The Villain I Loved Has Broken Free and Transmigrated Out of the Story - Chapter 49

Surrounded by a swarm of jellyfish, Yin Ya cradled a soft, gelatinous creature in her arms, feeling as if her entire body were about to float away.

Could this truly be a dream I can possess?

She couldn’t help but glance at Cang Lanyan. The merfolk who had woven this beautiful dream was lazily reclining on a Water Mirror Chair formed from spiritual power, her legs crossed in a regal pose. Yet, she too held a pink jellyfish, gently stroking it with deliberate slowness.

Sensing her gaze, Cang Lanyan looked up and asked, “What is it?”

“Thank you, Cang Lanyan!” Yin Ya called out, her voice ringing with gratitude. Embarrassed by her outburst, she immediately buried her face in the jellyfish, her heart overflowing with joy.

She had never felt this happy before.

The jellyfish around her continued to swim freely in the seawater. Yin Ya lifted her head, her gaze following them incessantly.

But when the swarm of jellyfish dispersed, allowing the dark sea to reclaim her vision, a sudden sense of loneliness washed over her. She quickly fell into unease, her gaze unconsciously drifting to the shackles on her wrists.

It wasn’t impossible. She’d seen stories like this before.

The protagonist gets everything they want in a world that’s different from reality, only to discover in the end that it was all just a dream while they were unconscious from a serious illness.

When Cang Lanyan admitted that the novel she wrote wasn’t from this time period, these thoughts took root in Yin Ya’s mind.

She couldn’t help but wonder: If Cang Lanyan hadn’t appeared, what would have happened to the version of herself on February 22nd, the day of the split?

The harsh comments in the comment section might have driven her into depression. Best-case scenario, she’d take a break to adjust her mindset. Worst-case scenario, she’d abandon the story, delete her account, and obediently accept her mother’s “request” to find her a stepfather just days later.

…And then? What kind of future would be waiting for her?

Yin Ya didn’t dare think about it. Her hand unconsciously tightened on the jellyfish, her fingers digging into its softness.

She was truly terrified.

The more Yin Ya realized her feelings for Cang Lanyan were growing, the more she feared it was all just a beautiful dream she was having after her misfortune.

Without Cang Lanyan’s companionship, the future would be terrifying.

She couldn’t even confess her emotional block to Cang Lanyan. No one could rescue her from this dilemma, not even Cen Xiang, who had grown up with her, or her mother, who had felt guilty toward her ever since.

“What’s wrong?”

The jellyfish swarm parted obediently before them. Cang Lanyan waded through the water to stand before Yin Ya, her brows slightly furrowed. “You don’t seem as joyful as you were earlier.”

“I was just thinking about something,” Yin Ya murmured. “Something… I shouldn’t be thinking about at a time like this.”

“Tell me,” Cang Lanyan said, moving behind her and embracing her.

Snow-white hair spread in the water, some strands sliding across Yin Ya’s neck and making her heart melt. She instinctively clutched Cang Lanyan’s arm, feeling a sudden wave of intense security that managed to overwhelm the confusion threatening to overwhelm her.

Little by little, she began to articulate her greatest fear.

As these heartfelt words escaped her lips, she felt her worries gradually peel away, as if simply opening her heart to Cang Lanyan could dispel any distress.

In that moment, she finally understood why Cang Lanyan’s people, despite their fear of her, still felt compelled to confide in her.

“Do you suspect that this world we’re in is actually just a dream?” Cang Lanyan asked after listening to her.

“Does that sound absurd?” Yin Ya smiled bitterly. “I’ve lived here for over twenty years, yet I can’t help but think it’s all just a dream.”

“Not entirely absurd,” Cang Lanyan shook her head. “After living nearly two thousand years, I discovered I was merely a character in someone else’s story.”

“But my situation is different from yours,” Yin Ya said, shaking her head despite knowing Cang Lanyan was trying to comfort her. “You’re so strong. No matter what you face, you always find a way to solve it. I’m just an ordinary Human Race member, without spiritual power, and with so little I can actually do…”

“So what?” Cang Lanyan countered.

“I was just thinking… if all of this turns out to be a dream, I’ll be completely devastated when I wake up,” Yin Ya said, lowering her head. “Imagine, in that other world, under those circumstances, I couldn’t even finish writing a single story. What else could I possibly accomplish?”

“Yin Ya.”

Startled by Cang Lanyan’s stern tone, Yin Ya shivered and let out a short, “Ah.”

“Do you think I became strong by sitting around feeling sorry for myself?” Cang Lanyan’s voice carried anger, even as she continued to embrace Yin Ya and whisper in her ear. “When I was your age, I spent my days talking to jellyfish in the Deep Sea and scheming ways to evade the Elders’ surveillance so I could roam freely beyond the Deep Sea.”

“I’m sorry!” Yin Ya blurted out, subconsciously apologizing for having written these “tragic past” stories. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have…”

“Whether those past experiences were real or imagined, fleeting moments of weakness, playfulness, or confusion mean nothing,” Cang Lanyan interrupted. “As long as you’re still alive, even if you’ve lost all your options, there will come a day when you can calmly face what you thought was impossible.”

Yin Ya’s eyes widened.

That’s right. No one understood the meaning of “growth” better than Cang Lanyan, nor anyone who understood her own growth journey better than her.

