“You… you… What exactly are you doing behind my back?!” Zhuo Fan shouted, furious. His face contorted with rage, lips trembling, and eyes rolling back in their sockets as though he were about to faint. Yet, despite flashing the whites of his eyes at least ten times, he stubbornly refused to pass out.

Xiao Han rubbed his eyes, then pressed his fingers to his temples as he slowly woke up. This type of dramatic “caught in bed by the lover” scene was a little unexpected—but what kind of man was he? Even caught red-handed, he remained calm, completely unfazed. Panic? None. Guilt? What was that—was it even edible?

Wen Muyan, who had been sleeping soundly like a log, finally stirred. Rubbing his aching waist, he slowly sat up and rested his head on Xiao Han’s shoulder. His eyes opened lazily and landed on Zhuo Fan, whose expression was frozen in utter disbelief. Too tired to keep pretending to be the tender and affectionate second lead, Wen Muyan casually stuck a pinky in his ear and muttered in a hoarse, drawling voice, “I’ve already fucked your man. So why are you still hanging around here?”

Xiao Han turned to him with a serious expression. “I’m the one who fucked you.”

“Same thing,” Wen Muyan yawned. Offended, he growled, “You’ve already taken full advantage of my body. What, now you’re not going to let me talk?”

“You two have gone too far! You dare betray me like this?!” Zhuo Fan exploded. Seeing not a shred of remorse or panic in their eyes—only casual flirting, as if he were invisible—he trembled with rage, struggling even to form coherent words.

But something felt fundamentally wrong. The script clearly was not like this!

Xiao Han was supposed to spend the night waiting for him, pondering with a stormy face. He was supposed to grab him in a domineering embrace, forbid him from seeing his friends again, and threaten him like a tyrant. Then Zhuo Fan, injured and angry, would refuse to speak. At that moment, Xiao Han should push him onto the bed, deliver a powerful papapa, and coax him with sweet nothings until all was forgiven.

So what the hell was this mess?!

Weren’t these two even afraid of death?

Zhuo Fan clenched his fists, his face black as ink. He had imagined three different scenarios in his head before arriving, yet none of them had produced this ludicrous outcome. Each time, the plot had strayed completely from his expectations. And the fourth scenario? He hadn’t even had time to develop it before being forced on stage.

Sick of playing the mistreated, forever bottom Zhuo Fan who never got his revenge, he had decided this time to take control—to be a noble, commanding version of himself. He wanted to steer the plot with a firm hand. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t manipulate the thoughts or actions of the others. All he could do was watch helplessly as the story spun out of control.

Worst of all? Because the script wasn’t entirely rigid, there was no definitive violation of its rules. That meant he couldn't even force another transmigration into a different world.

Now, the scriptwriter—who had always sat high above, steering the plot—finally understood what it felt like to have "a sore ball."

No, as the architect of this world, he could not accept a reality where the characters stopped revolving around him, the protagonist! In his scripts, he was supposed to be the center of the universe!

But what could he do now?

Zhuo Fan’s expression twisted again. He began muttering to himself nonstop. Xiao Han and Wen Muyan looked at him with expressions that bordered on pity and disdain—like they were watching an idiot spiral.

Finally, they exchanged glances. Wen Muyan murmured, “Something feels really off… Don’t tell me we’re going to transmigrate again?”

Xiao Han replied in a low, resigned voice, “At this point… we can only take it one step at a time.”

As the two whispered, Zhuo Fan suddenly snapped out of his muttering and shouted, “Hmph! I won’t let you do whatever you want anymore!” His eyes flashed with a strange, unhinged gleam.

The moment his wild gaze landed on Xiao Han, an alarm went off deep in Xiao Han’s gut. But it was already too late. Just like Wen Muyan, his vision darkened—and he lost consciousness.

Zhuo Fan, eyes glinting with madness, sneered. Then, in a blink, he vanished from sight.

*

When Xiao Han awoke, he found himself lying on a couch in what appeared to be a locker room. His head was pounding, and he was dressed in a perfectly tailored white suit. Dazed, he looked around and spotted his phone lying on the floor—far away and completely out of reach. His face darkened.

Eyes narrowing, he scanned the room. His gaze fell on a calendar: October 12th.

