The Villain I Loved Has Broken Free and Transmigrated Out of the Story - Chapter 45

“You’re really afraid of me now? Did you come up with this so-called punishment on the spot after I used the pot without permission?”

Cang Lanyan suddenly asked.

Yin Ya was startled, but she quickly regained her composure and calmly retorted, “What else would it be?”

Cang Lanyan chuckled softly. “You could have simply written a rule to prohibit me, yet you insisted on this utterly ineffective ‘punishment.’ Your ulterior motive is painfully obvious.”

“This…” Yin Ya was instantly speechless.

Writing a rule would indeed have been the most convenient and enforceable punishment. But she had genuinely only thought of using ginger soup to “spice up” Cang Lanyan. Even now, the idea of a prohibition hadn’t crossed her mind.

Cang Lanyan’s words left even Yin Ya feeling perplexed. What exactly had been her motive when deciding on this punishment? Was it truly just about experiencing the thrill of dominating someone without relying on rules?

She couldn’t help but glance at Cang Lanyan, who had seen through her. But this time, Cang Lanyan didn’t elaborate further. Instead, she picked up the bowl and tilted her head back, draining the entire bowl of ginger soup in one gulp.

Yin Ya stared in astonishment.

Was this Old Spirit really the same Merfolk who had been stunned by a single sip of ginger soup just moments ago?

“I don’t particularly enjoy the sharp sting of pain,” Cang Lanyan said, setting down her bowl. “But I’m willing to try a little bit of it.”

Yin Ya snapped out of her daze, guessing that Cang Lanyan was talking about her tolerance for spiciness. She nodded. “I understand. In the future, when I make cold dishes or dressings, I’ll use less spice.”

Cang Lanyan smoothly changed the subject, perhaps to find a way out of accepting punishment, or perhaps to tease Yin Ya. Playing it safe, Yin Ya decided to go along with the new topic.

It seemed that dominating the strong through unconventional means would remain just a fleeting dream for now. At least for now, she couldn’t even manage to argue with Cang Lanyan.

Once the ginger soup had cooled enough, Yin Ya picked up her bowl, intending to drink it all in one go.

But the “lethal dose” of minced ginger left her eyes watering before she’d even finished half the bowl. She hurriedly poured herself a glass of warm water.

“Looks like you’re not so good with spicy food either,” Cang Lanyan said, arms crossed, watching with amusement.

“Ginger’s heat is different from chili peppers’!” Yin Ya corrected in a single breath, gulping down several mouthfuls of water.

She had underestimated the potency of the lethal dose of minced ginger. Worried about her stomach, she poured half the ginger soup into a bowl of warm water. Just as she was about to discard the remaining half, a hand reached out and took it.

“You’re throwing it away? Forget the spicy pain, it actually suits my taste.” Cang Lanyan calmly explained, meeting Yin Ya’s astonished gaze.

Yin Ya couldn’t understand her logic, but since even Cang Lanyan didn’t mind drinking her leftover soup, she didn’t stop her. After finishing the diluted ginger soup, washing the dishes, and returning to her bedroom, she continued writing.

The ginger soup and Uterus Warming Patch were working their magic. Soon after settling into bed, Yin Ya felt a warm glow spread throughout her body. The discomfort usually brought on by her period hadn’t yet appeared, but she remained vigilant.

After all, it was only day one. Her period pain typically struck on the second or third day.

…Come to think of it, it was also the first day of school.

Mentally cursing her luck, Yin Ya put on her headphones and adjusted her position. But just as she placed her hand on the keyboard, she noticed someone had appeared at the foot of her bed.

“I thought you’d be resting,” Cang Lanyan said, sitting cross-legged and glancing at the computer.

“I want to write as much as I can while I still can,” Yin Ya said solemnly, removing one of her headphones. “The bleeding will be at its heaviest the next two days, and I have to report to school the day after tomorrow. I’m not sure I’ll have the energy to write then.”

“You’re fine for now, and you don’t need to work. Why are you in such a hurry?” Cang Lanyan asked, puzzled.

“Who knows what the future holds, or when disaster will strike?” Yin Ya tapped her fingernails lightly on the keyboard. “I once heard that even if a story ends, the characters will continue living in their world, in their own way, regardless of the author’s condition.”

“They might live, age, fall ill, and die, but the world won’t collapse. Future generations will carry on their stories.”

“So, you want to finish this story as soon as possible?” Cang Lanyan asked.

“Yes, I want to finish it as soon as possible,” Yin Ya nodded. “But to be honest, before I learned about your future, I didn’t know how to write the ending. You’re a crucial villain, and I didn’t want to give you a perfunctory exit. That would be disrespectful to your character.”

She looked at Cang Lanyan. “No matter how hard I try, after you went missing, I couldn’t bring you back into the story. But if you’d decided to enter hibernation at that time, your exit would be logical and reasonable. Once I flesh out that part, your storyline will be neatly wrapped up.”

“So you have an idea now?” Cang Lanyan glanced at the computer screen.

“Sort of,” Yin Ya replied, instinctively shielding the screen. “Don’t look yet! I haven’t fully worked it out!”

Seeing Cang Lanyan raise an eyebrow, she quickly added, “I’ll show it to you after I finish writing. If you think it’s reasonable, I’ll publish it.”

“Is that so?” Cang Lanyan narrowed her eyes. “Even though I haven’t seen the main character’s introduction?”

