The north wind swept south, carrying light snow with it.
Winter had arrived in a rush this year. Before he could even dig his padded winter clothes out of the bottom of the chest, the weather had already turned cold.
Lin Shile stood on the bed, pulled a blanket from the top of the wardrobe, unfolded it, and spread it across the large mattress beneath his feet.
Once the blanket was in place, he shuffled into the living room in his slippers and rummaged through the neatly stacked books until he found a comic called Wet Night Fruit.
Hugging the comic to his chest, he climbed into bed, perfectly content.
The comic was every bit as addictive as its title suggested, at least to Lin Shile.
The rest of the room was pitch-black. He had left only a desk lamp on, casting a warm yellow glow. In its dim light, he tossed the tissue in his hand into the trash can.
At some point, heavy rain had begun falling outside the window. Thunder rumbled repeatedly, but it did nothing to dampen Lin Shile’s enthusiasm for his comic.
As the thunder gradually faded, the desk lamp began to flicker, as though it were running out of power. Satisfied, he yawned, set the comic aside, stretched, and fell into a deep sleep.
He had finally escaped the production crew and had a little time to rest. He had absolutely no intention of getting up early. Instead, he drifted in and out of sleep three or four times, until his bladder was so full that his stomach ached. Only then did he reluctantly crawl out of bed.
He disliked sharing living space with others. Besides, constantly traveling between the production crew and school was a nuisance, so he had rented an apartment off campus.
Living alone was peaceful. He did not have to worry about anyone else’s feelings. He could leave novels and comics full of explicit scenes scattered across the sofa without fearing that his reputation would be shattered.
His stomach hurt so much that he did not even stop to put on his slippers before rushing to the bathroom.
He rubbed his swollen, aching eyes with one hand. He had just pulled down his pants when he unexpectedly caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror.
Looking at his exposed body in the mirror, he reflexively blurted out a new meme from a certain short-video app: “When it comes to knowing how to play, you really do know how to play.”
Then he froze.
He looked around at the unfamiliar, extravagantly furnished room. If the ache in his lower abdomen had not felt so real, he would have assumed that reading too many comics had driven him to dream about joining the characters in their shameless cohabitation.
The pressure in his lower abdomen was unbearable. If he kept thinking instead of acting, his bladder would explode before his brain did.
He cut off the wild speculation running through his head, bent over, clutched his taut belly, pushed open the door, and hurried toward the actual bathroom.
Once he had taken care of that urgent problem, he collapsed onto the large, soft bed like a wilted iris, utterly spent and at anyone’s mercy.
The warmth of the room and the faint citrus scent in the air lowered his guard. Pushing himself up from the bed, he wandered aimlessly around the spacious, cozy room twice.
He hardly looked like someone burdened with worries. If anything, he seemed to be inspecting his new room, wondering what was missing and what else he ought to add.
For some reason, though, walking felt especially tiring today. After just two laps, he was already a little breathless, and a thin, sticky layer of sweat had soaked the inside of his vest.
He touched his rounded belly. During filming, he really should not have kept inventing excuses to treat himself to fried chicken and soda. Not only had his four abdominal muscles vanished, but he had also gained quite a bit of weight.
His fitness instructor had been right. Wanting a perfect figure while refusing to exercise and indulging every craving was pure fantasy.
Suddenly, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps outside the door.
He glanced warily at the tightly closed wooden door. As the footsteps came closer, he hurried back to bed, dove beneath the blankets, pulled the quilt over himself, and pretended to sleep.
He was a top student in the Performing Arts Department, after all. Pretending to be asleep was well within his abilities.
“Mm, he’s still asleep.”
Lin Shile’s long, raven-feather eyelashes fluttered. He heard the person continue, “The doctor has arrived downstairs. Should we begin the examination now, or wait until Mister Lin wakes up?”
He could not hear what the person on the other end of the phone said. A moment later, a hand settled lightly on his shoulder.
“Mister Lin, wake up.”