He stood there, speechless. The first day he had transmigrated into this fourth world had been August 2nd. Where had those two months gone?

Memories surged in his mind, confirming that he was still in the same world. But then, a second set of memories suddenly overlapped the first—and they were completely absurd.

Today… was his wedding day with Zhuo Fan.

What kind of plot twist was this?! Had he skipped directly to the finale?

Xiao Han’s expression clouded with thunder. He stood, though his limbs felt weak and disoriented. Just as he steadied himself, the locker room door burst open.

Zhuo Fan walked in, radiant and smiling, dressed in white and holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Xiao Han, our wedding ceremony is about to start. Come on, get up! Don’t keep our guests waiting too long.”

“Wedding ceremony?” Xiao Han repeated, his lips pressed tightly together, as if spitting the words through clenched teeth. His head throbbed with pain. With a face as dark as storm clouds, he said slowly, “Cancel this wedding. Right now.”

Zhuo Fan stared at him in disbelief. His expression flickered between shock, hurt, and mounting anger. “What are you talking about? Last time, when you declared yourself, you said that if I didn’t marry you, you’d die!”

“It’s more like I’ll die if I marry you!” Xiao Han snapped, full of disdain. What kind of ridiculous lines were these? The absurdity made his skin crawl. Without sparing Zhuo Fan another glance, he turned and strode toward the dressing room door, determined to leave.

But before he could reach the threshold, Zhuo Fan’s voice rang out behind him—full of triumphant, sinister glee: “You have nowhere to run. We’re nearing the end. Once we reach it, you’ll be trapped in this script forever… while the others will return to where they came from!”

Xiao Han froze in place.

Slowly, he turned back, eyes sharp and cold as steel. “Are you completely sick, or what?”

Zhuo Fan flushed with rage, still clutching his bouquet tightly in both hands. “How can you say that about me?!” he shouted.

He had exhausted every ounce of his power to force the characters into this final setting, bringing the story to its conclusion. But the price? He had forever lost the ability to transmigrate them—or write a new script.

Why did he do such a thing?
Well… go ask Zhuo Fan himself.

Xiao Han no longer spared him any attention. He pushed open the door and left. There wasn’t much time left. He had to find Wen Muyan—fast.

But just as he entered the main hall, he was swarmed by a crowd of so-called “family and friends” who appeared as if summoned from thin air. They surrounded him on all sides, dragging him forward and shoving him onto a stage—like a hostage on display.

On the other side of the hall, Zhuo Fan appeared at the gates, radiant, smiling brilliantly. He walked slowly toward the stage, his eyes gleaming with elation.

The priest, standing at the center with a ceremonial air, cleared his throat and read out the vows. Then, in a gentle voice, he turned to Zhuo Fan and asked,
“Do you take Mr. Xiao Han to be your husband, to never part from him, now and forever?”

“I do,” Zhuo Fan replied, lips curled in a smirk, casually toying with his bangs. Then, without skipping a beat, he added, “You don’t need to ask him. He agrees.”

"Mm—"

Okay my ass!

Xiao Han wanted to say that—but his mouth was sealed, and that strange feeling of weakness still clung to his limbs, rendering him powerless to move or protest.

“Very well, then,” the priest said with a slight cough. Raising his voice, he continued,
“If anyone has any objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace. If not, I declare—”

“Wait!”

The sudden crash of a door slamming open and a sharp voice crying out interrupted the priest mid-sentence.

The moment Xiao Han heard that familiar voice, the storm in his heart finally quieted. Drawing on every last shred of strength, he turned his head.

A tall, slender figure dashed toward him, sunglasses covering half his face, clouds of dust trailing behind. His forehead glistened with sweat—it was Wen Muyan.

The priest, slightly startled, yet still managing to maintain his composure, asked politely, “Sir, do you have an objection?”

“I have a question!” Wen Muyan called, frowning as he saw Xiao Han held fast by a group of people. He tried to rush forward but, breathless and half-suffocating, found himself unable to force his way through them…

This was too much—even for the famous Thai star, Mr. Wen. His frustration exploded.

