After Transmigrating into a Sadistic Novel, the Socially Anxious Sickly Beauty Just Wants to Sleep - Chapter 11

Xiao Hanzhou’s investigation into Secretary Liu had finally yielded results. It confirmed that she was indeed involved in that car accident, which was a self-directed performance. However, Yan Zhimuo’s second uncle had left no evidence behind; the matter had been handled very cleanly. Even the trade secrets Secretary Liu leaked using her position could be dismissed as her unilaterally breaching the contract. If they couldn’t shake off the suspicion entirely, they could easily find a scapegoat.

Yan Zhimuo had originally wanted to use Secretary Liu as a small piece of bait to go fishing, but now it seemed the fish were too cunning to bite. In that case, this little bait was no longer useful.

The “trade secrets” he had allowed her to leak were all discarded, fake information that would be exposed as useless before long. Even if he didn’t deal with this bait himself, once the second uncle’s side realized something was wrong, they would dispose of Secretary Liu anyway. He might as well do it himself.

According to the novel’s plot, Secretary Liu would make a move at a banquet in two days. He would take this opportunity to catch her red-handed and dispose of her. Having her fluttering around his sight for so many days was an eyesore. He wanted everyone to know that those who dared to cross him would not come to a good end.

…

The blow of discovering he actually had to go to school was far too great for Jian Anmian. Lately, he couldn’t even sleep well. Previously, he could sleep 20 hours a day; now, he could only sleep 19. He used that extra hour to be anxious!

After another bout of insomnia following dinner, Jian Anmian lay in bed, tossing and turning while biting his fingers. He tried to brainwash himself: How can a salted fish be anxious? A salted fish should just lie flat and think of nothing! Just wait for the male lead to come and torture me!

But… why does a salted fish have to go to school! QAQ

The brainwashing failed. He was still so sad. Waaaaah.

A few days later, Yan Zhimuo suddenly said he would take him to a banquet. Jian Anmian counted the days and realized it was time for the main plot again. If he remembered correctly, at this banquet, the male lead would be drugged by Secretary Liu and nearly end up in bed with another woman, only to be caught in the act by the protagonist at the last second.

This plot was truly “dog-blood.”

The news that he had to leave the house made his already poor mood even worse. To make matters worse, he had to go out to buy clothes two days before the banquet. There was no choice; the Qins didn’t care for the original host and he rarely attended large banquets. Jian Anmian hadn’t brought many clothes with him, and he certainly didn’t own formal wear. As Yan Zhimuo’s wife, he couldn’t lose face.

On the day they were to head out, Jian Anmian was as limp as a frosted eggplant. From leaving his room to sitting in the car, he kept his head down in silence.

Yan Zhimuo found it amusing. He leaned over and pulled down the boy’s mask, seeing Jian Anmian’s full lips pouting and his rosy, sleepy face scrunched up in a ball of misery. Every inch of him radiated desolation and suffering. He didn’t look like he was going shopping; he looked like he was heading to his execution.

“Unhappy that I’m buying you clothes? Hmm?” Yan Zhimuo teased, hooking Jian Anmian’s chin with a finger like he was playing with a puppy. “So difficult to serve.”

He had an almost pathological possessiveness over everything that belonged to him. Whenever Jian Anmian traveled, Yan Zhimuo insisted on driving personally—simply because Jian Anmian had to sit in the passenger seat, and Yan Zhimuo wouldn’t allow him to sit side-by-side with another man. Zhangsun Yong wasn’t wrong at all when he called him a pervert.

Jian Anmian looked up piteously at the man, his eyes misting over. “Don’t want to go out…”

Yan Zhimuo pinched his chin, unhurriedly admiring the boy’s unconscious act of acting spoiled. His voice dropped to a near-murmur: “Then what do you want? To be kept at home like a pet for the rest of your life? I’d feed you when you’re hungry, and you’d stay in your little nest and sleep when you’re tired. You’d see no one but your master. How about that?”