“Mister Lin…”
After being called several times, Lin Shile slowly opened his eyes. He feigned a yawn and gazed sleepily at the woman before him. The faint sheen of moisture in his eyes conveniently concealed the fear and unfamiliarity lurking beneath.
The woman looked elegant and gentle. She spoke to Lin Shile softly and carefully, as though afraid of startling a fawn drinking from a stream.
Faced with the unknown, Lin Shile summoned every ounce of his acting ability. His expression remained calm, and the fear in his eyes vanished without a trace.
He gave no sign that anything was wrong. He answered the woman’s questions smoothly, without a hint of nervousness.
The woman did not press him for details. During the brief silence that followed, Lin Shile had no intention of blurting out foolish questions like “Where am I?” or “Who are you?”
He wanted to find out exactly what this kind-looking woman intended to do to him—or, more accurately, what her employer intended.
After what had happened earlier, he had discovered that he was far more resilient than he used to be. If someone told him right now that he had not been kidnapped at all, but had instead caught the eye of a wealthy patron who wanted to keep him as a lover, he might actually believe it.
After all, for someone with enough money, making a person disappear from his own home would be easy.
Seeing him lost in thought, the woman handed him a glass of warm water. “Mister Lin, the doctor has arrived.”
Lin Shile’s pupils trembled slightly. “!!?”
The mention of a doctor made Lin Shile reconsider. Perhaps both his theories—being kept by a rich patron or kidnapped by criminals—were too extreme.
Besides saving lives and healing the injured, what else could doctors do? He believed there was no need to say more. Everyone knew.
Lin Shile took the glass solemnly in both hands and set it on the quilt. On the surface, he appeared perfectly calm. Inside, alarm bells were ringing at full volume.
“May I ask what I need to do during the examination?”
It was an examination he underwent several times a week. How could Lin Shile possibly not know what to do? Aunt Fang suspected that he was asking deliberately to make things difficult for her.
At the thought, her sympathy hardened into thorns. But before those thorns could prick Lin Shile, she forced them back. The master of the house had made it clear that Lin Shile was an honored guest and must be well cared for.
Aunt Fang smiled gently. “You only need to lie on the examination bed. The doctor will take care of everything else.”
The service really was comprehensive.
Aunt Fang had no wish to keep discussing such trivial matters. She rose, took the thin velvet coat from the rack, and draped it over Lin Shile’s shoulders.
“Let’s go, Mister Lin.” Aunt Fang helped him to his feet. “We shouldn’t keep the doctor waiting.”
The elevator doors closed and opened again.
Aunt Fang led him into a room filled with medical equipment. He looked around, and at last his composure faltered. He instinctively stepped back, wanting to flee.
“Mister Lin, there you are.” The doctor slowly wiped the cold, gleaming scalpel in his hand. “Have you been feeling well these past few days?”
Despite the doctor’s warm greeting, Lin Shile felt as though the gleaming scalpel had already cut the tendons in his legs, leaving him unable to run. Before he knew it, he was lying numbly on the soft, warm examination bed while the doctor gently lifted his shirt.
The cold, slippery ultrasound gel made him flinch. His heart pounded wildly, and he felt utterly trapped, unable to do anything to save himself.
Noticing his nerves, the doctor reassured him. “Relax. The baby is very healthy.”
Ba… baby?!
His thoughts dissolved into a buzzing haze. His brain had completely short-circuited.
Only after the doctor finished the examination and left did Lin Shile’s thoughts slowly come back together. And once they did, he finally understood: he had not been kidnapped by criminals or taken by a wealthy patron. He had transmigrated into a book.
Worse, it was that explicit web novel called Mad Dog Delicate Wife Literature.
In that novel, the delicate-wife bottom and the mad-dog top were both strong-willed, so tender exchanges between them were rare. Even in bed, there was more fierce, sweaty passion than sweet talk.
A love story about two lunatics could attract a devoted readership whether it was sweet or bitter, and Lin Shile was among those readers.
Yet at the climax of the story, the bottom saw a small figure sitting with its back to him on the threshold, watching the sunset, and inexplicably asked for a divorce. The top agreed without a moment’s hesitation.
