The Villain I Loved Has Broken Free and Transmigrated Out of the Story - Chapter 34

Even in late winter, night fell early. Yin Ya hadn’t typed even a few hundred words into her document before the sky outside her window had already darkened.

With only a few vegetables left in the house, Yin Ya decided to order takeout and make a simple mixed vegetable soup, pairing it with the half-slice of braised pork liver she’d cut yesterday. It would be a quick and easy dinner.

After placing her order, she closed her laptop, unmuted her phone, and took it to the kitchen to keep an eye out for updates.

As she passed the bedroom, Yin Ya paused at the door for a moment. Hearing no sound, she assumed Cang Lanyan was still resting and went to the kitchen to prepare the ingredients.

But if Cang Lanyan sleeps this long during the day, how will she sleep tonight?

Will she keep reading? Or maybe watch TV?

Yin Ya couldn’t help but wonder as she scrubbed the cabbage.

Mixed vegetable soup was basically a random stew; as long as the seasoning was right, it would be fine.

Just as Yin Ya ladled the soup into a bowl, she heard a notification from the takeout app: a new message. Seeing the delivery driver’s photo, she calmly sliced the braised pork liver, arranged it on a plate, and set both the soup and liver on the coffee table before going to the door to collect her order.

The aroma of the food didn’t lure Cang Lanyan out. She ate her dinner alone, savoring each bite, then went outside to dispose of the takeout packaging and kitchen waste. Afterward, she slowly began washing the dishes.

It had only been a few days since the Major Antagonist had suddenly vanished from her life, but she already felt a strange sense of unease.

Still, this was better. No more surveillance, no more interrogations, and no more forced intimacy. She could finally focus on writing today’s update in peace.

Yin Ya realized she had returned to her daily update schedule. Before Cang Lanyan’s arrival, she had been stuck in a writer’s block for nearly half a month, and her erratic update schedule had quickly drawn a chorus of complaints.

The comments had taken a toll on her mental state. The more she worried, the less she could write. Even when she managed to force out a chapter, the quality was often subpar.

Now, writing in secret to avoid the Major Antagonist’s watchful gaze, she found the words flowing more easily. By focusing her mind, she could produce three to four thousand words each day. She couldn’t explain why.

In the bedroom, Cang Lanyan had hoped to slowly regain her composure. But after the God left, the bedding, pillows, and even the entire room began to radiate her divine aura, thick and overwhelming.

Yet she soon calmed herself amidst the thunderous pounding of her heart, allowing herself to slowly sink into this unprecedentedly strange sensation.

To control these vexing emotions, mere rejection would only backfire. She needed to understand their true nature.

The God didn’t use incense, yet her clothes and bedding carried a faint floral scent.

Cang Lanyan had smelled this fragrance before, in a blue bottle in the bathroom labeled “Laundry Detergent,” a cleaning agent.

The God frequently used this detergent to wash her clothes and bedding. Over time, the scent had become her signature aroma.

Therefore, the so-called “divine aura” that had captivated and ensnared her “self” was nothing more than the medicinal fragrance of laundry detergent, merely an inanimate object.

Realizing this, Cang Lanyan felt her heart gradually return to its normal rhythm, and she was finally able to fall into a peaceful sleep in the bedroom.

But this tranquility didn’t last long. She sensed the God’s presence drawing near, and her recently calmed heart began to flutter again.

“Cang Lanyan?”

The deliberately lowered voice reached her ears. Though there was clearly no one else in the small room, the God seemed wary of something.

Cang Lanyan pretended not to hear, closing her eyes and holding her breath.

In the next instant, the God suddenly leaned down toward her.

Though the God didn’t touch her, she felt her breath catch inexplicably.

Strands of dark hair, carrying an unfamiliar lemon scent, hung near her face, yet maintained a cautious distance. She could sense their presence but not feel their touch.

This slight sense of detachment, so close yet so distant, made her yearn to reach out and grasp those dark strands, or even open her mouth to catch them.

Before Cang Lanyan could escape this uncontrollable emotion, the God had already taken hold of her right wrist, two fingers pressing against her pulse.

Feeling the pressure of God’s fingers on her wrist, Cang Lanyan suddenly grew inexplicably nervous again.

By habit, she should have opened her eyes and sternly told God, “How dare you?”

But her unruly emotions overwhelmed her reason. She felt herself tossed between irritation and joy. If she met God’s gaze now, her secret would surely be revealed.

She had no choice but to maintain her pose of resting with her eyes closed, remaining perfectly still.

Yet God didn’t leave. Instead, she let out a soft, surprised sound, released Cang Lanyan’s wrist, and placed her palm on her forehead.

“No fever,” Cang Lanyan heard her murmur. “Why is her heart beating so fast?”

God was so different from her. Even the palm of her hand felt much warmer than Cang Lanyan’s forehead. This must be the normal body temperature of a “warm-blooded animal,” as described in common knowledge, around 36 to 37 degrees Celsius.

The moment God’s hand touched her, Cang Lanyan felt her body tremble.

It was the kind of tremor that came from extreme fear or cold. For now, she couldn’t understand why her “self” would tremble at such a time, but the sudden surge of longing and reluctance immediately put her on guard.

She remembered the God’s own longing for her yesterday.

Back then, she had secretly mocked the God’s pathetic state in the long night. How ironic that she was now the one being exposed.

Yet she knew this wasn’t the God’s revenge. The God only wanted to keep a respectful distance from her, to avoid developing an unshakeable dependence on her.

