were only half-drawn, allowing dim gray light to filter in. Everything in the room appeared hazy, like a haunted castle from a horror movie.

The rain was still pouring, slamming against the glass windows in sheets, forming a curtain of water.

The sound of the rain was loud, the kind of white noise perfect for sleeping. The room was also filled with the scent of incense—the same fragrance as in the living room earlier, faint and ethereal, not overpowering.

An Luo’s head throbbed as he struggled to sit up and return home. But the bed was too soft, almost like quicksand. He barely managed to prop himself up, only to notice his arms trembling. With one slip, he collapsed back onto the bed, the thick quilts pressing heavily on his back and nearly suffocating him.

Dazedly, he thought, Sigh, could this be karma from faking illness too many times?

Before heading out, An Luo hadn’t felt any discomfort. Over the past two years, though he often pretended to be sick, he had never actually fallen ill once—he was perfectly healthy.

But as the saying goes, illness strikes like a collapsing mountain. Sometimes it comes on suddenly and fiercely, impossible to predict.

An Luo didn’t suspect Mei Xiu. Even if Mei Xiu was a great noble from the Imperial Capital, he was ultimately just an ordinary person without such mystical abilities to make someone sick on a whim.

He wasn’t Meieruita, after all.

Even if he did have such means, An Luo had no conflict with him. What would making An Luo sick achieve? An Luo wouldn’t pay him for it—in fact, if An Luo stayed with Mei Xiu, Mei Xiu would have to foot the bill.

For meals and such.

An Luo closed his eyes briefly, a bit regretting not bringing some Healing Potion with him.

But that was just a passing thought. Healing Potions had a shelf life of only a month; even if he’d brought some, they would be useless by now.

No matter—he could write a [Recovery] note once he got home.

That would fix everything; there was no need to worry too much.

A knock sounded at the door. After three light taps, the wooden carved door was pushed open, and Mei Xiu’s figure appeared in the doorway.

The door closed behind him as he walked toward An Luo. The thick carpet muffled his footsteps. With the dim light and An Luo’s dizziness, everything blurred together. For a moment, An Luo mistook the approaching Mei Xiu for Meieruita and startled. But then Mei Xiu reached the bedside, his striking golden hair catching the light and revealing his identity.

An Luo let out a breath of relief, unsure if he felt disappointed or grateful. Mei Xiu sat down in the armchair by the bed, his emerald eyes fixed on An Luo. His voice remained gentle: “What’s wrong? Did I remind you of someone?”

He smiled, lips curving up, though his eyes were shadowed in the dim light, hard to read. “Or perhaps someone very good, very outstanding?”

It took An Luo a moment to catch his meaning. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“But it was just an illusion.”

Mei Xiu replied, “I’m truly honored.”

“Let’s not talk about that.” He reached out toward An Luo. An Luo instinctively tried to dodge, but his limp body only shifted a negligible distance.

Mei Xiu touched his cheek and studied him for a moment before concluding, “You’re running a fever.”

“Yeah,” An Luo said. “My health isn’t great; I get sick easily. That’s why I don’t like going out.”

“I never would have imagined,” Mei Xiu said softly. “I thought your excuses before were just pretexts.”

“After all, you don’t seem like a fragile person.”

Hearing this, An Luo felt a bit relieved he’d actually fallen ill. Clearly, Mei Xiu wasn’t one to be trifled with; he’d probably never fully believed An Luo’s words.

That made sense. An Luo had only been faking it, which worked short-term, but Mei Xiu had spent time with him and seen through it.

“Looks like I misunderstood.”

Mei Xiu’s tone carried an apology: “Sorry.”

An Luo blinked, feeling even more woozy. “It’s fine.”

“It’s still raining outside,” Mei Xiu said. “And in your current state, moving around isn’t advisable. Going out in the wind might make it worse.”

“Please stay here and recover for a while. Don’t worry—I’ll take good care of you.”

That worked out well enough.

After Mei Xiu left, An Luo thought, at least this would dispel his suspicions.

Once he recovered and went home, Mei Xiu probably wouldn’t come looking for him anymore.

His eyelids grew heavy, and soon he drifted off to sleep again.

Once An Luo was fully asleep, the room’s door opened silently once more. Mei Xiu sat in the bedside armchair, gazing at the sleeping An Luo.

