What does transmigrating into a book mean? As a seasoned otaku, Jiang Huai was all too clear about this—it meant he could use his knowledge of the original story to predict the future, uncover all kinds of secrets, and turn it to his advantage.

Jiang Huai was overjoyed. This was the rare bit of good news he’d encountered since his transmigration.

He eagerly began to recall the plot of the original story, hoping to figure out how to make the most of this opportunity. However, after reminiscing, Jiang Huai was left dumbfounded.

Though he had indeed transmigrated into the book, it seemed he had arrived way too early. The original protagonist was still a child, and the main storyline hadn’t even started.

As for himself? He was a background character among background characters—barely a blip in the narrative. He was a minor cannon fodder mentioned briefly in passing, destined to die of illness during exile. Aside from this tiny bit of information, there was nothing else.

Moreover, the original novel was a political intrigue drama, which Jiang Huai wasn’t particularly fond of. He had skimmed through it half-heartedly, even skipping chapters and only checking the table of contents. He barely remembered anything about the plot. The one thing he did recall was that the protagonist, a once-insignificant prince, rose to power through a cutthroat competition among royal siblings, eventually seizing the throne.

So, in essence, his transmigration was wasted!

Jiang Huai felt like crying. If he had known that the cannon fodder character shared his name, he would’ve memorized the entire book word for word. Even if the information turned out to be useless, it would still be better than regretting it now to the point of despair.

If he could have a do-over, he swore he’d read the story meticulously, savoring every detail.

When Xiao Jingzhao returned, he found Jiang Huai—who had been brimming with energy earlier—suddenly looking dejected.

“Did one of the prisoners or guards bully you?” Xiao Jingzhao guessed instinctively but felt something wasn’t right. These days, the prisoners, eager for early pardons, were all unusually obedient. Even the rowdier ones were on their best behavior.

As for the guards, most of them were preoccupied with dealing with Zhang Tou. As long as Jiang Huai didn’t provoke anyone, no one would trouble him.

“No,” Jiang Huai replied, confirming Xiao Jingzhao’s suspicions.

“Then why…” Xiao Jingzhao frowned.

“I just realized I had a mountain of gold in front of me, and I walked away without even picking it up. My heart hurts,” Jiang Huai said, clutching his chest in regret.

Xiao Jingzhao blinked in confusion and reached out to feel Jiang Huai’s forehead. He suspected Jiang Huai had caught a chill and was running a fever; otherwise, how could he spout such nonsense?

“I’m not feverish!” Jiang Huai hurriedly clarified, the cool hand on his forehead snapping him back to reality. Realizing what he had just blurted out, he felt a little awkward.

After confirming that Jiang Huai wasn’t sick, Xiao Jingzhao retracted his hand and handed him some food he had purchased earlier. “Eat quickly.”

The mention of food reminded Jiang Huai of the original story and his supposed fate of dying from illness. While it was unlikely now that he’d let himself fall seriously ill—especially with Xiao Jingzhao around to take care of him—it wouldn’t hurt to strengthen his health just in case. After all, what if his death was a predetermined plot point?

Watching Jiang Huai eat happily, Xiao Jingzhao shook his head and sat to the side.

Although Jiang Huai didn’t remember much about the story, he made an effort to recall whatever he could while his memory was still somewhat fresh. Who knew? Maybe something useful would come to mind.

And something did: the fate of the Jiang family.

The Jiang family’s exile was a result of being implicated in the Crown Prince’s treason. Five years later, when the Crown Prince successfully rebelled and ascended the throne, the Jiang family was exonerated and rose rapidly in status.

If he could endure these five years, he’d be able to return to the capital and live the comfortable life of a salted fish (a carefree loafer).

After the hardship of exile, Jiang Huai longed for a simple life. Even an ordinary life in ancient times sounded far better than this endless wandering.

…

After staying in the local area for two days, Zhang Tou left behind the prisoners eligible for reduced sentences and the guards assigned to watch them. He then continued the journey with the remaining prisoners, significantly reducing the group’s numbers and speeding up their progress.

“Even if we’re making up for the two days we lost, this is way too fast!” Jiang Huai couldn’t help but complain to Xiao Jingzhao during their evening rest.

“It’s been days since autumn started. If Zhang Tou doesn’t reach Anyuan Prefecture soon, the return journey will be even harder,” Xiao Jingzhao explained.

Return journey? Jiang Huai froze and looked at Xiao Jingzhao. If he remembered correctly, Xiao Jingzhao was supposed to return as well, right?

Along the way, Jiang Huai had nearly forgotten that Xiao Jingzhao wasn’t a fellow prisoner but a guard. Escorting them was merely his task. Once it was done, he’d return to his former life.

Yet Jiang Huai knew full well he couldn’t ask Xiao Jingzhao to stay. That was unrealistic. Although Xiao Jingzhao treated him well, he couldn’t expect the man to abandon his life and join him at the borderlands.

Wait—was it really impossible?

