The Beautiful Idiot Is Forced To Play The Villain [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 19

Chapter 19

“Why didn’t you tell me something this important sooner!”

Forgotten memories surged back into his mind. The sensation of watching a living person explode right before his eyes—the feeling of fresh blood splattering onto his face—seemed to linger. Was he going to end up like that too? Would his mission be declared a failure, and all his hard work vanish like a bubble?

He might never change back into a system; he might never see his previous hosts again.

Cold sweat broke out across his back, nearly soaking his clothes. Tiny, transparent beads of perspiration clung to his neck, pinning a few stray strands of hair to his skin. Lan Zhen bit his lower lip deathly hard, the pale skin gaining a frantic, vivid tint from the pressure.

Though he looked like a pathetic little thing terrified to the extreme, Mo Changfeng’s breath hitched. His mind was suddenly filled with entirely different thoughts.

That snowy-white neck, those beads of sweat like dew on the tip of a lotus leaf, those helpless cheeks flushed with pink.

So helpless, so beautiful… so erotic.

It made one want to pull him into an embrace and kiss him—to take advantage of his panic and distress, to trick him into one’s grasp and then hypocritically tell him, “I’m here, everything will be okay.”

Before his fantasy could finish, tears spilled from Lan Zhen’s eyes. His exquisite, long lashes clumped together in wet strands. From his eyelids to the corners of his eyes, everything was flushed red. Tears fell to the ground one by one, like a string of broken pearls.

This seemed to be the second time he had made the boy cry.

Mo Changfeng scrambled to wipe away the tears, but his large, rough hands didn’t stop the flow; instead, they rubbed the delicate skin around Lan Zhen’s eyes raw and red.

The warm tears dripped onto the back of his hand, but they felt as scalding as lava, burning straight into his heart.

“I was wrong. I should have finished the sentence in one go.” Mo Changfeng anxiously reached out both hands to cup that small face. “There’s a way, and it’s very simple.”

Lan Zhen sniffled. Tears were still swirling in his eyes, but they were no longer falling in torrents like before.

“Th—then say it quickly.” His voice still carried a crying tone, and he began to hiccup uncontrollably at the end of his sentence, his voice trembling.

The face in Mo Changfeng’s hands was pitifully small, barely half the size of his palm. It was covered in tear stains, flushed red all over. With the corners of his eyes slightly downcast, the round eyes held a sparkling, hopeful gaze that even tears couldn’t hide.

He looked straight at Mo Changfeng, like a pathetic stray puppy that had just been picked up, desperate to ask if it could be taken home.

“Students ranked in the top five three times in a row can apply for sick leave from a teacher. They can miss the exam on the day of the test without facing punishment. The only catch is that during the ranking, they are defaulted to the very last place.”

The original Lan Zhen’s seat at the top of the grade had never been shaken, which was why he had become the notorious school bully. The condition of three consecutive top-five rankings had already been met. The biggest problem was that if his rank truly fell to the very bottom, it would likely invite frantic retaliation.

Being bullied to death after the school rules were broken was the original owner’s ending. Now, it seemed the pace had quickened, and he was about to reach that stage.

Lan Zhen blinked. Compared to dropping dead instantly because of a bad grade, this seemed acceptable.

Being ranked last wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; it might even be his chance. As long as the protagonist broke the school rules before others could retaliate against him, everything thereafter could proceed naturally.

“I’ll protect you.” Seeing that he finally stopped crying, Mo Changfeng let out a long sigh of relief and promised solemnly, “No matter what happens, I will stand in front of you.”

“Thank you.” Lan Zhen’s gaze flickered left and right as he whispered, “Can you… let go of me first?”

Saying this felt like a bit of a mood-killer, but his face was being held, forcing him to look up at Mo Changfeng. He hadn’t realized it while he was crying so hard, but now his neck felt sore, and he didn’t know where to put his eyes.

Staring into each other’s eyes like this was just too ambiguous.

Only then did Mo Changfeng realize what he was doing. He pulled his hands back sharply as if he’d received an electric shock. Because of his speed, the plastic bag full of medicine boxes hanging from his wrist fell to the ground with a dull thud.

The overreaction only made things feel more awkward, as if there really was something going on.

He hurriedly bent down to pick up the bag, but Lan Zhen, wanting to help the “injured” man, reached for it first. Their hands brushed, and they both pulled away instantly upon realizing.

The medicine boxes lay quietly on the ground. Without any buffer, both of their faces turned scarlet in an instant.

Lan Zhen stood up too quickly, and the milk tea in his hand nearly fell to the floor. Fortunately, he managed to catch the edge of the bag just in time, though it wobbled precariously.

He mostly saved it, but some milk tea inevitably spilled from the lid into the bag.

Sure enough, nothing good happens whenever I see Mo Changfeng, he thought huffily.

Catching a glimpse of Lan Zhen’s face, puffed out like a blowfish in anger, Mo Changfeng smiled and said with mock sternness, “Who am I doing all this for? You little ingrate, still acting disgusted with me.”

Hmph. Even if the later events really have something to do with him, the injuries on his body definitely don’t.

Picking fights and then blaming it on him—he was just a bad guy.

