After Falling in Love with a 2D Character as a Socially Anxious Person - Chapter 22

The night breeze rose, making the shadows of the trees sway. The cool light from above cast down, pinning a circular shadow beneath the wine glass.

An Jing lay on his side. His slightly long hair was a bit messy, falling over his cheeks and brows. Seeming to feel an itch, he blinked. His long, thick eyelashes swept like crow feathers, leaving a faint trace across the bridge of his nose.

Sitting tall and imposing, Yan Qili stretched out a long arm and pinched An Jing’s cheek.

Looking at him with the critical eye of the King of the Northern Border selecting soldiers, An Jing was thin; he didn’t have much meat on his bones and looked like he would tip over in the wind. Surprisingly, his cheek felt quite nice to the touch. It was smooth and supple. Yan Qili remained expressionless.

He gave it another pinch.

An Jing’s tea-colored eyes grew misty. He stared back at the icy Yan Qili through the haze. An Jing wasn’t completely drunk; at least, he felt he was conscious, just a bit floaty.

Floating slightly, An Jing gazed blankly at Yan Qili and muttered softly:

“You’re really handsome.”

Such a beautiful person, yet he was… by me…

The lights flickered.

Yan Qili raised an eyebrow, let go, and studied the person who had started talking nonsense.

Feeling uncomfortable lying down, An Jing adjusted his posture, cushioning his cheek with his left hand, and continued: “Don’t worry, I will take responsibility for you.”

Responsibility? Yan Qili thought of that outrageous signed poster and the mobile video that had been hurriedly shut off. How was he going to take responsibility?

Everyone behaves differently when drunk, but they undoubtedly share one common trait—words that are usually too difficult to say become much easier after a few drinks. Alcohol lends courage to the cowardly.

At this moment, An Jing felt very relaxed, yet a hint of uncontrollable sadness lingered in his heart. He looked at Yan Qili, his light-colored pupils reflecting only the man’s shadow: “Many people love you.”

You are proud at the peak of the mountains, the brilliant and dazzling sun. Many people will love you. You are trapped within the high walls of a cold palace, a tiny and helpless speck of dust. Many people will still love you.

…

An Jing was a good drunk. He didn’t make a fuss or a scene. After murmuring a few words to Yan Qili, his eyelids began to fight. Wrapped in the scent of wine, he fell into a deep sleep.

Yan Qili didn’t look at An Jing, who had fallen asleep immediately after speaking. By the light of the waning moon that had somehow broken through the clouds, he finished the wine in his glass.

After a long while, Yan Qili gave a light, mocking remark: “I don’t need it.”

Things he had lost or longed for in his youth—by now, he no longer needed them. No matter who they came from.

An Jing slept exceptionally deeply this time, a night without dreams.

Upon waking, An Jing didn’t open his eyes immediately. Scraps of last night’s memories flooded his mind, and he felt lucky he hadn’t said anything wrong in his drunken state. The light intoxication hadn’t left him with a hangover; in fact, his hearing seemed much better—the sound of Yan Qili practicing his sword was remarkably clear.

With his eyes closed, An Jing hugged his blanket and rolled over. By the time he realized the texture beneath him was different than usual, it was too late.

Thud—

An Jing fell off the sofa, blanket and all, rolling onto the carpet.

“Ouch.” An Jing sat up clutching his head, his expression momentarily blank.

Who am I? Where am I?

Hearing the noise, Yan Qili came over to find An Jing sitting on the floor, buried in a pile of fluffy, soft blankets, his eyes dazed and confused. The Living Yama’s lips twitched.

He actually managed to fall off.

The sofa wasn’t high, and the blanket and carpet provided a cushion, so An Jing wasn’t hurt, just stunned. His brain hadn’t quite caught up yet:

“Why am I sleeping on the sofa?”

Where was his two-meter-wide bed? Where was the expensive mattress he bought?

Yan Qili pointed casually: “Unless you’d prefer to sleep on that instead of the sofa?”

An Jing followed the direction of Yan Qili’s finger to the lounge chair in the corner of the balcony. An Jing understood instantly.

He had no memory of going upstairs to sleep last night; he must have fallen asleep on the lounge chair. As for why he woke up on the sofa… besides Yan Qili, no one would be kind enough to move him inside and grace him with a cotton blanket.

“The sofa is better, then.” An Jing climbed up from the floor with a sheepish look and thanked Yan Qili:

“Thank you for getting me back inside last night.”

If Yan Qili had been heartless enough to let him sleep on the lounge chair all night, he definitely would have caught a cold. He was self-aware enough not to ask why Yan Qili hadn’t just hauled him up to the second floor if he was moving him anyway.

He was still covered with Yan Qili’s blanket. An Jing shook and rolled the blanket up, but then felt it wasn’t right. He had used this himself; even if it was just for one night, Yan Qili probably wasn’t used to using a blanket someone else had slept in. After all, Yan Qili had such a strong sense of boundaries.

Thinking of this, An Jing unfurled the folded blanket again and began removing the cover:

“I’ll wash this for you. You can use it tonight.”

Yan Qili was non-committal, letting him do as he pleased. An Jing bundled the duvet cover and took it to the laundry room. When he came out, Yan Qili said to him:

“Your phone has been ringing for a long time.”

“Ringing?” Hearing this, An Jing hurried upstairs.

He had originally only intended to go downstairs for a glass of water last night, but it turned into drinking wine and falling asleep downstairs. His phone had been forgotten in his room.

This early in the morning, An Jing thought it was Baili or his editor looking for him, but it turned out to be a private message from his university advisor. Seeing the advisor’s message, An Jing perked up.