Suddenly, Jiang Huai remembered the Jiang family’s future exoneration. Once they returned to the capital, even if he didn’t hold much power himself, Grand Tutor Jiang would likely be reinstated, maybe even promoted. As the only son of the Jiang family’s third branch and the most doted-upon grandson, Jiang Huai would have enough influence to reward someone who had taken care of him for five years. Surely Grand Tutor Jiang wouldn’t refuse such a small request.

Xiao Jingzhao, a mere guard, might only climb to Zhang Tou’s level after five years of service. And from what Jiang Huai had observed, Xiao Jingzhao wasn’t the type to cozy up to others or engage in dirty tricks. This kind of personality wasn’t ideal for climbing the ranks—he’d likely end up doing the hard work and taking the blame without seeing much reward.

Wouldn’t it be better for Xiao Jingzhao to stick with him for five years? Right now, Xiao Jingzhao was protecting him. Once the Jiang family was exonerated, they could help Xiao Jingzhao ascend to greater heights. After all, connections made everything easier in court.

Even if the Jiang family insisted on integrity and refused to pull strings, having a powerful ally would still give Xiao Jingzhao an edge, sparing him from being suppressed due to his personality.

The more Jiang Huai thought about it, the more feasible the idea seemed.

The only problem was convincing Xiao Jingzhao to stay.

…

As Jiang Huai slept soundly, Xiao Jingzhao frowned deeply. He had long wondered if Jiang Huai recognized him, but Jiang Huai’s recent behavior rekindled his suspicions.

It wasn’t that Xiao Jingzhao was overly paranoid, but Jiang Huai’s actions were just too strange. Previously, their conversations revolved around Jiang Huai’s own life. But now, Jiang Huai was showing excessive curiosity about Xiao Jingzhao’s past, constantly asking about his work as a guard or his family situation.

Though Xiao Jingzhao had prepared well for such questions and answered seamlessly, Jiang Huai’s sudden interest made him uneasy.

If Jiang Huai had discovered his true identity…

Xiao Jingzhao’s expression darkened. In the past, he wouldn’t have hesitated to eliminate Jiang Huai, even if he was the grandson of Grand Tutor Jiang. But now…

He didn’t want to admit it, but ever since fleeing the capital, the only time Xiao Jingzhao felt a semblance of peace was when he was with Jiang Huai. Otherwise, the hatred in his heart threatened to consume him.

Unconsciously, Xiao Jingzhao’s hand moved to Jiang Huai’s neck. The slender neck pulsed with life beneath his fingertips, vibrant yet fragile. A slight squeeze, and it could all be extinguished.

“Stop it, that tickles.” Half-asleep, Jiang Huai mumbled and squirmed, rubbing against the sensation. Still half-dreaming, he complained softly, remembering the person next to him was Xiao Jingzhao.

Xiao Jingzhao’s dark eyes grew even deeper under the night’s shadow. Looking at his hand, now hugged lightly by Jiang Huai, he knew he could easily break free and continue his initial intention.

But after a moment, Xiao Jingzhao sighed and lay back down, closing his eyes.

The next morning, Jiang Huai woke up feeling refreshed, completely unaware of the danger he had narrowly escaped. Seeing Xiao Jingzhao already awake, he remembered the tickling incident last night and decided to get some playful revenge.

Carefully, he extended a hand toward Xiao Jingzhao’s neck. Just as his fingers were about to land, Xiao Jingzhao’s eyes snapped open. Cold and sharp, they pinned Jiang Huai in place. Before Jiang Huai could react, Xiao Jingzhao grabbed his hand and, in a flash, had him in a chokehold.

“What are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” Xiao Jingzhao’s voice was low and dangerous, though he masked his panic well. No one could have guessed how fast his heart had raced upon grabbing Jiang Huai’s wrist.

Jiang Huai, still stunned, hadn’t expected such a fierce reaction from Xiao Jingzhao, especially since it was just a playful move on his part.

Seeing Jiang Huai’s clueless expression, Xiao Jingzhao sneered and tightened his grip slightly.

Feeling the pressure on his neck, Jiang Huai quickly realized how close he had come to disaster. He immediately confessed, “I was wrong! I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why did you do it?” Xiao Jingzhao demanded.

Jiang Huai sheepishly explained his earlier thought process. Hearing that Jiang Huai still remembered last night’s events, Xiao Jingzhao’s grip instinctively tightened.

“Don’t do that again,” Xiao Jingzhao warned. “Martial artists are extremely sensitive to threats near their vital points. Even in an unconscious state, they’ll instinctively retaliate.”

Jiang Huai nodded vigorously. He wouldn’t dare risk it again after such a close call.

But then he wondered aloud, “I’ve been practicing for a while too. How come I didn’t react at all last night?”

Xiao Jingzhao lowered his gaze. “You’ve trained for too little time.”

Jiang Huai accepted this explanation without hesitation. However, Xiao Jingzhao knew the real reason. Lack of training wasn’t the issue; even novice martial artists developed heightened awareness of danger.

The only explanation was that Jiang Huai trusted him completely—trusted him to keep him safe.