Villain Strategy Rules [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 5

Although Wen Zhixu had said goodnight, her body was swaying unsteadily. She leaned her face against the doorframe, her cheeks growing increasingly red as she stared fixedly at Chaoyao.

Chaoyao felt shy under the intensity of that gaze. She glanced around but saw no one else. Realizing the look was directed solely at her, she couldn’t stay seated.

There was something inexplicably mesmerizing about Wen Zhixu’s eyes. Despite the winter chill, her gaze carried the warmth of spring.

Chaoyao knocked on the door, but before her hand could even settle, the door swung open. Yang Yue appeared flustered and said hurriedly, “Chaoyao, what are you doing here? Ah, Teacher Song is here too. She seems a bit drunk—could you help take care of her for me? I have an urgent matter to attend to.”

“I…” Chaoyao swallowed her words upon seeing Yang Yue’s anxious expression and finally nodded. “Alright…”

Relieved, Yang Yue handed Chaoyao the keys and added, “Just help her onto the bed and wipe her face. She’s already bathed. I’ll be back tonight.”

Chaoyao nodded and watched Yang Yue leave.

Wen Zhixu truly had a low tolerance for alcohol. Though she’d been somewhat coherent earlier, she was now slumped entirely against Chaoyao. Despite her drunken state, she instinctively sought support.

“You smell so good…” Wen Zhixu murmured suddenly, wrapping her arms tightly around Chaoyao’s neck. Her nose brushed lightly against Chaoyao’s skin, her flushed cheeks radiating warmth against Chaoyao’s cool neck.

Chaoyao gave a gentle push, but Wen Zhixu didn’t budge. With no other choice, she scooped Wen Zhixu up in her arms and carried her to the bed.

Wen Zhixu was already wearing fluffy pajamas, the buttons done up so tightly that what lay beneath wasn’t visible. Chaoyao hesitated, her fingers hovering over the buttons. A silver necklace rested prominently on Wen Zhixu’s collarbone, its crescent-shaped pendant swaying slightly with each breath, the diamonds catching the light and shimmering.

Steeling herself, Chaoyao undid the outer buttons, revealing a white camisole underneath.

She quickly refastened the pajamas, surprised to find Wen Zhixu wearing only a loose camisole beneath, half of her body faintly visible through the fabric—a sight that sent Chaoyao’s pulse racing.

Wen Zhixu mumbled incoherently, her voice soft but persistent. Left with no choice, Chaoyao removed her pajamas, tucked her under the blankets, wiped her face with a damp towel, and then sat beside her on a stool.

There was no telling when Yang Yue would return. Wen Zhixu was already deep in drunken slumber, her face flushed, yet her hands remained restless—wandering from the blankets to her own body, then her head, and finally Chaoyao’s face.

“So soft…”

“…” Chaoyao leaned back slightly and whispered, “Stop moving.”

But drunk people have no awareness. Finding nothing else to touch, Wen Zhixu rolled over, her fingers brushing Chaoyao’s lips.

“Even softer…”

Chaoyao was only wearing a thin T-shirt. Despite the cold, Wen Zhixu’s touch sent heat rushing to her face, staining her cheeks as red as if she were drunk too.

“Stay still and sleep properly,” Chaoyao murmured again.

Wen Zhixu suddenly opened her eyes, gazing at the changing numbers on the other person’s forehead before smiling, “Why are you changing…”

Chaoyao: “Changing what?”

“Nothing…” Wen Zhixu closed her eyes again and grabbed her hand. “Stay with me.”

The orphanage dormitory beds were particularly small, barely fitting one person. Petite girls had some advantage, leaving a bit of extra space after lying down.

Though Wen Zhixu wasn’t short, she was slender, as was Chaoyao. But no one would expect two people to share one bed.

Chaoyao tried reasoning with someone drunk: “The bed’s too small. This is your dorm, not mine. Can we talk about this later?”

Wen Zhixu ignored her: “What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine. So, we’ll sleep together.”

Just then, the campus bell rang, signaling that lights-out was in half an hour. If Yang Yue didn’t return within that time, Chaoyao wouldn’t be able to leave.

She glanced out the window—pitch black—with no sign of Yang Yue’s return. Helpless, Chaoyao dialed her number.

The call connected quickly, Yang Yue’s anxious voice coming through, “Chaoyao, is something wrong? Did something happen to Teacher Song?”

Chaoyao parted her lips, then glanced at the drowsy Wen Zhixu beside her. The words halted at her lips before she finally said, “Nothing much. Just wondering when you’ll be back.”

A few seconds of silence followed.

“My night’s gotten complicated. Could you take care of Teacher Song for me tonight? You can sleep in my bed.”

Noise surrounded Yang Yue—music, clinking glasses, and boisterous chatter.

“Alright.”

Chaoyao didn’t refuse. She didn’t know how to.

Dim light cast over their faces, indistinct shadows flickering on the floor. The reflection on transparent glasses obscured their eyes. Chaoyao removed her glasses and crouched back beside Wen Zhixu.