In one swift motion, he tore off his sunglasses and tossed them aside, revealing his dazzlingly perfect face. With a charming smile, he said sweetly, “Do you want my autograph? If so, let go of him immediately.”

“…”

Wen Muyan, have you been possessed by a pig?!
Xiao Han wanted to scream. You really think that would work as bait?!

But to his complete disbelief, the crowd holding him actually did let go—like he was a sack of potatoes—rushing toward Wen Muyan with frenzied excitement.

At that moment, watching this absurd scene unfold, Xiao Han had only one word to describe his mental state:
Damn.

His emotional turbulence surged like Hurricane Katrina. This level of insanity nearly moved him to tears.

“Muyan! I know you’re blaming me for not going with you—but that doesn’t mean you can just come crash my wedding!” Zhuo Fan shouted angrily, clearly upset at being sidelined once again. He still remembered perfectly the “rules” he had laid out to control this love triangle when he rewrote the script.

Wen Muyan waved off the extras with a lazy hand and turned to Zhuo Fan with a faint, amused smile. “I heard you were having a wedding,” he said calmly. “As a ‘good friend’, how could I miss it?”

Zhuo Fan’s expression softened slightly. “Of course you’re welcome. But since you’re here to celebrate, I assume you brought a wedding gift? Otherwise, I might think you’ve come just to cause trouble.”

“A wedding gift? Of course I have one!” Wen Muyan replied, his gaze drifting toward Xiao Han. After a brief pause, as if struck by inspiration, he added, “I came in such a hurry that I didn’t bring anything tangible. So… why don’t I give you a song? After all, many people here didn’t get to attend my last concert.”

Xiao Han’s instincts whispered that something unforgettable was about to unfold. He settled in comfortably, amusement dancing in his eyes and a smile tugging at his lips. The only thing missing, he thought wistfully, was a drink in hand—maybe with melon seeds or popcorn. That would’ve made this scene truly complete.

Though visibly displeased, Zhuo Fan could only nod, cornered by his own earlier challenge.

Wen Muyan, unbothered and resolute, pushed the priest aside and took center stage. A group of fans—now joined by the priest, who had clearly just been converted—rushed forward, eager to witness a live performance from their idol.

After casting a quick glance over the eager crowd, Wen Muyan cleared his throat. Still wearing that signature smile, he grabbed the microphone and began to sing his “good wishes” for the newlywed couple.

“Where is spring? Where is spring?
Spring is in this fresh green forest~
There are red flowers over there,
There is green grass over there,
As well as little orioles singing there~”

And then, joyfully, he continued:

“Li li lililililili ~
Lilililili ~
Lilililililili ~
Lilililili…”

“…”

Even before the ludicrously cheerful tune reached its finale, the entire audience stood frozen in place, stunned speechless.

Except for Xiao Han, who—unbothered and thoroughly entertained—began to applaud with enthusiasm, a dazzling smile on his face. “Clap clap clap.”

“Y-you! You’re making fun of me!” Zhuo Fan shouted, his face turning an alarming shade of white. He couldn’t understand how things had come to this. This wasn’t the script! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go!

He staggered to his feet, eyes wide with disbelief, his whole body trembling—shaking so violently it looked like he might burst apart. Rage boiled through him, so hot and intense it seemed like steam was hissing from his ears and nostrils.

Incoherent with fury, snarling and cursing, Zhuo Fan suddenly erupted into a dense plume of smoke that spiraled upward into the air.
“I’LL BE BACK!!!” he bellowed, his voice echoing like a stereotypical villain straight out of a superhero flick.

And then, in a final flourish of irony, the frustrated screenwriter hurled out that most overused of villain lines before dissolving into a twinkling star—fading slowly into the heavens.

Xiao Han looked up.
Wen Muyan looked up.
Everyone looked up.

Then, in perfect unison, they all gave a final wave to the sky, saying their farewells.

Once upon a time, there was something called Society. One day, it took revenge.
Once upon a time, there was something called an ending. It arrived… in the most unexpected way.
Once upon a time, there was a man named Xiao Han. And one day, he lived happily ever after with Wen Muyan.

 

The end! I’ll meet you in the next script!

--

Author’s Note:
This novel began on a weird note—so let’s end it on an equally weird one!

 

Translator : DarNan