Chapter 7: Protagonist’s Halo

Chapter 7: Plot Armor

Xiao Yan was stunned for a moment himself.

His body had moved faster than his mind, and by the time he realized it, his hand was already reaching out.

Damn muscle memory!

He just felt that a guy like Liu Qingci shouldn't have to kneel, whether to him or to anyone else.

Xiao Yan quickly adjusted his expression on the surface and let go.

He then turned his gaze to Fu'an, who was also somewhat stunned, his voice dripping with his usual impatience and gloom:

"Enough, all this kneeling and scraping at dawn—it's giving me a headache."

Fu'an quickly bowed and kept saying, "This servant spoke out of turn, disturbing Your Highness's peace."

But in his heart, he was startled and uncertain—was His Highness being unusually lenient today?

Liu Qingci stood there frozen, the fleeting touch and warmth on his wrist lingered, making him curl his fingers discreetly.

He had been pulled up, so all he could do was stand there stiffly.

Xiao Yan's eyes swept over Liu Qingci's faded old robe again.

He let out a cold snort all of a sudden and spoke to Fu'an, who stood with hands at his sides, his tone dripping with criticism:

"Is Prince Yu's mansion so broke it can't even cough up a decent outfit?"

Fu'an said nervously, "Well..."

Xiao Yan raised his chin slightly, indicating Liu Qingci's direction:

"He's a man of Prince Yu's household. Dressed like this—is he trying to embarrass me?"

Fu'an's heart jumped upon hearing this, and he quickly bowed and answered:

"Yes, I'll take care of it right away, making sure Young Master Liu is dressed properly."

Xiao Yan then closed his eyes again, as if he'd lost interest, as if the whole thing was just a passing whim.

He called up the system in his mind.

"Little K, how is it?"

Little K: "Host, you rock! (*≧▽≦) First mission complete!"

Xiao Yan breathed a little easier hearing that.

Since there was no more plot to go through, he looked at Liu Qingci's stiff demeanor and figured if he made him stay here, he'd have a mental breakdown. So he ordered Fu'an to send him back to the Listening Bamboo Courtyard.

His eyes followed Liu Qingci's fragile figure—fragile enough to break at a touch, until it vanished through the hall door. That brief relief in Xiao Yan's heart gave way to something heavier.

He was quiet for a second, then couldn't help asking in his head:

"Little K, Liu Qingci's so beat up and weak—can he really take the original owner's repeated abuse? Can he even make it out of Prince Yu's mansion alive?"

"Chill, host!" Little K replied cheerfully, with that typical naive system optimism, "Of course he can! Because he's the protagonist! Protagonists have plot armor—they don't die that easily!"

Plot armor...

Yeah, when he read the book, he'd also taken it for granted that protagonists always make it through any mess, and all the suffering is just setup for later.

The suffering described in words, separated by the pages, felt distant—like a hazy view from afar, knowing it was tragic but not really feeling it.

But not anymore.

That person was standing right in front of him, flesh and blood.

The injuries were real. The pain was real.

Xiao Yan pulled himself together and asked:

"When's the next plot mission?"

Little K checked and said, "The next plot point is in three days—the mission will drop that day!"

So he was basically free for the next two days, as long as he didn't act out of character.

Xiao Yan took out the jade ring he'd swiped from Liu Qingci last night from his bosom and dangled it in front of his face.

The edges were smooth and rounded—clearly a treasured thing he often fiddled with.

A real gentleman doesn't take what someone cherishes.

He'd gone to all that trouble to snatch it just for the mission—he needed to find a chance to give it back.

Listening Bamboo Courtyard.

Yun Feng paced back and forth in front of the shabby courtyard gate, practically wearing a groove in the ground.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up sharply.

He saw his young master being followed by several eunuchs walking toward him, one of whom was that lackey eunuch from Prince Yu's side.

Yun Feng immediately rushed forward: "Young master!"

Then he looked warily at Fu'an—he remembered this man! Three days ago, it was he who had led people to viciously beat the young master!

And now his young master was being brought back by this same man!

"Young master, are you alright? Did they beat you again?" Yun Feng rushed forward, his voice trembling, his eyes anxiously scanning Liu Qingci.

"I'm fine."

Liu Qingci replied softly, his voice weak but no longer faint.

Seeing the young servant's panicked demeanor, Fu'an let out a cold snort:

"Young Master Liu, since you've been delivered, this servant will go back to report to His Highness. Rest well."

With that, he flicked his duster, turned, and strode away with the two younger eunuchs.

Yun Feng didn't turn back until those figures disappeared beyond the courtyard gate. He grabbed Liu Qingci's arm, his voice still shaky with fear: "Young master, what did that Prince Yu do to you? Are you really alright? Don't lie to me!"

"Really, he didn't do anything to me."

Liu Qingci lowered his gaze, his voice as light as a breeze, carrying a dazedness that even he himself couldn't understand.

Hearing this, Yun Feng's eyes widened. Only then did he notice that his young master had changed into a brocade robe.

They had come to Prince Yu's residence with nothing but the thin, worn clothes on their backs.

But now it was already late autumn, and those clothes were far from enough to keep out the cold. In the past few days, they had been freezing in this drafty Bamboo Listening Courtyard.

Today, after returning from Prince Yu's residence, the young master had changed clothes, and that brocade robe looked finely made, thick, and warm.

Could the cruel Prince Yu suddenly be so kind?

Liu Qingci did not explain further.

He walked slowly into the room, his gaze sweeping over the window lattice, still dilapidated, and the tabletop covered with a thin layer of dust. A strange sense of unreality enveloped him.

Everything from the previous night was like a surreal dream.

The impossibly soft brocade mattress beneath him, the relief on his back wound from lying prone—something he hadn't felt in a long time—and even... that meal of dishes tested for poison which he had thought was just another humiliation, yet unexpectedly soothed his cramping stomach.

All of this.

Compared to the bloodshed and torment he had imagined when he was dragged to the bedchamber in fear and trepidation.

Was completely different.