Jian Anmian’s scalp tingled at the man’s words. His spine went momentarily soft and his breathing tightened, but an uncontrollable spark of expectation rose within him. His misty eyes turned even wetter as he asked involuntarily, “Can I?”

Yan Zhimuo was stunned for a moment. He truly hadn’t expected that answer. His gaze darkened as he stared at the boy.

Just as Jian Anmian was about to suffocate under the man’s increasingly dominant aura, the man finally showed mercy and let go. He pulled the mask back up over the boy’s chin and gripped the steering wheel. With a neutral expression, he said noncommittally, “When you make me happy enough, I’ll give you that as a reward for being a good child.”

…

After parking, Yan Zhimuo led Jian Anmian directly into a flagship store under the Yan Group’s banner.

The socially anxious little puppy was incredibly timid. His dark eyes darted fearfully at this strange, terrifying world. Any small noise around him was enough to make him jump.

Every time this happened, Jian Anmian would instinctively press closer to the man. If a stranger approached, he would clutch the man’s coattails and refuse to let go. He was so tense he didn’t even notice he was rudely wrinkling the man’s shirt. He was clingy to a fault.

Yan Zhimuo’s sense of satisfaction was overflowing. For a pervert with extreme possessiveness, there was nothing more rewarding than a clingy, spoiled little dog.

“Don’t be afraid, Mianmian. We’re almost there. Hold my hand tight and don’t get lost.” Yan Zhimuo wrapped his large palm gently around Jian Anmian’s smaller hand.

The man’s palm wasn’t soft, but it was warm, dry, and full of strength. Where their skin touched, it felt like warm currents were flowing between them. It was a comfortable grip that easily soothed the soul.

Jian Anmian lacked any sense of security. To him, this tall, powerful man was his only reliance—someone who could easily shield him from all the harm of the outside world.

However, Jian Anmian hadn’t forgotten: in the novel, the greatest harm the protagonist suffered was given by the male lead himself.

…

They finally arrived at the luxury store. Upon entering, the well-trained staff quickly stepped forward. “Hello, sir. How can I help you? I can offer some recommendations.”

“Call your manager,” Yan Zhimuo commanded in a total CEO manner.

The clerk froze, recognized Yan Zhimuo’s face, and gave a soft gasp. “Of course. Please wait a moment, President Yan. I’ll get the manager.”

Yan Zhimuo led Jian Anmian to a sofa. Another clerk brought them two glasses of water and then scurried off to whisper with the others.

“President Yan actually came in person! Ahhh!”

“First time seeing him for real. He’s a hundred times more handsome than on the cover of finance magazines!”

“Who is that boy? They were holding hands when they came in…”

“I heard President Yan got married recently. Could this be the young ‘Madam’?”

The manager emerged and shot a warning glance at the staff. He approached Yan Zhimuo with a respectful greeting.

Yan Zhimuo stood up with Jian Anmian, patting the boy’s head. “I’ll have to trouble you to make do for now,” he said tenderly. “When I have time, I’ll have a tailor come to the house to take your measurements and custom-make several formal suits for you. The clothes here aren’t great; handmade ones are more comfortable and fit better than mass-produced ones.”

The manager, listening to President Yan trash-talk his own top-tier luxury brand: “…”

Fine, you’re rich, you’re amazing, all your clothes are handmade.

Yan Zhimuo looked at the manager. “Pick out two suits for him. Not too formal. Something young and good-looking. Comfort is the most important thing.”

Casual, young, beautiful, comfortable. The manager quickly noted these points and offered a polite smile to Jian Anmian. “Certainly. Sir, please follow me. I will show you some suitable options.”

Yan Zhimuo hummed, then added casually, “This is your Madam.”

The eavesdropping staff: SHOCK!

Jian Anmian’s foot slipped, nearly making him trip on flat ground.

“So clumsy, you can’t even walk straight.” Yan Zhimuo affectionately put an arm around the boy’s waist. He looked down and pinched his cheek with a doting gaze.

“Sorry…” Jian Anmian’s face turned scarlet instantly. The small patch of skin that had been touched felt like it was on fire. He nervously gripped the man’s sleeve, shrinking into a small ball against Yan Zhimuo’s chest.

