After Transmigrating into a Sadistic Novel, the Socially Anxious Sickly Beauty Just Wants to Sleep - Chapter 1

It was a beautiful, sunny day. Lying in bed, Jian Anmian felt the warmth of the sun baking him until his pale face flushed with a hint of red—a fleeting glow like a final radiance before dusk. He gazed out the window with empty eyes, looking as if he were waiting for something, or perhaps simply lost in a daze.

The nurse changed his IV drip. After a moment of hesitation, she couldn’t help but offer some comfort: “Xiao Jian, your parents must be very busy with work. They didn’t forget your birthday on purpose. Maybe you’ll see a surprise tomorrow.”

Jian Anmian paused. Coming back to his senses, his thick dark lashes trembled as he gave a very soft soft “mm” in response.

He was naturally slow-paced and afraid of people. Despite having spent several weeks with this nurse, he still got nervous when speaking.

He knew she was just trying to comfort him. The last time his parents had visited with his younger sister, they mentioned they were going to Disneyland during this period. They thought he was asleep and couldn’t hear, but in reality, he hadn’t slept at all. Because of the pain, he rarely slept.

No one had noticed that the dates they had set for their trip were actually his birthday.

The nurse glanced at him, sighed softly, and closed the door as she left. To say nothing of today, in all the weeks she had looked after him, his parents hadn’t visited once. It was as if… they had completely forgotten they had a child who was so quiet he nearly didn’t exist.

With the room finally empty, Jian Anmian relaxed. He basked in the sun for a while before opening his phone to start writing today’s update. He couldn’t sit up for long, so he used voice-to-text software. For every sentence entered, he would use his finger to tap out typos and fix grammar.

He used the “shuangpin” input method, which was faster than standard pinyin, but he remained unhurried, pouring his whole heart into it. This was what he enjoyed most. He wrote slowly, stopping to rest every one or two thousand words; otherwise, his head would throb.

But for some reason, the pain today was much worse than usual. By the time he finished the update, the sky was dark.

He previewed the post to ensure there were no censored characters and hit send. Suddenly, the app lagged. He was used to it; the site lagged every night. He exited and checked the comments instead. Many “Little Angels” with gold VIP badges were eagerly waiting, and Jian Anmian couldn’t help but smile.

Although the doctor warned him not to overexert his brain, he knew that if he didn’t write, he wouldn’t have survived this long. Only when creating did he feel truly alive.

Ignoring the negative comments, he focused on replying to his readers.

Reader: Author-da, when is today’s update? My legs are numb from waiting!

Author Reply: I’m feeling a bit unwell today, so I wrote a bit slower. Sorry to keep you waiting! (＞人＜;) Today’s update is finished, but the app is lagging. I’ll try again in a bit. Everyone who leaves a comment on the new chapter will get a red envelope! Hugs and kisses~~ (づ￣3￣)づ

Jian Anmian returned to the draft, ready to click send. Suddenly, a piercing pain like a sharp sword stabbed through his brain. His ears rang violently, and his throat felt as if it were being squeezed by a giant hand. He couldn’t breathe.

In the quiet night, the hospital room was suddenly filled with the sharp, frantic alarm of medical monitors.

In the second before he died, Jian Anmian’s only thought was—

I’m so sorry, my Little Angels. You won’t get today’s update or your red envelopes. In the end, I broke my promise.

…

“Could you two move a bit closer? Keep that pose. Yes, yes—smile!”

When Jian Anmian’s consciousness returned, a white flash went off in front of his eyes. The click of a camera sounded. Jian Anmian blinked slowly and looked around, his expression utterly blank.

What’s happening? Wasn’t I dead? Why am I suddenly in a photo studio?

At the same time, Yan Zhimuo, who was sitting next to him, experienced a moment of daze. At the moment the photo was taken, it felt as if a flood of information had poured into his mind, but it was encased in a shell he couldn’t break open. He quickly recovered, attributing it to work stress.

“Alright, come take a look at the photo.”

Jian Anmian walked over as if sleepwalking. When he saw the screen, his pupils dilated and his ears rang.

That wasn’t his face. Although it looked about 70-80% like him, it definitely wasn’t him.

“What are you thinking about? Snap out of it,” a deep male voice spoke near his ear.

Jian Anmian instinctively looked up and met Yan Zhimuo’s unfamiliar eyes. His breathing quickened, and he clutched the hem of his shirt, nervously asking, “Excuse me, who are you…?”

“Did you lose your mind?” Yan Zhimuo chuckled, not thinking much of it. “I’m Yan Zhimuo. And, in another sense, I’m about to become your husband.”

