After Falling in Love with a 2D Character as a Socially Anxious Person - Chapter 10

An Jing was soft-hearted, like a ball of dough, and was very quick to comfort himself.

Yan Qili was brilliant; he could learn many things with just a glance. By the time An Jing taught him the basic operations of a smartphone, the sky had begun to darken.

The floor lamp flickered on, casting two slanted shadows that overlapped and swayed by their feet, following their movements.

Noticing how their shadows had practically merged, An Jing realized that at some point, he and Yan Qili had crossed his usual social boundaries. It looked like he had been the one to proactively lean in.

An Jing sat up straight. “I’ll order takeout. What do you want to eat?”

Yan Qili looked at him. “Is there not a kitchen?”

An Jing blinked. “There is, but I have no culinary skills.”

His cooking was mediocre at best. Usually, it was fine for just fooling himself, but doing it in front of Yan Qili would be embarrassing.

Hearing this, Yan Qili stood up. “Tell me how to use those things.”

Having held a high position for years, his naturally authoritative aura made even a request sound like a command.

An Jing looked up as he moved. “Huh?”

Yan Qili rolled up his sleeves and looked down at him. “Are you surprised?”

An Jing: “???”

Of course!!

“You know how to cook?” An Jing doubted his own memory. Was this a setting in his book?

“In the Cold Palace, if you didn’t know how to cook, you would have starved to death long ago.”

Leaving behind those words, Yan Qili headed toward the kitchen.

An Jing: …QAQ

Yan Qili’s casual, emotionless sentence felt like a critical hit to An Jing’s heart.

When an author writes a character biography, it’s impossible to write down every single detail of the character’s twenty-plus years of life. An Jing’s writing habit was to focus only on major turning points and specific details that enriched the character’s personality.

In his setting, Yan Qili and his mother spent several years in the Cold Palace, and the mother and son had a very hard time. This lasted until his mother passed away and he was sent to the Northern border. As for exactly what kind of life Yan Qili lived during those years in the Cold Palace—since the story hadn’t even started and the other male lead didn’t even have a name yet, An Jing hadn’t thought about it.

He used to think it wasn’t necessary to think about it; now… he didn’t dare to.

He hadn’t expected that in the blank spaces he had skimmed over, Yan Qili had even learned to cook. A member of the imperial family, who should have been dressed in fine furs and riding horses, was instead bullied by palace servants. At such a young age, he had to worry about food and shelter and find his own meals.

Imagining a young Yan Qili, not even as tall as the stove, tiptoeing in rags to cook in the Cold Palace, An Jing’s throat felt tight. He looked at Yan Qili, feeling a wave of bitterness.

Even though it wasn’t his intention, the harm caused to Yan Qili was real—and far more visceral than he had imagined. Yan Qili’s restraint in only leaving a small nick on his neck instead of cleaving him in two was truly generous.

Full of guilt, An Jing clutched his aching conscience and followed Yan Qili.

Although An Jing’s cooking was poor, his kitchen was spacious and bright. It was fully equipped with appliances, even an automatic cooking machine. Seeing that Yan Qili really intended to cook, An Jing didn’t have the nerve to ask if there was a portion for him; he just honestly explained how to use the tools.

An Jing led him to the refrigerator. “One side is for refrigeration and the other is for freezing. All the ingredients are stored inside. You—”

As he spoke with his back to Yan Qili, an arm passed by his ear. With a clap, Yan Qili opened the fridge in front of him, seemingly having figured it out instinctively.

Looking at the large, well-defined hand in front of him, An Jing’s words came to a halt. He had no doubt that if the owner wanted to, that hand could easily snap his neck.

Yan Qili saw a few vegetables he recognized and asked casually, “You know how to wash vegetables, right?”

Gauging the distance between them, An Jing didn’t dare turn around. He maintained his posture and nodded a beat late. The small ponytail he had tied after getting home swayed gently with his movement.

Yan Qili’s gaze lingered on the back of An Jing’s head for two seconds before he withdrew his hand and decided: “Then you wash the vegetables.”

Asking me to wash vegetables means I get a share of the meal later?

A meal made by his own paper person’s hands.

An Jing turned around, nodding like a woodpecker. “Sure, I can do that.” His tea-colored eyes were bright with curiosity. “What are you going to stir-fry?”

With his conscience still aching, An Jing made up his mind: no matter how Yan Qili’s cooking tasted, he would cheer him on and say it was great. He’d eat it all, not leaving a single bite!

“Celery with beef, green peppers with eggs, and sliced pork stewed with tofu.”

The world Yan Qili came from didn’t have as many vegetable varieties as today. He hadn’t even seen some of the things in the fridge. For his first time, he could only pick what he recognized.

“No problem!” An Jing, eager to compensate Yan Qili for something, busily pulled out the ingredients he mentioned.

The meat needed time to defrost. After Yan Qili familiarized himself with the seasonings, he stared at An Jing, watching him operate the rice cooker. When adding rice, considering Yan Qili’s appetite, An Jing specifically put in three times his usual amount. Between the two of them, surely this would be enough? Plus, there are three dishes.