The manager’s mouth twitched as he said professionally, “Of course, Madam. President Yan, please follow me.”

These young couples… it’s too much to look at. Tsk.

…

The manager said he would provide recommendations, but he wasn’t really needed. The man’s possessiveness was far too strong; every piece of Jian Anmian’s outfit had to be personally selected by him.

The pinstripes on the shirt, the bowtie, the buttons, the belt, even the choice of socks… such tedious details were usually left to a stylist for Yan Zhimuo himself, but now he compared them one by one with tireless patience. He selected his favorite accessories and placed them meticulously on Jian Anmian, as if he were dressing a beloved doll or a favorite pet. Any girl seeing such extreme doting would be green with envy.

Jian Anmian was like a doll at the man’s mercy. He stood quietly and obediently as the man held things up against him, showing no impatience at all.

Watching clerks: They also want such a rich, handsome, and generous husband. Just one wave of the hand—swipe, swipe, swipe!

Store Manager (gloomily): Wake up. This is his own store. He doesn’t have to pay.

Clerks: “…”

Other clerks: They’re different. They just want such a sweet, soft wife. Hehe.

First group of clerks: You dare try to steal President Yan’s wife? How bold!

Manager: What kind of puppy-raising dress-up game is this? Rich people really know how to play.

Yan Zhimuo had intended to pick two pieces and leave, but he got addicted. He ended up putting together over a dozen outfits and intended to have Jian Anmian try them all.

“Go in and try them,” Yan Zhimuo said like a gentleman, opening the fitting room door for him. “I’ll wait for you out here.”

Jian Anmian nodded and walked in with a pile of clothes. Soon, the sound of rustling fabric came from within.

However, a few minutes later, Jian Anmian’s soft call came from behind the door: “Mr. Yan? Are you still there?”

Yan Zhimuo walked over immediately, leaning against the door. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

“P-please wait a moment.” Another rustling sound came from inside. The next second, the fitting room door was pushed open just a crack. Jian Anmian’s fair, flushed face peeked out. His slender fingers held a piece of elastic fabric that looked like a garter. His lashes fluttered, not daring to look at the man, as he asked haltingly, “Um, what is this? I… I don’t know how to wear it.”

Jian Anmian had already changed into the shirt. The buttons were obediently fastened to the very top. The neat collar framed his slender neck, and the snow-white, smooth fabric made his skin look even more delicate. His soft black hair sat neatly on his forehead; he looked as pure as an angel.

However, while his upper body was peeking out, his lower half was shrinkingly hidden behind the door. He was leaning out at almost a ninety-degree angle, not daring to show even a bit of his bottom half. His face was much redder than usual.

The moment Jian Anmian emerged, Yan Zhimuo stepped forward, shielding the boy completely. His sharp gaze shot toward the manager behind him like a beast protecting its food.

“President Yan, I’ll leave you and the Madam to it. I’ll take my leave,” the manager said, practically poking his own eyes out as he turned and fled.

Only then did Yan Zhimuo look back. His peripheral vision caught the boy’s thin shoulders, and he noticed a pair of trousers draped over the chair inside.

He knew that what Jian Anmian was holding was a shirt stay—something buckled around the thigh to keep the shirt from bunching up. Since it had to be buckled to the thigh, one naturally had to take their pants off to put it on.

So, Jian Anmian’s lower half right now…

Realization hit Yan Zhimuo. His breathing suddenly grew heavy, and his gaze turned profoundly dark.

“Mr. Yan?” Jian Anmian tilted his head and called out in confusion. Why isn’t he saying anything?

Yan Zhimuo’s Adam’s apple bobbed dryly. Meeting the boy’s innocent and trusting eyes, he ignored his conscience and said in a low, husky voice: “It’s fine. I’ll help you put it on.”

Jian Anmian froze.

The next second, the man reached out, grabbed the boy’s thin, fair wrist, pushed the door open, and pulled Jian Anmian into the fitting room with him.