They quickly arrived at their destination, and as they stepped out of the car, they resumed their cautious, distant attitudes, as if by tacit agreement.

In front of them stood a well-known bar in X City. Wen Muyan gestured politely, inviting Xiao Han to enter first.

The bar only came to life at night; in broad daylight, it remained quiet with just a handful of customers. Wen Muyan led Xiao Han through the establishment until they stopped in front of a door marked with a discreet sign: Authorized Personnel Only.

Behind that door lay the true heart of the business. A lavishly decorated room opened into several adjacent chambers, where slot machines gleamed under dim lighting. The air buzzed with tension—bloodshot-eyed gamblers fixated on their games, while service staff moved attentively yet discreetly, careful not to disrupt the atmosphere. Two heavy doors separated the casino from the outer bar, allowing only carefully vetted guests to gain access.

Xiao Han followed Wen Muyan without a word, his expression unreadable. As they strolled past the tables, a beautiful waitress approached, elegantly dressed and carrying a tray of drinks. She offered them each a glass of wine without speaking, then slipped silently away.

“So, what do you think? Is Young Master Xiao satisfied?” Wen Muyan asked with a confident smile, sipping his drink.

“Not bad,” Xiao Han replied with a slight nod. “I hope your other businesses won’t disappoint me.”

Wen Muyan’s smile tightened slightly. “Young Master Xiao doesn’t need to worry about that.”

Amused by his earnest tone, Xiao Han gave a wry smile. The scenario was clearly nearing its conclusion. He shot Wen Muyan a teasing look. “Since you call this a bar, don’t you think it’s appropriate to buy me a drink?”

“Of course,” Wen Muyan replied with a knowing laugh.

Xiao Han turned to his men. “I’ll have a drink with Mr. Wen. You can go back first.”

Immediately, his guards began to protest, clearly uneasy about leaving their young master alone with someone as unpredictable as Wen Muyan.

“I’ll call you if necessary,” Xiao Han said nonchalantly. Holding his wine glass in one hand and tucking the other into his pocket, he walked toward the bar with the casual air of someone who owned the place.

“But, young master…”

“Are you afraid I’ll eat your young master or something?” Wen Muyan joked, blocking the door with his arm. This time, freed from the script’s constraints, his smile wasn’t warm—it made the guards shiver.

The door shut behind them, sealing the two men in a space that exuded privacy. The men exchanged uncertain glances but obeyed the order. A few remained behind to guard the entrance, ready to act at a moment’s notice.

Inside, the room was built for discretion. If no one rang for service, no one would interrupt them. A long sofa stretched along one wall, facing a coffee table littered with drinks, dice, and poker cards. Across from it, a large rear-projection screen and a karaoke system completed the setup.

Wen Muyan glanced toward the glass door, making sure no one was eavesdropping. But when he turned back around, he froze.

Xiao Han, now seated on the sofa, was already undressing.

Wen Muyan’s heart skipped a beat. He stammered, “Are you… taking off your clothes?”

Xiao Han frowned and tossed his coat aside. Then he shrugged off his vest, leaving only his white shirt. As he unbuttoned it, firm chest and abdominal muscles came into view. He rolled up his sleeves to the elbows and fanned himself with a hand.

“What a sweltering day… Why did I think it was a good idea to act all fancy in a jacket? This damn Indian summer is unbearable. Where’s the air conditioning?”

He gave Wen Muyan a curious look. “I have to say, not only are your acting skills impressive, but you’ve got great heat resistance. Quite the athlete, huh?”

Even though Xiao Han’s face and figure matched Wen Muyan’s type exactly, there were more pressing matters at hand than sexual attraction. Wen Muyan firmly shoved the temptation aside.

As Xiao Han sprawled out on the sofa, still muttering to himself and fiddling with the air conditioning remote, Wen Muyan turned toward him and asked seriously, “How did you become the ‘top bastard Xiao Han’?”

Xiao Han froze mid-motion. After a moment of silence, he shook his head gravely. “I don’t know either. The first script wasn’t even this imperial stuff—it was set in a modern world. This is already my third world.”

“…So that’s how it is,” Wen Muyan murmured, his expression softening with compassion. He poured them both a drink, brought his glass to his lips, and muttered darkly, “When I woke up, wearing ancient Chinese clothes and surrounded by girls calling me ‘Prince’ with such reverence… I almost pissed myself in fear.”

Xiao Han lifted his glass, clinked it lightly against Wen Muyan’s, and patted his shoulder with a sigh. “I understand.”

Tears of empathy welled up in Wen Muyan’s eyes again. “...Apart from the script itself, I keep having this weird dream. I see the two of us in modern clothes… and, I think I even hit you,” he said, frowning as if trying to remember something distant and buried.

Xiao Han thought for a while, then replied, “I think that was my first life.”

He quickly summarized the events of his first script, ending with a dejected sigh.

“At that time, I had no idea what the consequences would be. I chose to defy the script... Who could’ve predicted that it would send me into a second world?”

This time, Wen Muyan tried to comfort him. “Actually, I have an idea of the consequences of violating the rules…”

“How do you know?” Xiao Han asked in surprise, raising his head.

The other looked at him with palpable sympathy. “The script showed me the scene of your death—in a car accident.”

A heavy silence fell. Xiao Han remained expressionless. “…What kind of comfort is this, exactly?” he finally blurted.