He had submitted the first draft of his graduation thesis to his advisor for review in the middle of last month. After repeated revisions, the first draft had passed. His advisor messaged him today to ask if he was ready for the mid-term thesis defense next Monday.

The reason An Jing perked up was that since Yan Qili appeared, he had completely forgotten about the mid-term defense! If you don’t pass the mid-term defense, you can’t participate in the final graduation defense. That would mean no graduation certificate.

The words “delayed graduation” hit him like a ton of bricks, and all other thoughts vanished from his mind. Forget Yan Qili and the Living Yama, forget Baili and the household registration… for a modern college student, nothing is more important than the graduation defense.

An Jing sat cross-legged on the carpet with his laptop on the coffee table. He didn’t even have time to change out of his fuzzy pajamas, staring at the computer with a worried face.

His high school grades had been excellent, and he won scholarships every year; otherwise, he wouldn’t have gotten into his current university. But after starting college, the focus of An Jing’s time shifted significantly toward writing. Behind having millions of fans and writing one hit after another were countless nights spent buried in research and weighing every word.

A person’s energy is limited. An Jing was never late or absent, but it was inevitable that his mind would wander to his writing during class—especially during the “boring” classes his classmates talked about, his brain was basically occupied entirely by his novels. Over his college years, his GPA wasn’t terrible, and he hadn’t failed any classes, but he wasn’t outstanding either.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have left such a nondescript, mediocre impression on his classmates and teachers. If he had won top-tier scholarships every year and placed first in every subject, people would just think his silence made him a unique genius. No one would likely imagine that the famous, low-key, and steady Teacher Yannian was secretly pulling his hair out over his graduation thesis.

Inside the house, An Jing fretted over his mid-term defense; out on the terrace, Yan Qili practiced his sword.

For some reason, he had the constant feeling today that he was being watched. When he focused his senses to investigate, he couldn’t find anyone. Yan Qili slowly sheathed his sword and glanced toward the front-side.

The location of the house An Jing bought was excellent, offering a great view with no tall buildings blocking the sunlight. The wide river view in the distance was unobstructed. On the opposite bank of the river, skyscrapers stood in rows. Yan Qili was looking in the direction of one of those tall buildings across the river.

This bustling city woke up too early. Various sounds mixed together, interfering with one’s judgment. Yan Qili wasn’t sure if his intuition was wrong. He didn’t care much. An Jing was timid and cowardly, but he was born in a peaceful country. This country had weathered many storms and was now strong enough that people didn’t need to be constantly on edge, worrying about foreign enemies. Even someone as weak as An Jing could live a stable and peaceful life.

With a cold sweep of his eyes, Yan Qili exhaled the warm air from his chest and took his sword back inside.

In a tall building across the river, Wan Tongye put down her camera, clutching a racing heart. She hadn’t yet recovered from that breathtaking glimpse—

Just now… did he make eye contact with me through the lens?

Wan Tongye was a “fansite master” for a popular star; finding Yan Qili was an accident. She had originally just wanted to test the effects of her new equipment. During the trial, her high-definition lens captured Yan Qili practicing his sword in the morning.

Wan Tongye hadn’t thought much of it at first, assuming it was some old grandpa who couldn’t sleep playing with a Tai Chi sword. But when the lens zoomed in, she realized it wasn’t like that at all. With expensive equipment, the facial features were very clear even when capturing portraits from a long distance.

Once the image was enlarged, Wan Tongye couldn’t look away. Yesterday she had woken up late, and before she could react, Yan Qili had gone back inside. Today, she took the stance she used when waiting for her “bias” and set up her equipment before dawn. She gambled that Yan Qili would appear again today.

She bet correctly. Not only did Yan Qili appear, but he also made eye contact with her from afar through the lens.

Had she been caught taking secret photos? This thought flashed through Wan Tongye’s mind but was immediately dismissed. Impossible, they were so far apart. It must have been a coincidence.

Wan Tongye pushed the unrealistic thought aside and looked down to check the video she had just recorded. It was one thing for his face to be handsome and his body to be good, but his movements were so swift and smooth… unlike the scenes presented by actors in TV dramas, the person in the lens gave her the feeling that he actually knew martial arts. The very powerful kind.

Leaving such a beautiful scene only in her camera would be a total waste!

Having broken a sweat from exercise, Yan Qili came out after a shower to find An Jing still sighing in front of the computer. Looking at the person whose eyebrows were practically knit together, Yan Qili casually asked what was wrong.

He had just bathed, and the tips of his hair were slightly wet. He ran his fingers through it carelessly; as he raised his arm, his muscles were distinct but not overly bulky. Wearing a short-sleeved shirt and gray cotton trousers—very down-to-earth loungewear—it still couldn’t hide his pair of incredibly long legs. Such a simple and casual gesture of brushing back his hair could easily make any “face fan” lightheaded.

An Jing was also lightheaded. However, it wasn’t from the man’s beauty, but from the impact of the thesis.

When he looked up, An Jing’s eyes were practically spinning like spirals, and his tone was pitiful: “I’m nervous.”

Yan Qili: “Nervous about what?”

“The defense…” An Jing slumped onto the table, his voice thin as a thread.

Knowing that Yan Qili didn’t know what a “graduation defense” was, An Jing thoughtfully explained it to him. Since starting junior high, he hadn’t had any experience speaking in public. Just thinking about the defense—where many people would be sitting below, all staring at him, looking for mistakes in his words, asking questions, and then refuting him… just thinking about that scene made An Jing feel like he couldn’t breathe.

Hearing An Jing’s words, Yan Qili went silent for a few seconds. He knew this person was young, but…

It turned out this guy hadn’t even left the classroom yet?

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