After that, the bottom appeared less and less, replaced by one shameless, seductive flirt after another.
A novel that had once balanced a compelling plot with explicit scenes had sunk into third-rate trash with nothing of substance left.
In Lin Shile’s view, the bottom was a lunatic with no sincerity, and the top was a deranged sex machine.
As the plot fell apart, the bottom’s fans fiercely condemned it in the comments, while the top’s fans defended it just as fiercely. Eventually, both sides turned their anger on the author.
The author, however, seemed entirely unbothered. They merely said that everyone would understand once they read the extras.
Lin Shile was just an ordinary fan of this niche genre. He had no desire to join the endless arguments, so he dropped the novel.
Once he stopped reading, the remaining plot, hidden truths, and extras no longer concerned him. Now, though, he bitterly regretted that decision. By dropping the novel, he had turned an open-book exam into a closed-book one.
There was no helping it now. He would have to leave the questions he could not answer until the end.
For the moment, he needed to focus on what he did know and try to turn in the best answer sheet he could.
For a brief moment, he even felt excited by the unknown. Unfortunately, the excitement did not last.
After racking his brain for the plot, he finally remembered that the delicate-wife bottom did not share his name. No—the character named Lin Shile was the sickly cannon fodder who had schemed to become pregnant with the mad dog’s child!
The realization crushed his last shred of hope.
Perhaps it was the heavy snow outside, or perhaps it was the sharp smell of disinfectant. Whatever the reason, he looked heartbreakingly fragile, as though he might shatter at any moment.
The baby in his belly was affected by his emotions and seemed to become sad as well, turning over and using its little hands to rub its slightly sore eyes.
The baby moved so vigorously that its outline showed through the skin stretched taut over his pregnant belly. Lin Shile looked down at the little bulge and sucked in a frightened breath. Goosebumps rose all over him.
How terrifying.
Was it going to explode?
Watching snowflakes fall beyond the window, he felt a strange sense of unreality: he was alive, yet his fate had already been sealed. Before he could regain his bearings, scenes of the cannon fodder’s life after childbirth flashed through his mind like images in a revolving lantern.
Abandoned. Blacklisted. Hated by the whole internet.
Those dreadful words seemed determined to torment him, gathering one after another. His nose stung, and tears spilled from his eyes. He covered his face with one hand and wept so pitifully that he could scarcely speak between sobs.
He cried until his breaths came in ragged gasps. Even when he could barely catch his breath, he found himself unable to stop the overwhelming tears.
He cursed inwardly. “This cannon fodder really does cry at the drop of a hat. He can cry forever. Damn it!”
“Woof, woof—”
Lost in his misery, Lin Shile was distracted by a dog barking. Eyes red and still shimmering with tears, he tilted his head and met the gaze of the snow-white… Bichon Frise… or was it a mutt?… standing on the floor.
The little dog had a pure white coat, so it was no wonder he had mistaken it for a Bichon Frise at first glance.
As a dog lover, dogs of any breed could always capture Lin Shile’s attention immediately.
His sobs gradually subsided. Lying on his side, Lin Shile reached out to play with the little dog. But the instant he stretched out his hand, it reacted as though it had seen Godzilla in the flesh. It leaped in fright and fled.
Lin Shile: “……”
Was my crying really that ugly? Did I frighten the dog? That can’t be right… I’m the acknowledged campus heartthrob of A University! Even when I cry, I’m still the best-looking person in the world, okay?!
Unhappy…
Once he stopped crying, the servants waiting outside the examination room entered with practiced efficiency. One carried a basin, while the other wrung out a towel soaked in hot water and handed it to Lin Shile.
“Mister Lin, wipe your face.”
Mortified at being caught in such an embarrassing state, Lin Shile wanted to sink into the floor. He lowered his head, wiped his face, returned the towel, and thanked them in a voice made hoarse by crying.
Hearing his thanks, the two servants looked at each other, then lowered their heads even further.
Had they done something wrong again and made Mister Lin unhappy?