This unprecedented loss of emotional control made Cang Lanyan desperately wish for the God to leave quickly.

But she soon realized that if she didn’t “wake up,” the God would only linger by her side even longer.

Yin Ya was on the verge of breaking down again.

Everything that had happened today was beyond her comprehension. She couldn’t understand or explain it using logic.

It was like when she thought she was petting a jellyfish, only to discover it shared a psychic link with the Major Antagonist. Now, she couldn’t fathom why Cang Lanyan’s heart was racing so fast while she was asleep.

This didn’t make sense. When Cang Lanyan was unconscious earlier, Yin Ya had checked her pulse, and it was nowhere near this fast.

Could Cang Lanyan be cultivating in her sleep? But Yin Ya hadn’t written that into the story!

She wanted to wake Cang Lanyan forcefully, but she was afraid that if the other woman was indeed cultivating, her sudden interruption might lead to unforeseen consequences like a qi deviation or demonic possession. So she sat on the edge of the bed, using her phone to search for keywords she could think of while keeping a close eye on Cang Lanyan’s condition.

She even considered taking Cang Lanyan to the hospital for a checkup, but hospitals now require real-name registration, and Cang Lanyan didn’t even have an ID card, making it impossible to register her.

Just as Yin Ya was growing increasingly anxious, she suddenly felt a gentle tug on her sleeve.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

The familiar, cool voice rang in her ear, instantly lifting her spirits.

“I… I just wanted to check on you before going to bed,” Yin Ya replied hastily, glancing at Cang Lanyan. “But your heart was racing, and I couldn’t wake you up, so I didn’t dare go to sleep.”

Though she had only called out once, instinctively lowering her voice for fear of disturbing Cang Lanyan, she figured that with Cang Lanyan’s strength, she should have been able to hear even such a faint sound.

Yin Ya saw Cang Lanyan sit up, her amber eyes half-hidden by strands of snow-white hair, making it impossible to read her expression.

“Go back to sleep,” Cang Lanyan said. “I’m fine.”

Yin Ya finally relaxed.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket, got up, and grabbed the ladder to climb back into her bunk. As she glanced sideways, she noticed Cang Lanyan getting out of bed. For some reason, she turned and called out, “Where are you going?”

“Outside,” Cang Lanyan replied, standing barefoot by the bed with her spare phone in hand. She turned to leave.

“You… why don’t you just read here?” Yin Ya blurted out. “There’s a bedside lamp, it’s bright enough! And it won’t bother me, I promise!”

Truth be told, Yin Ya was a little afraid Cang Lanyan might collapse at the desk while she was asleep, though she couldn’t explain why that thought had even crossed her mind.

Cang Lanyan didn’t answer, but under Yin Ya’s watchful gaze, she walked back to the bed and sat down.

Yin Ya immediately jumped down from the ladder and switched on the small bedside lamp for her.

It was then that she noticed her hot water bottle on the bedside table. Just the second morning after Cang Lanyan had arrived, Yin Ya had even thrown it at her.

Sensing Cang Lanyan’s gaze, Yin Ya quickly took the hot water bottle out of the bedroom, bringing in Cang Lanyan’s unfinished copy of Fortress Besieged as she went.

After finishing everything, Yin Ya returned to her own bed. Before lying down, she remembered to say “Good night” to Cang Lanyan.

As she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts began to wander.

When the Major Antagonist wasn’t being clingy, she was actually quite innocent and harmless, just like that jellyfish. Yin Ya realized she still preferred Cang Lanyan in this state.

Yet she couldn’t help but dwell on Cang Lanyan’s every move when she was being affectionate. The Old Spirit herself seemed like a kind of Gu, her clinginess capable of bewitching Yin Ya completely, making even the thought of resistance difficult to muster.

Just as this thought crossed her mind, Yin Ya felt a familiar heat rising at the back of her neck. The same hollow sensation from the previous night gradually resurfaced, catching her off guard. She groaned softly, curling up instinctively and reaching for the blanket.

Wait a minute… Could Cang Lanyan have actually planted a Gu on her?!

The idea sent a chill down Yin Ya’s spine. The more she considered it, the more convinced she became. She abruptly sat up, clutching the back of her neck and gripping the bed frame. Gritting her teeth, she called down to the lower bunk, “Cang Lanyan,” but she didn’t dare confront her directly.

“What is it?” Cang Lanyan’s voice drifted up quickly.

“You planted something on my neck, didn’t you?” Yin Ya said, a strange unease creeping over her. Yet retracting her words would only make her seem guilty, so she braced herself and waited for the Major Antagonist’s reply.

A moment of silence hung in the air before Cang Lanyan answered, “Come down here and let me see.”

“No way!” Yin Ya knew exactly what Cang Lanyan was planning. Enduring the unbearable emptiness gnawing at her, she threatened, “You’d better remove it right now, or else…”

She hadn’t even finished her threat when a flash of white light blinded her. In the next instant, Cang Lanyan was sitting at the foot of her bed, her glowing amber eyes meeting Yin Ya’s gaze.

Terrified, Yin Ya clutched the blanket and sat up, her back pressed against the headboard.

Now she was even more vulnerable, forced to huddle under the covers and watch helplessly as Cang Lanyan closed in.

“How do you want me to examine it?” After a tense silence, Cang Lanyan’s voice suddenly deepened, a hint of exasperation in her tone.

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