The Villain I Loved Has Broken Free and Transmigrated Out of the Story - Chapter 9

Yin Ya always believed that her love for Cang Lanyan was matched only by her guilt.

In her original conception, Cang Lanyan was merely a background villain, pulling strings from the shadows. Though she orchestrated several pivotal plot twists, the character herself never directly intervened. Instead, she remained safely ensconced within the barrier-protected sea, content to be a detached Guardian God, untouched by worldly affairs.

But blinded by the allure of profit, Yin Ya had piled on a hodge-podge of embellishments to Cang Lanyan’s character, like stacking buffs in a video game. This transformed her into a divine figure, held aloft by her people, untethered from earthly concerns—a God who had never even tasted a simple bowl of lamb noodle soup.

The reason she was moved was because the guilt and regret in her heart had finally been filled.

But this fleeting sense of emotion was quickly overwhelmed by the confusion and bewilderment that followed.

Yin Ya had never written a detailed description of Cang Lanyan personally administering punishment. Mainly because she imagined it would be too gory, fearing it wouldn’t pass the censors and most readers wouldn’t want to read it anyway. So she simply glossed over it, like skipping through a boring scene in a play, setting the mood and atmosphere before jumping to the next plot point with an ellipsis.

But after personally experiencing the punishment, Yin Ya felt her mind fill with a hundred thousand question marks.

Gory? She hadn’t bled, hadn’t even felt pain. It was just some unknown, slippery thing crawling all over her neck.

Even more absurd was that, based on her years of writing experience, this punishment seemed more like… something between lovers with… special interests…

The thought had barely surfaced when Yin Ya shuddered violently and immediately stamped it out.

Absolutely not!

The Big Villain she’d written was an innate deity who, through various experiences, had voluntarily suppressed all emotions and desires, becoming nearly indifferent. At most, she maintained a carefully controlled facade to facilitate her actions.

Even Yin Ya, who usually enjoyed writing side pairings, refused to pair the Big Villain romantically. To her, romantic entanglements would be an insult to Cang Lanyan’s divine nature. As a decisive and ruthless Guardian God, Cang Lanyan was fundamentally different from those ordinary merfolk consumed by passion.

Therefore, the Big Villain’s grip around her neck must be a punishment. Out of consideration for Yin Ya’s hospitality, she was merely giving a superficial scare; otherwise, her neck would likely have been snapped on the spot.

Afraid of drawing Cang Lanyan’s attention and worsening the punishment, Yin Ya quickly glanced at her a few times before averting her gaze. She focused instead on the slippery sensation around her neck, battling the unknown fear.

After what felt like an eternity, the constraining force suddenly dissipated, and the slickness vanished.

Yin Ya’s legs, already trembling from terror, buckled instantly as the restraint was released. She collapsed to her knees with a thud. The sharp pain shooting up from her knees elicited a short gasp, followed by a hiss as she drew in a sharp breath.

Cang Lanyan didn’t hear Yin Ya’s voice. She remained on her knees, too shaken to get up or even dare to peek at the Big Villain.

After finishing her last bite of lamb noodle soup, Cang Lanyan finally spoke. “Why did you think I wouldn’t like it?”

Yin Ya couldn’t possibly tell the truth, so she improvised on the spot. “The first time I took a friend for noodles, she couldn’t handle the extra ingredients.”

“I’m not human,” Cang Lanyan reminded her.

“I’m sorry, I acted presumptuously!” Yin Ya seized the chance to apologize. She had been so terrified earlier that she’d forgotten to even apologize. “I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have made decisions for you. It won’t happen again!”

“Get up,” Cang Lanyan said, her voice flat. “Don’t forget this Divine Punishment.”

Yin Ya instinctively touched her neck and replied shakily, “Yes, I’ll never forget it.”

Even after the punishment ended, she still hadn’t figured out what that slippery substance was. It wasn’t mentioned in the character profile she’d just reviewed.

Perhaps the good food improved the Big Villain’s mood. After finishing her soup, she stopped bothering Yin Ya and focused on flipping through the bilingual dictionary.

Finally finding an excuse to retreat to her room, Yin Ya closed the door behind her, climbed up to the top bunk, and opened her laptop. She scrambled to get back into writing mode, reviewing the previous plot while brainstorming the next developments.

The protagonist was still unaware that the Big Villain had vanished. According to the previous chapters, they were still preparing for battle.

What should they do before learning this shocking news?

Yin Ya pondered this as she opened a document and began drafting a new chapter.

She discovered that not only could she not write Cang Lanyan back into the story, but she couldn’t even describe her appearance. Any sentence containing “Cang Lanyan” and words like “appear” or “show up” would vanish from the document within three seconds.

It was as if some force had erased Cang Lanyan’s existence from the book, leaving even the author powerless to intervene.

Yin Ya had no choice but to take a roundabout approach. She focused on fleshing out the protagonist’s situation, advancing both their emotional development and the plot, bit by bit. She filled in the emotional gaps from previous chapters and sprinkled in some sweet moments.

Fully immersed in writing for an afternoon, she managed to produce a 4,000-word update. Just as she was about to write more, the tightly shut door suddenly swung open, but no one was there.

Realizing the Big Villain likely needed her, Yin Ya immediately stopped her train of thought. She quickly wrapped up the chapter, copied it to the website’s backend, and published it.