“But you’ve experienced that situation before, and now that you’ve regained the Seven Emotions and Six Desires, you should be able to empathize with the character better than I can,” Yin Ya countered.

Cang Lanyan met her gaze calmly, then vanished from Yin Ya’s sight in the next instant.

“Figures. Asking a big villain to proofread your story is a bad idea,” Yin Ya sighed inwardly, watching the empty foot of the bed. She plugged in her headphones, opened her playlist, and resumed working on her draft.

Outside the bedroom, Cang Lanyan sat back down at her desk and opened the reading app on her phone, following her memory. She stared at the gaudy cover for a few seconds before finally tapping it open.

This was the “e-book” created by the Human race, allowing her to adjust the font size and flip through pages at will. Still, she hadn’t quite gotten used to it yet.

Following the reading tips that popped up during the app’s first use, she slowly tapped through the screen, watching familiar names and places scroll by. For some reason, she felt a sudden emptiness in her heart, but the void quickly filled itself.

She couldn’t understand why this emptiness appeared and vanished so quickly. Perhaps it was another unfamiliar emotion creeping in.

Cang Lanyan, accustomed to setting such feelings aside, continued reading.

Unlike her own story, the protagonists’ lives were peaceful and overly sweet—her immediate judgment. From their first meeting to the gradual blossoming of affection, their days passed without a ripple. Their only conflicts arose from petty disagreements every few days, like arguing over whether tonight’s scallops should be grilled or steamed, or why he insisted on wearing the clothes she made him instead of the color she disliked.

This kind of petty squabble was childish and boring. To Cang Lanyan, the two so-called protagonists acted like immature merfolk.

She’d never read a story like this before. Curiosity piqued, she flipped through the pages to pass the time.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when the bedroom door creaked open, snapping her back to reality.

Yin Ya was replying to the delivery rider. As usual, she tiptoed to the door, listening for the rider’s footsteps to fade before opening it to retrieve the takeout boxes.

“Chicken noodle soup.” She held up one of the boxes and gestured toward Cang Lanyan before placing it on the coffee table near the computer desk. “I’m on my period, so I asked for two mild versions, but I also got some extra chili sauce for you to spice it up yourself.”

After setting down the small container of chili sauce, Yin Ya began unwrapping her own takeout.

Just as she poured the separately packaged noodles into the soup, the light dimmed as Cang Lanyan sat across from her, peeling off the plastic lid and disposable chopsticks.

“You’re quite skilled at this,” Yin Ya said, stirring the noodles and soup together. “This is different from rice noodles. Rice noodles are less prone to clumping, but when noodles and soup sit for too long, they can become sticky and affect the texture. That’s why they’re usually packaged separately, to be mixed by the customer when served.”

She mixed the noodles and soup for Cang Lanyan as well, then sat back down, took off her glasses, and took a satisfying bite. With a hint of regret, she added, “Actually, this restaurant’s spicy chicken noodle is the best. The spice is so satisfying. It’s a shame.”

Cang Lanyan was sprinkling chili sauce on her noodles. Hearing this, she picked up a noodle covered in bright red chili sauce and asked calmly, “Do you want to feel satisfied?”

Yin Ya nearly choked on her words, waving her hands frantically. “No, no! I’ll order it myself after my period is over.”

How does this Old Spirit manage to say something so suggestive while sounding so serious?!

After refusing, Yin Ya lowered her head and continued eating.

Little did she know, that earlier comment was just the beginning.

“What are these chicken threads?” Cang Lanyan asked, holding a few strands between her chopsticks.

“They’re just thinly sliced chicken strips, usually from the breast,” Yin Ya replied.

“Why not use larger pieces of meat?” Cang Lanyan pressed.

“The threads absorb flavors better, and I personally prefer meat prepared this way,” Yin Ya explained. “Strips, slices, and minced meat are all good. If you want larger pieces, I’d order diced hot and sour chicken or a whole drumstick.”

“Hot and sour chicken?” Cang Lanyan frowned.

“It’s not what you’re thinking!” Sensing the shift in her tone, Yin Ya quickly corrected herself. “Let’s finish the noodles first. I’ll look up the origin of the name later.”

Cang Lanyan nodded and resumed eating.

But before long, Yin Ya noticed her conversation partner had become noticeably more talkative.

In fact, before, the Old Spirit hardly spoke while eating. At most, she’d offer a casual remark or two in response to questions like “Is it good?”, usually with Yin Ya doing most of the explaining.

Unlike now, when Cang Lanyan asks questions about any new food she tries, even a small bite.

Back and forth, Yin Ya vaguely felt this way of interacting was familiar. She couldn’t quite remember who she’d seen do it, but before she could really start thinking about it, the time it took to finish a bowl of noodles, Cang Lanyan picked up the box and went out to throw away the trash.

After brushing her teeth and returning to her bedroom, Yin Ya sat down at her computer and began writing the scene where the main characters interacted during dinner. Suddenly, the source of that déjà vu sensation from earlier crashed into her mind.

She immediately opened the full-text search function, searching for a keyword from memory. Quickly, she located the scene where the male lead was trying to get closer to the female lead early in their acquaintance.

The same situation, eating together, the same line, “humbly seeking advice.”

Yin Ya hadn’t eaten any Sichuan peppercorns at lunch, but now she felt her entire body was numb.

Support The Villain I Loved Has Broken Free and Transmigrated Out of the Story