An Jing was very active, moving busily around the kitchen.

“Excuse me.” An Jing passed by Yan Qili with a head of garlic.

For the umpteenth time being asked to move, Yan Qili thought: …He’s a bit in the way. He didn’t know what An Jing was so busy with. It was just washing vegetables; why was he constantly hovering in front of him? Was he suddenly not afraid of people anymore?

…

While washing vegetables, An Jing peeked at Yan Qili handling the ingredients. The man was a sight to behold; even with a kitchen knife and bloody meat in his hands, he looked as beautiful as a painting an artist had poured their heart into. Even cutting vegetables carried a sense of elegance that others couldn’t imitate.

The “Living Yama” was cooking for him. Every time he thought of this, An Jing felt a sense of surreal absurdity. What did I do to deserve this?

Yet Yan Qili acted naturally, as if he weren’t a famous commander of the Northern border, but a skilled army cook. His knife skills were excellent; the meat slices were uniform in thickness, and his movements were incredibly swift. An Jing watched in awe, privately thinking: Is it because he’s used to the battlefield?

On a whim, An Jing took out his phone and pressed the shutter. The image was frozen—the man, whom even the light seemed to favor, was now saved in his phone.

“What are you doing?” Yan Qili caught An Jing’s movement and turned sharply.

Facing the “Living Yama’s” sharp gaze, the timid An Jing’s heart skipped a beat. He feigned composure. “Nothing, I was just checking the time.” He was banking on the fact that Yan Qili wasn’t familiar with phones yet.

Yan Qili looked at him suspiciously. Knowing that Yan Qili’s perception was incredible, An Jing didn’t dare look at him again. He pocketed his phone with a stiff face and buried his head back into washing vegetables.

An Jing thought he was hiding it well, but to Yan Qili, he was full of holes. He might as well have written “I have a guilty conscience” directly on his face.

Yan Qili raised an eyebrow. He didn’t press An Jing for hiding things. It wasn’t because the Living Yama had changed his nature or become kind; it was simply because he didn’t take the frail An Jing seriously. He didn’t believe that with An Jing’s “scared of everything” courage, he would dare do anything harmful.

If An Jing really was that bold… a coldness flickered in Yan Qili’s dark blue eyes. As his knife fell, over a hundred types of military tortures crossed his mind. If An Jing was tired of living, he wouldn’t mind helping him along the way.

An Jing, who was washing vegetables, suddenly felt a chill on his neck. Was there a draft? He shuddered and looked past Yan Qili’s shoulder toward the window in confusion.

In truth, a scene like this—two people busy in the kitchen working on a meal together—hadn’t happened in his home for a very, very long time. It was so long ago that he couldn’t remember when it last happened. His home was usually empty and quiet, but it gave him immense peace of mind.

If it weren’t for the appearance of Yan Qili, his unchanging life probably would have continued until his death. But this paper person had appeared in his life with an irresistible force, shattering his routine.

“Are you finished washing?” The paper person tilted his head, suddenly checking on his progress.

“Al-almost!” The distracted An Jing immediately picked up the pace.

…

The three dishes were finished in less than half an hour. When the food was brought to the table, An Jing’s nose twitched, and he instinctively swallowed. “It smells so good.”

He wasn’t just being polite; Yan Qili’s cooking skills far exceeded his expectations. The color and aroma were there, and the taste didn’t look like it would disappoint.

Looking at his exaggerated reaction, Yan Qili handed him a bowl of rice. “Eat.”

The “Living Yama” was actually serving him rice. This treatment made An Jing feel overwhelmed. Then, he was startled by the portion of rice in his hand. “I can’t eat this much.” It was a heavy bowl; how firmly had Yan Qili packed it?

“You can’t even finish this?” The seated Yan Qili glanced at him with some disdain. “A cat eats more than you.” How had he grown up with such a tiny appetite? He didn’t like going out or eating; no wonder he was so pale and thin.

An Jing, once again ranked below a cat: “…?”

Yan Qili truly disdained An Jing’s “little chick” physique. On the battlefield, before the enemy even attacked, he would probably be shaken off his feet by the sound of horses trampling the earth. He wouldn’t even be able to crawl back up.

Yan Qili asked An Jing if he knew the consequences of not getting up immediately after falling on a battlefield, or intentionally playing dead. The topic jumped so quickly that An Jing thought for a few seconds before answering tentatively:

“If you’re lucky, you escape. If you’re unlucky, you’re either crushed by corpses or trampled by soldiers and horses…?” An Jing had never been on a battlefield; these were conclusions drawn from TV and novels.

Yan Qili looked at him with a gaze that said “I didn’t expect you to be quite smart.”

An Jing: …? So, what did that have to do with him not being able to finish a packed bowl of rice?

The question in An Jing’s heart was soon answered, because next, he watched with wide eyes as Yan Qili finished three bowls of rice. An Jing, who hadn’t even finished one bowl, held his dish and stared at Yan Qili with a blank expression.

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