When Cang Lanyan came of age, she had already lost all the elders who could protect her. But she couldn’t die, nor could she abandon her people, so she stripped away all emotions and desires, forcing herself to confront everything she had never experienced before.

“Even if this is just a dream and you’re just an ordinary member of the Human Race, you can’t break through time and space nor escape this Dream Realm,” Cang Lanyan said. “The only thing you can do is find a way to survive.”

“I never expected you to speak so seriously with me about this,” Yin Ya couldn’t help but sigh. “I thought you would mock me…”

“In your eyes, do you really think I enjoy mocking the weak?” Cang Lanyan’s tone softened, her voice tinged with exasperation.

“You’ve called me weak more than once,” Yin Ya murmured. “But you’re right. The weaker you are, the less you can achieve. I should learn to make myself stronger.”

Noticing Yin Ya’s gaze lingering on the chains, Cang Lanyan reminded her calmly, “I’ve also said there’s no need to rush. A weak person’s endurance is limited. There’s no point in pushing yourself too hard.”

As she spoke, her fingers began to move. The ethereal jellyfish, those mesmerizing illusions, transformed back into spiritual power and vanished into the deep sea.

“Relax enough, and it’s time to go back,” she said. “The longer you stay, the worse the lingering soreness will be.”

Yin Ya obediently nodded. With a single thought, she was instantly transported out of the “Merfolk’s Delight” dream realm, carrying these precious memories with her.

Even before opening her eyes, she felt an unbearable ache in her limbs, a profound weakness washing over her. A growing discomfort in her lower abdomen made her whimper softly.

“Cang Lanyan…” she murmured weakly.

“Does it hurt?” a familiar voice quickly replied.

Yin Ya groaned in response and opened her eyes to see the overhead light already on. She couldn’t help but ask, “What time is it?”

“Just past dusk,” Cang Lanyan answered, reaching over to brush aside strands of hair that were blocking Yin Ya’s view.

The copper chain between her arm cuff and bracelet clinked softly, momentarily distracting Yin Ya. Once she snapped out of her daze, she remembered to take out her phone. Glancing at the screen, she realized it was already dinner time. She tried to sit up, but found she lacked the strength in her arms and legs.

“Repeatedly entering the ‘Merfolk’s Delight’ Dream Realm in such quick succession causes this,” Cang Lanyan explained, sitting beside her. “If you need it, I can transfer some Spiritual Power to ease your discomfort.”

Yin Ya eagerly accepted, but then remembered Cang Lanyan couldn’t initiate physical contact. Panicking, she asked, “What should I do?”

“Take my hand,” Cang Lanyan said, extending her palm.

Yin Ya immediately grasped her fingers, then heard her add, “Interlock your fingers and press your palms together.”

Yin Ya gently separated Cang Lanyan’s fingers with her own, sliding her hand in until their palms were pressed firmly together.

Cang Lanyan’s hand was still cold, giving Yin Ya the sensation of touching ice.

But this coldness was within her body’s acceptable range. After a brief initial shiver, she firmly grasped the back of Cang Lanyan’s hand and, with her other hand, interlaced each of Cang Lanyan’s fingers onto her own hand.

“Is this enough?” Yin Ya asked after completing everything.

Cang Lanyan nodded. “I’ll try first.”

Just as she finished speaking, Yin Ya felt a warmth in her palm, as if a warm current were burrowing into her skin and quickly reaching her aching wrist.

Before long, the ache disappeared, and the warm current continued to travel upward.

Yin Ya could even feel the warm current reaching her shoulder, but at that moment, Cang Lanyan said gravely, “It’s no use. Your rules prohibit my Spiritual Power from entering the torso.”

The “torso” referred to the body part excluding the head, neck, and limbs.

Yin Ya recalled that when she wrote this prohibition, she had indeed been afraid that Cang Lanyan might use her Spiritual Power to manipulate her internal organs. Worried that restricting only the internal organs wouldn’t be enough, she had simply written a blanket prohibition covering the entire torso.

The rules couldn’t be altered now, and regret was useless. She could only turn to Cang Lanyan for help. “What should we do?”

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Cang Lanyan replied.

Yin Ya agreed, but then suddenly remembered her aching ankles—the ones that had been shackled in her dream. In the waking world, they corresponded to her legs.

How was Cang Lanyan supposed to transfer Spiritual Power to her ankles like this?

After switching hands and resuming the “fingers interlocked, palms pressed together” position, Yin Ya’s face flushed involuntarily, and she turned her head away.

“As long as my hands work, that’s enough,” she said, forcing calmness into her voice.

“What about using the restroom and washing up?” Cang Lanyan asked calmly. “Should I carry you?”

This blunt reaction caught Yin Ya off guard. Her composure shattered instantly as she frantically waved her hands. “No, no, no! Just give me some Spiritual Power. I can walk on my own!”

Before she could finish speaking, she heard Cang Lanyan chuckle.

“You’re really that reluctant to be carried by me?” Cang Lanyan’s voice was soft and teasing. “You didn’t seem this resistant when I carried you down from the upper bunk earlier.”

“That’s different!” Yin Ya protested instinctively. “Whether it’s being carried to the restroom or to wash up, it’s just too embarrassing!”

As she spoke, an image of Cang Lanyan carrying her while she brushed her teeth flashed through her mind, making her feel utterly mortified.

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