The ornate four-poster bed and the silk pillows and covers gleaming faintly were like a platter, half-concealing a delicacy presented to Mei Xiu. An Luo lay buried in the quilts, only his shoulder, pale neck, and flushed face exposed.

He resembled a steaming dessert, laid out before Mei Xiu—red cheeks and lips like perfectly ripened fruit atop creamy white skin, a quivering cherry on whipped cream. His soft breaths rose like inviting steam, beckoning the sole guest.

Mei Xiu sat in the armchair, the scene before him eerily overlapping with his once-envisioned future. His sleeping beauty waited trustingly in dreams, oblivious to time’s passage. Once Meieruita reclaimed his throne, he would have the power to give An Luo everything he desired.

But that beautiful dream had shattered. An Luo had left without hesitation.

The meticulously planned blueprint lay in tatters, and this current scene was nothing but a futile, clumsy imitation.

Mei Xiu wanted to stuff something into An Luo’s mouth to silence those knife-like words forever. He imagined slipping two fingers into An Luo’s warm, wet mouth, clamping that hateful tongue. An Luo would be speechless, futilely trying to push his arm away.

What expression would An Luo make then?

He would see it, Mei Xiu thought.

Mei Xiu sat watching An Luo, his emerald eyes flickering with shifting emotions. His originally gentle, saintly appearance cracked into something eerie and monstrous, like a beast draped in ill-fitting skin.

The wind whipped rain against the glass like the world’s fury. He looked out the window and smiled mockingly at it from afar.

When An Luo woke from his second nap, he still felt no better—dizzy and weak.

The curtains had been drawn fully, blocking the outside view. Candles flickered on a golden candelabra, and a fire crackled in the fireplace. The room’s air was warm from the incense, which now carried a cozy undertone. An Luo sat up in bed, the quilt slipping down to reveal his upper body clad only in a shirt. He didn’t feel cold.

His nose was stuffy, and hunger gnawed at him—he’d skipped lunch due to the illness.

He ate dinner in the bedroom. Mei Xiu wheeled in a silver cart bearing steaming soup and beautifully seared steaks.

Mei Xiu had planned to set up a small table on the bed, but An Luo preferred not to eat there. They used the room’s round table instead.

The portions were for one. As An Luo ate, Mei Xiu sat across from him, watching. Feeling awkward, An Luo made conversation: “How come it’s just you? No butler or anything?”

“Of course there are servants,” Mei Xiu replied gently. “A manor this size needs them. But I enjoy solitude, and they know my temperament—they won’t appear unless necessary.”

An Luo: “…”

It sounded like a spoiled noble nitpicking at his staff—wanting work done but not the bother of their presence.

Yet the mention of enjoying solitude reminded An Luo of Meieruita. Meieruita also preferred his own company, but as a wizard, he needed no servants, achieving true solitude.

Strangely, being around Mei Xiu made An Luo think of Meieruita more often than usual.

Over time, Meieruita’s image had faded from sharp clarity, now shrouded in a distant, soft yellowish glow—like a cherished old photo capturing a bygone golden era, viewable only in memory, irretrievable.

An Luo ate the steak, surprised to find it fully cooked. Mei Xiu chimed in: “Are you mocking me? I have a peculiar habit—I like my meat well-done. The chef follows my preference. If you dislike it, I can have it remade.”

“No need,” An Luo said. “What a coincidence—I like it well-done too.”

Mei Xiu’s voice lightened slightly: “Really? That’s perfect then.”

An Luo suspected nothing. Over the years, he’d grown accustomed to the little conveniences of the Authority of the Creator—like renting a room right after entering the city because an old lady happened to be offering one, or his domineering CEO novel getting published swiftly under a new eager editor…

He chalked this up as another such convenience.

The steak was juicy and delicious—the best An Luo had ever tasted. He polished it off quickly.

“Seeing you eat so heartily puts my mind at ease.”

Mei Xiu smiled. “But even so, perhaps we should call a doctor. Toughing it out alone might not be wise.”

“No, I won’t see a doctor!” An Luo snapped awake. The doctors here were terrifying—quick to bleed patients or starve them, utter nonsense. He didn’t want to die at some quack’s hands.

Mei Xiu frowned slightly: “That’s not a good habit—avoiding treatment out of fear.”

An Luo: “…”

He wasn’t avoiding treatment; were these even real doctors?

But he couldn’t say that outright, so he grumbled, “I don’t want to be bled. It hurts.”

“Oh, is that it?”