“I need to go home for a bit.”
An Luo said. He had suddenly remembered that today was the day he had to pay rent.
An Luo usually paid his rent in half-year installments.
He had been Mrs. Brown’s tenant for several years, and the two had built up a solid trust. It wouldn’t be a problem if he paid a little late, but with no urgent matters at hand, it wouldn’t take much time to go back and settle it.
Why delay?
“Home?”
Meieruita’s expression remained icy cold.
He lowered his head and fastened the buttons on his shirt. His slender, nimble fingers brushed the edges, and the buttons fastened themselves automatically.
Then he stood up and picked up the black Wizard Robe that An Luo had tossed onto the back of the armchair.
The white shirt he wore underneath fit him perfectly, but as he moved, faint dark patterns emerged on the fabric—witchcraft arrays etched with magic power. On top of that, Meieruita’s legs were very long, encased in a pair of mid-calf boots. He stood right by the window, with the frame behind him and sunlight streaming in, making him look like he was posing for a magazine cover shoot.
Meieruita flicked his wrist, shaking out the black Wizard Robe before draping it over himself again.
In an instant, he transformed from a male model into a brooding wizard.
“You bought that house?”
Ever since An Luo had agreed to go along with Meieruita’s “revenge,” Meieruita’s tone remained cold, but An Luo could keenly sense that his attitude had softened.
Before this, An Luo had never dreamed that his protagonist was so easy to placate.
Yes, easy to placate.
When An Luo had first fled the Wizard Tower, his mind had been filled with chaotic speculations. Even after settling in with Mrs. Brown, he still had nightmares at night.
In the nightmares, he opened his eyes to a pitch-black ceiling, the air around him damp and chilling. He lay on a hard stone slab, his limbs and neck bound tight with special restraints, unable to move.
Then, with the sound of footsteps, Meieruita’s face appeared. His expression was cold, his movements precise and efficient.
He noticed An Luo was awake and said flatly, “Goodbye.”
After that, no matter what An Luo asked, Meieruita ignored him. He methodically washed his hands, put on gloves, arranged the tools he would use—all laid out on a metal tray, their blades glinting coldly.
Soon, they would slice into An Luo’s flesh as easily as cutting through butter.
The eyes Meieruita turned on him held no emotion, as if gazing at a lifeless object.
An Luo jolted awake from the dream. For those first few seconds after waking, he could still faintly smell blood at the tip of his nose.
It took some more time before An Luo cleared his head and matched the dream scene to the plot he had written.
—This was the fate of the Ancient Wizard, the one who had nearly turned Meieruita into a slave.
And that “goodbye” was Meieruita’s farewell to the man known as the Ancient Wizard. After that, what lay on the lab table was merely a nameless, identity-stripped slab of living, writhing, experimentally valuable meat.
The nightmare vividly reflected An Luo’s deepest fear of the future.
An Luo was terrified—terrified of becoming an experimental subject on Meieruita’s table, enduring unimaginable agony, only to be patched up externally and displayed in his Wizard Tower’s exhibit room.
Perhaps with a brief placard below the case:
[This is my Creator, but that’s all there is to it.]
It was horrifying.
Gradually, that bird-scared-of-bows terror faded, smoothed away by time.
Life in Kulte City was peaceful and comfortable, and An Luo’s career gradually got on track.
A year passed, and An Luo’s heart finally settled.
He thought, Meieruita won’t waste that much effort looking for me. He doesn’t have enough time as it is—to learn more witchcraft knowledge, master more spells, boost his strength, engrave Witch Arrays.
Meieruita wouldn’t appear again.
This realization brought both relief and a touch of disappointment.
He hadn’t expected to reunite with Meieruita, let alone that their reunion would be so… indescribable.
None of the horrors he feared came to pass.
No lab table, no silver knives gleaming coldly, no skin-splitting, bone-piercing pain, no stench of blood, no death.
Everything that had haunted his nightmares never happened.
Instead, there was Meieruita’s warm embrace. He had made a seemingly ruthless “declaration of hatred” toward An Luo, but his actions didn’t match it.
The one “revenge” plot he devised felt so absurd, even comical.
If this development had been laid before the An Luo who had just transmigrated, that An Luo would have shaken his head and scoffed: “What fanfic is this? Look at how OOC my protagonist is!”
“Meieruita could never act like this. Whoever wrote this plot must’ve been half-asleep. Too ridiculous!”