Lan Zhen stole a guilty glance at him but was quickly convinced by his own logic: it was clearly Mo Changfeng’s own fault.

“The sick leave you mentioned… how do I do it?” Having decided in his heart that it was Mo Changfeng’s problem, his tone became a bit more arrogant, as if he had caught the other person in a lie.

Seeing the once-pitiful puppy turn into a tiny kitten baring its claws with its tail held high, Mo Changfeng rubbed his nose. He wondered if he had some strange preference, because he found this version of Lan Zhen even more adorable.

Yes, very lively.

“You have to apply with Nie Liang. I only know about the rule; I don’t know much about the specifics.”

In general, almost no one used this rule. After all, in a “man-eating” school like this, falling from the top tier to the very bottom was an absolute nightmare.

Even if many people were too afraid he might rise again to strike, there would always be those who weren’t.

Some might even think that if they went far enough—destroying him physically and mentally—then even if his illness got better, his grades would never climb back up. He would only be left on the ground for others to trample.

The old Lan Zhen had played such games before. With such a precedent, even if top-five students were too sick to crawl, they would have themselves carried into the exam hall on stretchers.

Mo Changfeng had seen this with his own eyes. Standing at the door of the last exam hall, watching the chaotic commotion at the first exam hall, he had found it utterly absurd.

This was the legendary “grades over life.” Perhaps for them, losing their rank was more serious than losing their lives.

Lan Zhen, of course, didn’t know about this. He only knew that he had to face Nie Liang alone again.

For some reason, every time he saw this homeroom teacher, he felt a spine-chilling sensation. Was it really just the natural suppressive power a high school teacher had over a student?

He looked up at Mo Changfeng, then looked again.

Such obvious small movements did not escape Mo Changfeng’s observation. He quickly understood what was going on.

Mo Changfeng: “So delicate. You want me to go with you?”

Lan Zhen whispered, “I’m not delicate. I’m just afraid you’ll be bored, so I’m giving you a chance to spend more time with me.”

What a novel way to be argumentative, Mo Changfeng thought, stunned. Then he laughed so hard his whole body shook. “Right, right, right. It’s me who wants to spend more time with the dear Lord Lan Zhen. It is my honor.”

So, he agreed to go see the teacher with him.

Lan Zhen’s eyes lit up.

He handed the somewhat sticky milk tea to Mo Changfeng. After Mo Changfeng instinctively took it, Lan Zhen pulled his hand back quickly.

Feeling the faint sticky residue on his hand, Mo Changfeng shot Lan Zhen a look.

What a very, very bad little kitten.

The “kitten” had his head held high, walking aimlessly. Mo Changfeng followed patiently for a while before correcting him, “You’re going the wrong way. Nie Liang’s office is in the other direction.”

Lan Zhen: “…”

“I said it’s this way, so it’s this way! The earth is round; as long as we keep walking, we’ll eventually get there!”

A “kitten” driven to embarrassment and anger was also very cute. Mo Changfeng nodded as if in admiration.

When he reached the office door, Lan Zhen lost his nerve again. He’d recently been called here for not doing homework and having someone else write it; he’d stayed until late; he’d failed to solve the problem on the board; and now he was here to ask for sick leave.

No matter how he looked at it, he must be a “bad kid” in the teacher’s eyes by now.

“Sick leave?” Nie Liang was somewhat shocked. He hadn’t seen anyone come to ask for sick leave before an exam in a long time.

Lan Zhen nodded. “I haven’t been feeling well lately. I have to go to the infirmary almost every day.”

He didn’t actually go every day, and when he did, it was mostly to accompany someone else. Saying this made him a bit guilty, and his eyes stayed glued to the floor.

Nie Liang remained silent. The atmosphere became so tense that Lan Zhen couldn’t help but look up. He saw that while the teacher wasn’t speaking, he was staring intently at him.

Lan Zhen flusteredly looked away, his fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his shirt.

Nie Liang rubbed the bridge of his nose and couldn’t help but ask, “Am I that scary?”

Whenever the boy saw him, he was like a rabbit encountering a wolf—always looking like he wanted to run but didn’t dare.

In his own mind, his image among students was that of a gentle, refined gentleman, and he had received plenty of praise for it. He shouldn’t be the kind of person people wanted to flee from.

“N—no.” Having his thoughts exposed, Lan Zhen stammered his response, his fear becoming even more obvious.

“Fine, I understand.” Nie Liang sighed. “I will report your sick leave as required. It will be officially approved tomorrow. If you regret it, it’s not too late to say so now.”

“I don’t regret it. I really feel terrible right now; I don’t think I can last until the exam day.” As he spoke, Lan Zhen randomly clutched a spot on his body, his face putting on a convincing expression of distress. If one ignored his healthy, pink-and-white cheeks, he really did look a bit ill.

Nie Liang could tell he was faking, but ultimately it was Lan Zhen’s own decision. He had fulfilled his duty as a teacher and saw no need to say more.

“I understand. Is there anything else?” He picked up a fountain pen to note the matter in his memo.

Lan Zhen could vaguely see a few words. Nie Liang’s strokes were vigorous and powerful, his handwriting belonging to the bold and broad style. The sharp edges of the characters were very distinct, and just a few words took up a lot of space—a stark contrast to his refined image.