A cold draft swept through the window, making Chaoyao shiver in her thin clothes. She wanted to leave, but her hand was held tight…

She sighed, trying to stand and close the window, but couldn’t free her hand. “Let go. I need to shut the window.”

Suddenly, Wen Zhixu burst into tears. “Don’t go… Don’t leave me alone… I’m scared…”

Before she could finish, she vomited.

Chaoyao: “…Scared of what? And… how much did you drink?”

Wen Zhixu continued retching. Seeing her discomfort, Chaoyao wet a towel in the bathroom and brought her warm water to drink.

The cold cloth wiped against feverish skin. For a brief moment, Wen Zhixu regained clarity, opening her eyes to see Chaoyao before smiling. “It’s you…”

But the alcohol was too strong. Wen Zhixu closed her eyes again, perhaps feeling better after vomiting, and soon fell asleep.

Once certain Wen Zhixu was truly asleep, Chaoyao stood to close the window and cleaned up the mess on the floor. As she turned to leave, she paused.

She said she was scared…

It was late. Yang Yue wouldn’t return. If Wen Zhixu woke up in the middle of the night to pitch darkness, what then?

They were both slim—squeezing together wasn’t a big deal. Just one night. If it was uncomfortable, she could catch up on sleep tomorrow. But if something happened because Wen Zhixu was left alone, Chaoyao couldn’t escape responsibility.

“I stayed to keep you safe,” Chaoyao reminded, though the person on the bed gave no response.

She didn’t expect one anyway. Obediently, she turned off the light, nudged Wen Zhixu further inside, and squeezed herself onto the narrow outer edge of the bed.

The bed was far too small. No matter how slender they were, sharing such cramped space made skin contact unavoidable. Worse still, Wen Zhixu was only wearing a thin camisole, her exposed skin radiating warmth against Chaoyao’s shirt.

“It’s so hot…”

Chaoyao pressed a hand over Wen Zhixu’s mouth. “Sleep, and you won’t feel it anymore.”

“Then don’t cover my mouth,” Wen Zhixu mumbled indistinctly.

Chaoyao didn’t catch it. “What?”

“I can’t breathe,” Wen Zhixu slurred.

This time, Chaoyao heard her clearly. She withdrew her hand and curled herself against the bed’s metal frame, trying her best not to fall off.

But the frame was too narrow—it only protected the upper half of her body. And since Chaoyao was deliberately keeping some distance from Wen Zhixu, her lower half teetered precariously close to the edge.

Wen Zhixu had already turned to her side and fallen asleep. Chaoyao mirrored her, leaving a centimeter-wide gap between them. The faint sound of their breathing filled the room. Before long, Chaoyao felt her entire body burning up.

She wanted to shift back, but there was no space.

A minute later—

Chaoyao turned fully onto her side, arched a delicate brow, then wrapped her arms around Wen Zhixu, tucking her chin against the other’s neck. Their skin pressed together, scorching heat instantly engulfing them both.

Wen Zhixu stirred at the presence beside her. She reached out groggily, trying to feel who it was, but Chaoyao caught her wrist and whispered, “Sleep.”

–

The morning alarm rang. Wen Zhixu slowly opened her eyes, her head throbbing faintly from last night’s drinks. She tried to reach for her phone to check the time but found her hand pinned beneath something.

Blinking, she looked down—a pair of slender, jade-like fingers were interlaced with hers.

“……”

Who?

She risked a glance sideways—

Chaoyao.

Oh. It was Chaoyao.

The next second, Wen Zhixu’s pupils dilated. Her breath hitched, her body stiffening.

Wait—why was Chaoyao here? What had they done last night? Why was she holding her like this, sleeping so soundly?

Hold on, hold on… What exactly happened yesterday? Why couldn’t she remember anything? Well, maybe a little—like clinging to Chaoyao and refusing to let her leave.

But what else? Nothing else, right?! Wen Zhixu suddenly glanced down at her clothes—why was she only in a camisole? Where were her pants?!

Oh god… Would Chaoyao hate her even more now?

“System, system—can I check the favorability?” Wen Zhixu squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the worst. She feared it might have plummeted past -100%.

0%.

Huh?

That… didn’t make sense?

Just as Wen Zhixu tried to stealthily get up, Chaoyao stirred awake. Wen Zhixu didn’t dare look at her and immediately shut her eyes, pretending to still be asleep.

Chaoyao, assuming Wen Zhixu was still unconscious, gently touched her forehead first—checking for fever—then, satisfied that her temperature was normal, quietly slipped out of bed. She cracked open a window before leaving the room.

The entire ordeal left Wen Zhixu drenched in cold sweat. She barely dared to breathe, terrified that the slightest sound would expose her act—and undo whatever fragile progress had been made in their favorability.

“Oh, Chaoyao, were you the one taking care of Teacher Song last night? Thank you so much.” Yang Yue had returned at some point and happened to run into Chaoyao.

Chaoyao replied, “It was nothing. She should be waking up soon. Just don’t tell her I was here.”

Yang Yue asked, “What? Why not?”

Flustered, Chaoyao said, “No reason. Just don’t mention it. I should get going now.”