Warning: Suicide

 

“Look at the situation we’re in now! Are you still in the mood to joke?!” Wen Muyan cried, sighing with a mix of frustration and despair—caught somewhere between laughter and tears.

“You really slapped him to death?” Xiao Han asked, turning to look at the person slumped against the wall, a frown tugging at his face. It didn’t really matter—death was on the horizon for all of them anyway. Still, he didn’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt.

Wen Muyan hurried over, pulling Zhuo Fan off the wall and giving him a once-over. “No, he just fainted… though his chest is even flatter now.”

“He’s not a woman either,” Xiao Han muttered tiredly, lacking even the energy to mock. “Anyway, with how perverse this scenario’s gotten, we’re clearly at the end of the road. Tell me—how do you want to die?”

“Why do I feel like that’s the kind of line a villain says to the protagonists?” Wen Muyan shot back, gently lowering Zhuo Fan to the ground before crouching down in front of Xiao Han, casually raising his weapon. “Honestly, who else in this world would sit here, calmly and cheerfully discussing how to kill themselves?”

Staring down the cold, menacing barrel, Xiao Han’s expression twisted. “If I’d known you were this chill, I would’ve just shot you earlier. Dying clean is better than living like shit.”

“That’s not the same,” Wen Muyan said with a shrug. “Even if you shot me, I wouldn’t die. I’d suffer like I was still alive, and my ending would rot anyway. Might as well end it myself—clean and quick. Unlike someone I know, I’m not afraid of pain.”

Even more depressed, Xiao Han uttered, “Why are you so cheerful about this? If it doesn’t bother you, what the hell am I supposed to feel?”

Wen Muyan gave a mysterious smile and tilted his head toward him, his tone light but ambiguous.
“How about I knock you out and then shoot you? I promise—quick, precise, painless, safe, and effective.”

“…Are you advertising for a dentist?” Xiao Han instinctively touched his head and eyed her warily. “Are you even sure you can do it? If you miss, not only will I not faint, I’ll die horribly.”

“I knew you’d say that. I really wonder how your nerves are wired…” Wen Muyan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pill, tossing it over.

“Here. Specially formulated sedative. Swallow it and you’ll collapse like a dead pig—not even a thunderstorm will wake you.”

Xiao Han caught the pill, staring at it with suspicion and no small amount of surprise. “You planned this? So you weren’t planning on following the script from the start?”

“It never hurts to be prepared.”

Xiao Han went quiet, turning the pill over in his fingers. After a beat, he asked, his brows knitted together, “What happens next?”

Still calm and collected, Wen Muyan smiled. “Didn’t I say? We shoot ourselves and get it over with. Still better than letting that damn script come up with an even more twisted, cruel death.”

“…All right.”

The atmosphere grew heavy in an instant. Xiao Han looked at Wen Muyan, his expression unreadable. Finally, he asked solemnly, “Have you thought about your last words?”

“Say yours first,” Wen Muyan replied, sitting cross-legged with arms crossed over his chest, wearing a mockingly curious expression.

Xiao Han pondered for a moment, then answered bluntly, “If I can escape the scenario in my next life… let me marry a terminally ill rich woman.”

“Enough, you!” Wen Muyan exclaimed, completely deflated.

Xiao Han burst out laughing, clearly pleased with his own absurdity. “Your turn now.”

Wen Muyan grinned slyly. “If we manage to escape the scenario in our next life, let the idiot Xiao Han’s dreams be shattered!”

“Shit!”

After exchanging their bizarre vows, Xiao Han raised the pill, about to swallow it—only for Wen Muyan to suddenly grab his wrist.

“Wait.”

“What now? Don’t tell me you’re gonna drag this out too,” Xiao Han said, frowning with frustration. He’d just managed to muster the courage, and now it was already starting to slip.

Wen Muyan looked oddly hesitant. After a short cough, he raised his eyes and fixed Xiao Han with a peculiar gaze. “Say… if one day we really manage to escape the script’s control… will you come and get me?”

Xiao Han froze, slightly surprised—but not entirely caught off guard. A flash of amusement flickered in his eyes as he replied, voice mocking, “What do you think?”

Of course, he couldn’t just give a straight answer. Wen Muyan grimaced, then shrugged in exaggerated indifference. “If you don’t come, well… worst case, I’ll come get you.”

“Then we’ll see each other again in our next lives, McDonald’s,” Xiao Han said, casting one last, intense look at Wen Muyan before swiftly swallowing the pill. It took effect almost immediately—within seconds, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Wen Muyan caught him and held him close, murmuring, “Would it kill you to call me by my real name, just once?”

Now alone, Wen Muyan gently stroked Xiao Han's cheek. His fingers lingered for a moment before something flickered in his eyes—an idea, or perhaps a memory. Coming to his senses, he took off his coat and slowly began unbuttoning his shirt. If Zhuo Fan had woken up at this moment, he’d probably assume Wen Muyan was exacting some strange revenge for earlier events.

One by one, the buttons came undone, revealing Xiao Han’s chest. Wen Muyan placed his palm over the man’s heart, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady beat beneath.

He knew what he had to do: create a hole here, in this living chest, and defile himself with Xiao Han’s blood.

“It’s going to be so ugly…” he muttered, his brows drawing together. Though he’d acted light-hearted and composed earlier, the truth gnawed at him now—he was deeply uncomfortable.

Even knowing he had no other choice—even knowing they could be reborn—having to kill Xiao Han with his own hands still hurt. The pain echoed in his own chest, like a shared wound.

