He opened his eyes weakly as a small voice muttered a faint "sodding!" right next to him, followed by the soft clucking of chickens from outside. His body ached, every muscle screaming, but it wasn't just the pain—it was his head, throbbing as foreign memories came flooding in. Memories that weren't his.
Transmigration…?
Of all things, he had landed inside a dog-blood BL novel—the kind his sister devoured like candy, and he mocked as if it were a national sport. She had refused to rest until she collected every volume and narrated it, word for word, to her unfortunate brother—him—a straight man who would rather chew nails than sit through another melodramatic love confession.
Now, here he was, living proof that karma had a sense of humor.
His name in this world was Han Yan—a cannon fodder, fated to bleed and suffer so the male lead could get a happy ending. In the story, he was hardworking but unremarkable, eventually dying alone in the mountains while the male lead carried his beloved away into a lifetime of bliss.
Han Yan thought he was supposed to die right now, too. Instead, his soul had been shoved into this body—after dying from choking on noodles. Noodles!
He closed his eyes. Truly a dignified end… if your dignity was worth five cents.
Forget about that. Survival first.
The small, shabby room around him was barely livable. Four rotting walls patched with mud and straw, a ceiling sagging in the middle, and a draft that whispered through the cracks like a ghost. The bedding beneath him was thin and scratchy, almost sharp enough to cut through skin. Even the floorboards groaned as though complaining about the weight of his body. Dust motes floated in the weak sunlight that trickled through the single window.
This… this was where he lived? No wonder the Han family's "second son" had such a tragic end.
At the side of his bed, a pair of bright, wary eyes stared at him.
The boy was delicate, almost painfully so, his frame scrawny but with sharp features that would have been handsome if not for the malnutrition. Striking green eyes, glowing despite the pallor of his skin. And the hair—curly, blond, and absurdly out of place for ancient China.
Han Yan almost choked on air. Really, author? Blonde curls and green eyes in ancient China?
If he ever met that author, he'd burn incense for their history teacher.
"Yan-ge, you finally woke up! Boohoo—" The boy threw himself at him, crying.
Han Yan froze, then awkwardly patted his back. It's weird how me and this character share the same name. No wonder my sister always joked about this.
"Xin'er, don't cry. I'm alright, I'm alright. Did anyone bully you?" he asked, rubbing the boy's curls, startled by how soft they felt.
Lin Xin lifted his face. His eyes were swollen and red, threatening to spill more tears. He quickly wiped them with his small hands, then shook his head.
Ba-dump.
His heart thudded violently, like it had its own agenda.
"Oh heavens… you really went out of your way to get me bent!" Han Yan cursed silently, before smacking his head against a block of tofu in despair.
Han Yan gently wiped Xin'er's tear-stained cheeks. "Xin'er, have you eaten? Did Madam Wei give you any food?" He noticed how thin the boy's arms were, the faint blue veins on his wrists, the way his little shoulders trembled. Not a trace of baby fat anywhere, lips pale, cheekbones sharp… even his stomach gave a faint grumble.
Lin Xin lowered his head, biting his lip, clearly struggling.
"Yan-ge… um… Mother-in-law… she—" He stopped abruptly.
Han Yan coaxed him softly until he continued.
"Mother-in-law said I shouldn't eat until you woke up. That all I know is to eat and eat…" His voice dwindled, and his head drooped like a wilted flower.
Han Yan's chest tightened. So it was true—this little one hadn't eaten all day just because he, the so-called useless husband, had been unconscious? His fists curled beneath the blanket.
That Madam Wei… what kind of heart starved a child like this?
He glanced again at Lin Xin, shoulders trembling like they could snap at the slightest breeze. No wonder the novel described him as "delicate as porcelain, doomed to break."
But now that Han Yan was here… he refused to let him break.
"Xin'er," Han Yan said firmly, pinching his cheek lightly, "from today, don't listen to her nonsense. You eat when you're hungry. If there's nothing, I'll go find something. Understand?"
Lin Xin blinked at him, stunned. Then—hesitantly—he smiled. Fragile yet sincere, that smile carried a warmth that seemed out of place in such a shabby room, as if it alone could chase away the gloom.
Han Yan's breath caught. The strange flutter in his chest made him look away quickly, unsettled… but he didn't let go of the boy's hand.
For the first time since he arrived in this world, Han Yan felt a spark of something like purpose. Protecting Xin'er… keeping him safe… maybe, just maybe, that could give his transmigrated life some meaning.