After shutting down her computer, Yin Ya immediately got out of bed and asked as she walked into the living room, “Is there anything you need help with?”

She saw Cang Lanyan still sitting in the same spot, but instead of flipping through a simplified and traditional Chinese character dictionary, she was reading Journey to the West.

“I need to bathe,” Cang Lanyan said, closing the book and placing it aside, a smile on her face.

Yin Ya sensed her good mood and responded promptly, “Please follow me.”

She entered the bathroom first, turned on the light, and waited for Cang Lanyan to join her before pointing to the bathtub and asking, “Would you like cold water, warm water, or hot water?”

“Cold water is fine,” Cang Lanyan replied. “And I want petals.”

Yin Ya had put away the dried petals earlier, but without hesitation, she retrieved the small jar and opened it. Just as she was about to sprinkle them into the bathtub, Cang Lanyan corrected her: “Fresh flowers.”

“…We don’t have fresh flowers at home. I’d have to order them from a florist,” Yin Ya said. She knew Cang Lanyan would make requests, but having just endured what she called “Divine Punishment,” the Big Villain hadn’t asked, so she hadn’t gone out of her way to prepare anything extra.

“How long will that take?” Cang Lanyan asked.

“It’s hard to say. It depends on what kind of flowers you want and whether the shop has them in stock,” Yin Ya replied honestly.

“Is that so?” Cang Lanyan glanced at the cabinet where Yin Ya had retrieved the dried flowers. “What are all those bottles and jars?”

“They’re body cleansing agents,” Yin Ya explained, translating the bath products into terms Cang Lanyan could understand. “There are also some essential oils, but…”

She nearly blurted out the considerate remark, “They have quite a strong scent,” but the Big Villain’s gaze made her change tack. “Actually, essential oils are best used in hot water.”

“Enough. I don’t like hot water.” Cang Lanyan frowned slightly. “Just add water and prepare some Night Fragrance for me soon.”

Yin Ya froze, her hand lingering over the faucet.

She finally remembered why Cang Lanyan carried a faint minty scent.

“Night Fragrance” was another name for mint. Yin Ya had once described a scene where Cang Lanyan was bathing, and the emerald leaves floating on the water’s surface were mint leaves.

But… why would the Big Villain think mint leaves were flower petals?

*****

Yin Ya was baffled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw all the water draining out of the bathtub and quickly grabbed a stopper to plug the drain.

As she did, she reminded Cang Lanyan, “Just plug the drain with this in the future. There’s no need to waste your spiritual power creating jellyfish.”

“Do you really hate jellyfish that much?” Cang Lanyan asked out of the blue.

“Not exactly, it’s just…” Yin Ya stumbled over her words for a moment before managing, “I’m worried you’ll run out of spiritual power.”

This was true. When she wrote or read modern fantasy novels, the setting almost always involved “spiritual power scarcity.”

Even though Yin Ya wasn’t great at physics, she knew the law of conservation of energy: spiritual power used was spiritual power lost, and it could only be replenished from external sources.

Spiritual power scarcity meant it was difficult to find external sources to replenish one’s reserves. If intake consistently lagged behind consumption, one’s innate spiritual power would gradually be depleted.

She spoke earnestly, but the Big Villain chuckled. “Worrying about nothing.”

“…I’m not,” Yin Ya retorted.

“Don’t think of me as weak like the Human Clan,” Cang Lanyan said leisurely, driving in a second jab.

Yin Ya simply shut her mouth. She had the feeling that spending a few more days with the Big Villain would give her an ulcer.

The faucet continued to faithfully spray cold water. Yin Ya, who didn’t want to talk to the Big Villain, took out her phone and was searching for a shop that sold fresh mint. Suddenly, there was a splash. She turned around and saw a sky-blue fish tail arcing high into the air, its scales glistening in the light.

Yin Ya was so startled she nearly dropped her phone.

She didn’t know what had possessed the Big Villain to suddenly reveal her True Form in front of her. Normally, Great Monsters who had cultivated to a certain level and could maintain human form were loath to reveal their True Form in public.

Because revealing one’s True Form meant their cultivation was still immature, and that they were not yet strong enough.

Mermen had fish tails and human torsos, and even in their true form, they retained half their human appearance. Yet Cang Lanyan’s flimsy, barely-there silk robe had vanished, leaving her snow-white skin completely exposed to Yin Ya’s gaze.

Cang Lanyan was now reclining in the bathtub, her face covered in scales, her eyes narrowed into sultry slits, making her look even more bewitching. Her fish-fin-like ears had grown larger, and her fish tail slapped the water from time to time, seemingly dissatisfied with the cramped bathtub.

“You…”

Their eyes met, and Yin Ya suddenly lost the power of speech. She got stuck on “you” and couldn’t finish her sentence.

Yin Ya watched Cang Lanyan raise her right hand. Light swirled in her palm, quickly forming a palm-sized vortex.

The vortex spun faster and faster, its edges smoothing into a perfect circle. Within seconds, a transparent jellyfish materialized in Cang Lanyan’s palm. One tentacle lazily lifted upward and swayed gently, as if waving hello to Yin Ya.

Before Yin Ya could figure out the Big Villain’s intentions, she heard her say, “Even at my weakest, I can manifest my spiritual power.”

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