Though the moment lent itself to a touching scene where one might shed a tear upon hearing the tragic past of the other, Wen Muyan burst out laughing, entirely unrepentant. Xiao Han drained his glass in one swift gulp, the burning alcohol scratching his throat, then poured himself another.

“You knew you were going to die if you broke the rules. So why, when we were almost at the end of the script, did you decide to throw it all away?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

Wen Muyan sighed deeply. “You can’t understand.”

He clinked his glass against Xiao Han's and continued bitterly, “You're probably in the same state as me. We can glimpse the scenes to come, but never the complete end of the scenario.”

Seeing Xiao Han nod in agreement, he took a long sip before going on,

“So, when we finally reached this point in the script, I discovered it required me to accept Zhuo Fan’s request, head to the battlefield to help you, and ultimately take a fatal arrow for you. I was supposed to be cannon fodder—complete my mission, and then die!”

Xiao Han was speechless at the revelation.

Wen Muyan slammed his fist on the table in anger. “I was destined to die anyway! Why do I always have to be the supporting character?! Rather than letting the plot manipulate me, I might as well do what I want and have fun!”

“Well said!” Xiao Han burst out laughing and threw an arm around Wen Muyan’s neck. “By the way, when I saw how you scolded Zhuo Fan, it was really satisfying.”

In no time, a pile of empty bottles had accumulated on the table. Wen Muyan’s cheeks were flushed—whether from the alcohol or the warmth of the atmosphere, it was hard to say. Leaning his forehead against Xiao Han’s cheek, one hand resting on his back, he chuckled as if recalling something hilarious.

“Don’t even mention it. Watching you play your part in the last world, acting all serious—I had to hold back my laughter until my stomach hurt! Who would’ve thought that beneath your cold, gloomy exterior, you were actually such a child…”

Even in his drunken state, Xiao Han remained alert. He kicked Wen Muyan, snapping, “Who are you calling a kid? You’re the child here!”

“Oh really? Was it me who came up with the childish idea of putting underwear on people’s heads for revenge?” Wen Muyan gently slapped his cheek, provoking him.

Xiao Han grabbed his hand and sneered, “You're no better! You look like a dutiful, respectable man, but you’re full of mischief underneath it all, always putting on that moralizing air!”

Wen Muyan scoffed, “You really can't make a silk handbag out of a pig's ear!”
(NT: metaphor for the impossibility of turning something basic or mediocre into something refined or high-quality.)

Xiao Han shot back without hesitation, “Show me your silk bag, then!”

“...”

Their eyes locked, brimming with mutual annoyance. Wen Muyan, refusing to stoop to his level, took a step back and sighed with exasperation. “Come on. Let’s drink a little more.”

Even though the script had blessed Xiao Han with decent alcohol tolerance, he couldn’t keep up with the pace. His head was starting to spin. Wen Muyan, though slightly more sober, wasn’t far behind. He had taken off his coat because of the heat but still appeared relatively lucid—talking more than he drank.

“Well, you didn’t tell me. How did you die last time?” Xiao Han asked, slumping onto the sofa, thoroughly drunk.

Wen Muyan, slightly embarrassed, helped support his shoulder. “I’ll tell you… but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“I won’t laugh. I swear.”

Wen Muyan hesitated, then muttered in a small voice, “…After I left, I was deep in thought. I walked, and walked, and walked… and then I ran straight into a tree. I knocked myself to death.”

“...”

“Hey! You promised not to laugh! If you dare laugh, I’ll fall with you!”

Xiao Han held his expression for a moment, then said solemnly, “I have something to take care of. I’ll be right back.”

“What?” Wen Muyan asked, confused.

Xiao Han turned his head away—and then couldn’t hold it in any longer. He burst out laughing. “I need two minutes to go laugh! Hahahahahaha!”

“XIAO! HAN! GO DIE!” Wen Muyan yelled, stunned for a second before lunging at him, fists flying in fury.

The two scuffled briefly, breathless from both laughter and exertion. Dizzy from the alcohol and their struggle, they finally slumped down, panting.

Wen Muyan, still written as physically weaker by the script, leaned against Xiao Han’s chest, limp with fatigue. Thinking he might as well enjoy the moment, he couldn’t help but place his hand against Xiao Han’s firm pectoral muscles.

Seeing that Xiao Han didn’t react, Wen Muyan let his hand slide lower, brushing over his abs. He savored the firmness and the sculpted contours beneath his fingers, clearly pleased with the taut muscle shifting under his touch.

His caresses made Xiao Han’s body tilt slightly. He let out a breathy laugh, panting: “Take your hands off, it tickles!”

The alcohol had fully taken hold by now. Wen Muyan found it especially comfortable lying on top of Xiao Han and felt too lazy to move. He simply raised his head and asked, “Hey, to be fair, shouldn’t you tell me how you died in your previous life?”

Xiao Han immediately stopped laughing. He turned his head aside, falling silent. But behind that expressionless face, a single thought blared in his mind: This is the one thing I’ll never say—even if they beat me to death. Absolutely never!

Deciding to steer the conversation away, Xiao Han said, “Uh… I think I drank too much. Where’s the restroom? Don’t you need to go too?”

Wen Muyan, always quick to catch on, immediately sensed the diversion. He let out a sly snicker, then pressed against him nastily and hissed at length: “Shh…”

Caught in his own trap, Xiao Han’s frustration boiled over. “Fuck you!”

 

Translator : DarNan