Yet the facts were right there. After dressing, Meieruita walked toward the chair where An Luo sat. He leaned in close, hands braced on the armrests, looming over him.
With his looks and imposing build, the posture was highly intimidating, enough to make anyone on the receiving end feel deeply uneasy.
But An Luo didn’t feel that way. Instead, he reached out and touched Meieruita’s face.
“You’re real?”
An Luo was starting to doubt it, because it all felt so unreal.
Meieruita didn’t speak. He was silent like the phantom An Luo had once imagined, but this time, his right hand covered the back of An Luo’s.
Meieruita’s hand was still slightly cool—a lingering effect from his harsh early environment. He hadn’t bothered to change it, considering the mark useful.
“I’m real,” he said softly.
But soon, Meieruita repeated his question: “You bought that house?”
An Luo shook his head, denying both his earlier sense of unreality and Meieruita’s question: “No.”
Meieruita said coldly, “Oh? Then why is it your home?”
His tone and demeanor gave off the air of an interrogator, but An Luo felt none of the fear he should have. Instead, he replied, “Because I’ve lived there for three years. I’m still not sure if I want to buy it.”
An Luo relaxed. “I’ve even thought about just living there for the rest of my life.”
Meieruita’s grip on the chair back tightened instantly.
A flicker of something unusual flashed in his sharp brows and eyes, but he quickly reined it in. He didn’t dwell on the topic. “What are you going back for?”
An Luo told the truth: “Just to pay rent.”
He added, “I’ll come right back after.”
But Meieruita said, “I’ll pay it for you.”
Before An Luo could respond, he released his hands, stood, and stepped back.
He gave An Luo a deep look. “I need to step out for a bit, get some fresh air.”
Meieruita took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned back to An Luo. “Stay here.”
The first part sounded cold and commanding, like an order not to be defied.
But right after, in a low voice: “…I won’t be gone long.”
An Luo’s heart softened. “I won’t leave. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
Meieruita seemed not to believe him. The last time he had left, An Luo was gone. He lingered by the doorframe, hesitating.
An Luo laughed at his behavior. “Should I sign a contract or something?”
It was a joke, but as soon as he said it, Meieruita replied, “Do it.”
His voice carried a chill, his expression blank, like a creditor pressing for an IOU.
An Luo: “…”
Uh, he actually wanted one?
Such a note had no real binding power. Meieruita shouldn’t take it seriously.
Yet An Luo wrote it anyway. As soon as he set down the pen, Meieruita snatched it up. “Even if you break your promise,” he said, “I can still find you, An Luo.”
An Luo’s response was a burst of unmasked laughter.
The door to Mrs. Brown’s house was knocked on.
It was morning, and Mrs. Brown sat on the bed’s edge, mending socks for Eiffel.
An Luo had been gone for over half a month, and Mrs. Brown was a bit worried.
She knew he had gone to visit some great noble, but hadn’t he fallen ill at that noble’s house last time?
“In the three years he lived with us,” Mrs. Brown chattered on, “he never got sick once. It must be the nobles’ unhealthy food. I hear they dump spices in everything and drink wine like it’s water. No wonder he’d get sick.”
Eiffel sat on the other side, playing house. She had a complete set of play-house toys: little teapots, cups, cabinets, rooms, beds… everything. They could even be assembled into a full dollhouse.
It was a birthday gift from An Luo. He had paid a carpenter to make it and painted it with colors—very pretty.
Thanks to this set, Eiffel was popular among the local girls; everyone wanted to play house with her.
“I heard,” Eiffel said as she placed a tiny wine glass on the little wooden table and poured in some water to pretend it was wine, “the noble living in Iris Flower Manor is a duke from the Imperial Capital.”
She propped her chin thoughtfully. “An Luo never paid attention to those nobles before, but now he’s gotten chummy with that one so quickly.”
Remembering An Luo’s background, Eiffel suddenly said loudly, “Auntie, do you think he knew An Luo from before?”
Mrs. Brown paused. “Possibly…”
Before they could think further, the door was knocked on.
Knock knock knock—three rhythmic raps.
It wasn’t An Luo. He had a key and could come right in.
Even if he forgot it or lost it, he would call out Mrs. Brown’s name when knocking and say, “I’m back.”
But who else would come looking for Mrs. Brown?
She already had a vague guess.
She stood, set aside the half-mended sock, smoothed her skirt, and said, “Coming, coming.”
When she opened the door, Mrs. Brown blanked out for a moment.
It was as if something had swiftly entered her mind, replacing what was there.