“Husband…” Jian Anmian was stunned.

When did same-sex marriage become legal in Huaxia? Wait… Yan Zhimuo? Wasn’t that the name of the protagonist of the novel he read a few days ago?

He had… transmigrated into a book.

This was a classic “dog-blood” sadistic novel. The protagonist was a sickly “shou” (bottom) who shared his name. In the story, the protagonist enters a contract marriage with the lead and suffers physical and mental torment from the lead’s stepmother, childhood friend, secretary, and various rivals, eventually dying in the lead’s arms. A double-death tragedy.

Right now was the beginning of the novel: the protagonist and the lead were at the Civil Affairs Bureau to register their marriage, beginning their path of suffering.

Yan Zhimuo finally sensed something was wrong. He frowned, scrutinizing Jian Anmian. “I’ll ask you one last time. Are you sure you’re marrying me of your own free will?”

Jian Anmian shivered with fear. The man was far too tall; when he was serious, the pressure was suffocating. His muscular frame stood before him like a mountain. Jian Anmian nodded frantically—even if it hadn’t been voluntary before, it was now.

He had no intention of trying to escape the plot. He didn’t even care about the possibility of dying again. He just wanted to lie flat and be a “salted fish,” letting the waves carry him until he could die quietly, just like in his previous life.

Yan Zhimuo nodded, satisfied. It was best if Jian Anmian was obedient; he didn’t want to waste time on useless entanglements. He led him next door to get the certificates.

…

Half an hour later, outside the Civil Affairs Bureau.

Yan Zhimuo held the fresh marriage certificates and extended a hand toward Jian Anmian. “From today on, I am your legal husband. The contract is officially in effect. I hope we can get along well in the days to come.”

Though his lips were smiling, his eyes held an innate coldness and detachment. His tone was strictly business; despite the title of “husband,” he didn’t actually hold this minor character in any regard.

Jian Anmian extended a finger, briefly brushing Yan Zhimuo’s fingertip before immediately recoiling. His pale fingertips twisted together nervously.

Yan Zhimuo grasped at thin air. “…I wish us a happy cooperation.”

Jian Anmian wouldn’t even look at him. “Mhm.”

Yan Zhimuo: “…”

Yan Zhimuo withdrew his hand, his expression unchanged. “I’ll send you back, then.”

Since Jian Anmian didn’t know where he was supposed to go anyway, he quickly agreed.

The original body had severe allergies. Even in the height of summer, he wore long sleeves and a mask. His thin frame was completely bundled up, leaving only his delicate eyebrows and timid eyes visible. Because Jian Anmian was afraid of people, this outfit actually gave him a sense of security.

In the car, besides the driver, Uncle Chen, was Yan Zhimuo’s secretary, Liu Yuanxiang. She was a stunning woman who smiled politely at Jian Anmian. “Madam.”

“Don’t… don’t call me that…” Jian Anmian panicked, a deep red climbing to the tips of his ears.

His skin was thin and extremely pale; when he was embarrassed, it showed instantly. The peach-blossom flush spread from his slender neck up to behind his ears.

Yan Zhimuo watched him and suddenly reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Jian Anmian’s ear. “My ‘Madam’ is shy. Just call him Mr. Jian.”

He had to put on an act in front of outsiders. But Jian Anmian’s ears, already red, turned even darker.

Secretary Liu’s eyes flickered, but her smile remained. “Of course, Mr. Jian.”

A while later, they arrived. Yan Zhimuo personally escorted him to the door.

“Once you’re inside, remember to pack your things and move out quickly. I’ve sent the address to your phone. The door code is today’s date. Let me know when you arrive, and you can record your fingerprint then.”

Jian Anmian nodded to every instruction, his head bobbing obediently like a fluffy little animal. Yan Zhimuo felt an inexplicable itch in his palm to pat the boy’s head.

The man was so large that his shadow alone seemed capable of swallowing Jian Anmian whole. Terrified, Jian Anmian didn’t dare resist; he stood frozen, fingers twisting his hem, waiting for the head-pat.

Seeing this, Yan Zhimuo felt a sudden streak of mischief. His hand changed direction mid-air and pulled the strap of the mask off Jian Anmian’s ear, revealing a small, pale face. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the mask, and his lips were moist and soft, like a dewy flower petal.

“You’re home now, no need to wear this.” Yan Zhimuo hooked the strap and dangled the limp mask in front of Jian Anmian. “It’s all damp.”

Jian Anmian’s head buzzed. His breathing became erratic, and his lips trembled as he said, “Please… give it back.”