Wen Muyan took a deep breath. Now was not the time to hesitate. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Xiao Han’s lips. Then, expression tense, he aimed the gun at his companion’s chest and pulled the trigger.

In an instant, a bright red flower bloomed before his eyes.

After confirming that Xiao Han was truly dead—and that his face held no trace of pain—Wen Muyan gave a bitter smile, then turned the gun to his own temple.

“Xiao Han, Xiao Han… I’m the one who took your life. If you turn into a vengeful ghost, come and claim mine!”

A gunshot rang out, followed by an endless darkness that swallowed the world whole...

*

It was a very spacious office. On one side, a floor-to-ceiling window allowed in dazzling sunlight, partially blocked by dark curtains.

Xiao Han slowly sat up from his desk, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar room in a daze.
Wasn’t he on a bed?
…Wait. That wasn’t the point.

With the ease of someone all too used to resurrection, Xiao Han immediately collected himself, reviewing the fresh stream of memories now embedded in his mind. Apparently, in this world, his new identity was the president of M Entertainment.

So this time, the script had dropped him into a novel about superstars.

Having already played a rich second-generation heir, an emperor, and even a mafia boss, Xiao Han felt no pressure at all in taking on this new role. As for the piles of documents on his desk? No problem. He just had to sign them—the script wouldn’t let him go bankrupt anyway. That was the one upside of being a puppet in someone else’s narrative.

But gradually, as he continued signing, his movements grew stiff. His expression shifted from relaxed to wary, then downright frozen.

He knew his identity now. He also knew that Zhuo Fan was a newly signed artist at his company—one who’d gotten in through certain shady backdoor dealings.

But then… there was no “then.”

Where were the developments? The twists? The betrayals?
Why had the essential plot points suddenly been cut?

Was this one of those legendary ongoing novels?!

Screenwriter, are you kidding me?! Please don’t do this!

Xiao Han silently screamed in anguish, but in the end, he had no choice but to accept the cruel reality: he’d been completely cut off from the ability to foresee the future.

Yet oddly enough, that thought brought him a sliver of relief. Did this mean that, starting tonight, he could finally make his own choices?

First step: stay as far away from Zhuo Fan as possible—
Wait. What about Wen Muyan?

If he avoided Zhuo Fan entirely, wouldn’t that reduce his chances of running into Wen Muyan too? Now that the script had gone silent, every action he took could trigger a butterfly effect. It was liberating and terrifying all at once—far from comforting, but hard to dismiss.

While his thoughts ran wild, a knock came at the door.

“President Xiao, your coffee.”

“Come in.” Xiao Han instinctively smoothed his expression into its usual mask of indifference and looked up.

A young man in a dark blue suit stepped inside, setting a cup of coffee on the desk.

Xiao Han looked at his face. A complex tangle of emotions surged in his chest. His cold expression softened, and with sincere emotion, he murmured, “Xian Fu… it’s been hard for you.”

Startled that a mere cup of coffee had moved his boss so deeply, Xian Fu blinked in confusion.
“President Xiao, what happened?”

“Uh, nothing. Next time, add more sugar and cream. It’s too bitter.” Xiao Han took a sip and immediately grimaced at the taste.

“Oh, of course.”
With the seriousness of a loyal subordinate, Xian Fu dutifully pulled out a small notebook and jotted down the request like it was classified intel.

Tears of emotion welled in Xiao Han’s eyes.

“President Xiao, do you have any other instructions?” Xian Fu asked, standing at attention, his eyes shining with anticipation.

Xiao Han hesitated for a moment, then said, “Go investigate a young man named Wen Muyan for me. He might be connected to Zhuo Fan… or he might not.”

This statement, although vague, was taken seriously by Xian Fu, who gave a sincere nod before leaving the office. As he exited, he made sure to close the door quietly behind him.

In the past, Xiao Han had often found himself drawn to Zhuo Fan. He would take him out to various events, and they’d share dinner together almost every night. But today, things were different. Zhuo Fan had taken the initiative to call him, arranging a meeting at one of the hotels they frequently visited. And without even waiting for Xiao Han’s reply, he’d hung up.

Xiao Han stared at his phone, letting the busy tone ring out in the silence, his heart caught in a whirlwind of contradictions.

Should he go?
Or should he just ignore the call altogether?

In the end, he decided: it was better to just go home, wash up, and sleep.

*

However, he truly hadn’t expected his evening to take such an unexpected turn.

As he retrieved his car from the underground parking lot, his eyes immediately fell on Zhuo Fan’s slender figure. But Zhuo Fan wasn’t alone. Standing in front of him was another man—tall, with a composed posture. Something about him struck Xiao Han as oddly familiar. However, the man’s back was turned, and Xiao Han couldn’t make out his face. The two of them appeared to be deep in conversation.

Who could it be?
Was it Wen Muyan?

Just as Xiao Han was about to walk over—mentally preparing himself to face Zhuo Fan—his phone suddenly rang, startling him. The ringtone? A cover of Legend, sung by none other than Zhuo Fan himself. The melody echoed loudly in the parking lot, bouncing off the concrete walls: “When I think of you, you’re on my mind~~~”

It was relentless. Loud. Obnoxious. Embarrassingly on-brand.

Xiao Han grimaced. Of all the songs to blast at that moment, it had to be this one.
This goddamn song, in this goddamn moment, made him want to vanish into thin air.

Think about your fucking ass, what are you thinking about, huh?!

 

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Author’s Note:
This is the last transmigration scenario =3=

 

Translator : DarNan