Yan Zhimuo smiled. “It’s fine. I’ll throw it away for you. Just go inside.”

“…Ugh.” Jian Anmian looked at the mask, then at Yan Zhimuo, his eyes turning red.

He really is the scumbag lead. What a terrible personality, bullying someone on the first day!

But what could he do? He was just a half-dead, sickly “shou.” This man could poke him to death with one finger.

“Alright, here you go,” Yan Zhimuo said, having had his fun. He tossed the mask back and stopped while he was ahead. “Go on in.”

Jian Anmian felt as if he’d been granted a royal pardon and fled with his mask. Yan Zhimuo watched his retreating back with a pleased smile. The kid really can’t take a joke.

…

Inside, Jian Anmian opened the door. Xu Peiying looked behind him and frowned. “Why are you alone? Didn’t Mr. Yan come back with you?”

Jian Anmian kept his head down. “He left.”

Xu Peiying snapped, “You child! Why are you so inconsiderate? Mr. Yan finally comes over and you don’t even invite him in for tea? Is this how I raised you?”

Jian Anmian turned a deaf ear, heading for the elevator. As the doors opened, he ran into his stepfather, Qin Bixian.

“Such a big person and still no manners. I can never teach you,” Qin Bixian grumbled as Jian Anmian slipped into the elevator. “Ungrateful little wolf.”

Following the descriptions in the novel, Jian Anmian found his room on the second floor and began carefully packing.

The protagonist’s mother, Xu Peiying, was a cold, selfish “iron lady” who valued profit above all else. She and Qin Bixian had the protagonist’s older brother, Qin Luochen. After divorcing Qin Bixian due to his chauvinism, she had the protagonist with her second husband—a humble university professor.

Xu Peiying looked down on the professor. During her pregnancy, she worked high-intensity hours and stayed out late for social functions, leading to the protagonist being born prematurely with a host of health issues. Unable to tolerate a “useless, weak” child, she suddenly decided Qin Bixian was her true love, divorced the professor, and remarried Qin.

To her, Qin Luochen was the “crystallization of their love.” The protagonist was merely a stain on her life.

Jian Anmian had no intention of being nice to them. In the face of verbal abuse, he simply ignored it. He was socially anxious anyway; he’d just pretend to be deaf and mute.

As he dragged his suitcase down the hall toward the study, he heard Xu Peiying and Qin Bixian talking.

Qin Bixian: “Chen-chen is really something. Yan Zhimuo has liked him for years. If he had married him, think of the benefits! Instead, he runs off abroad at the last second! Such a good opportunity, wasted on that little sickly ghost.”

Xu Peiying: “I think it’s fine this way. Our Chen-chen has a bright future; how could he marry a man? Anmian, on the other hand, can’t do anything. Marrying him off to Yan Zhimuo in exchange for benefits is his way of repaying us for raising him.”

Qin Bixian: “What if Chen-chen comes back and Yan Zhimuo still wants him?”

Xu Peiying: “By then, Chen-chen will have finished his studies. If they truly want to be together, we can’t stop them, right? As for Anmian… it wasn’t his to begin with. He’s just returning what he borrowed. I’m sure he’ll understand. After all, Chen-chen is his own brother.”

This was the “dog-blood” setup: the male lead’s “White Moonlight” was actually the protagonist’s half-brother. In the original text, the protagonist hears this and becomes deeply hurt, setting the stage for the angst.

But Jian Anmian wasn’t the original soul. He didn’t like Yan Zhimuo, so he wasn’t hurt. He just felt awkward—he’d accidentally overheard the villains gossiping about him. He gripped his hem and quietly retreated. He’d wait two minutes before coming out again.

…

Meanwhile, Yan Zhimuo was in his car, listening to a report from his secretary. Usually, his special assistant Yuwen Chi followed him, but Yuwen had food poisoning, so Secretary Liu had stepped in.

Suddenly, a truck driving the wrong way hurtled toward them. The driver swerved, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision, but the car flipped.

“Watch out—!”

Amidst the sound of shattering glass, a slender figure lunged forward recklessly to protect Yan Zhimuo. Yan Zhimuo’s head slammed against the roof of the car. The “hard shell” in his mind shattered. A massive flood of information rushed in, and before he could process it, he blacked out.

…

On the other side, Jian Anmian was about to leave for his new home when he received a call from the hospital. He dropped his luggage and rushed over.

…

Half an hour later, in a hospital bed, Yan Zhimuo’s eyes snapped open—sharp, dark, and filled with utter disbelief.

He had awakened.