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1: I Woke Up as the Idiot
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2026-04-29 21:12:32
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Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 46: The Investor's Real Weapon
The legal team arrived at the estate by nine AM.Not remotely — physically. Three people, two of them carrying enough documentation to fill a small room, the third carrying a laptop and the specific focused energy of someone who had been briefed on the way over and was already three steps into the solution. Huo Yan had made the call at six-thirty. By seven they were on the road. By nine they were in the estate's conference room with the folder Liang had compiled and the server location and forty-eight hours on the clock.I sat in on the first hour of the meeting. Not as a participant — as a presence. Huo Yan had asked me to be there without explaining why, and I had learned by now that when he asked without explaining it was because the reason would take longer to say than the thing itself.The lead lawyer was a woman named Dr. Fang, fifty-something, with the particular economy of movement that belonged to people who had spent decades in rooms where every gesture carried weight. She r
Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 45: The Someone
Liang was in the production office at six AM as he always was, as he had apparently always been — present before anyone else, managing the day's first complications before the day had officially begun, moving through the estate's systems with the quiet efficiency of someone who understood that invisible competence was the most powerful kind.I had been watching him do this for seven weeks and had catalogued it as simply how Liang operated.I had not understood, until last night, that I was watching someone run a parallel operation inside the one I could see.Huo Yan came in two minutes after me. He closed the door behind him. Liang looked up from his laptop and his expression did something I had never seen it do before — not surprise, not guilt, but the specific quality of a man who has been waiting for a particular conversation and is relieved it has finally arrived.He closed the laptop."You found her," he said."She found us," Huo Yan said. "Because you sent her.""Yes."The singl
Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 44: What Wen Ru Knows
The library at ten PM was a different room than the library at eight-forty-five AM.In the mornings it had the quality of a thinking space — quiet and useful, the particular silence of accumulated books and undisturbed air. At night it was something else. The overhead lights were off. The lamp on the reading table threw a circle of amber that made the rest of the room feel deliberately dark, the shelves retreating into shadow, the corners becoming their own private territories.Huo Yan was already there when I arrived at nine-fifty. Standing at the window with his back to the room, looking at nothing visible in the dark outside. He didn't turn when I came in but his shoulders shifted slightly — the specific acknowledgment of someone who had registered your arrival without needing to confirm it visually.I sat in the chair nearest the lamp. Put my phone on the table. Watched the minute hand on the wall clock move from nine-fifty to nine-fifty-five.At nine-fifty-eight the door opened.
Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 43: Venice
Huo Yan came to my room at nine PM. Not the study — my room. He knocked twice, even, and when I opened the door he came in and sat in the chair by the window without ceremony, without performing ease, without any of the layers that the production day required. Just him. Just the particular quality of a man who has decided to be present for something difficult and is being present for it. I sat on the edge of the bed. Put my phone on the mattress between us. Let him read all three messages in sequence without commentary. He read them once. Then he read them again. His face did the thing it did when it was processing something that required more than one layer — not blank, not cold, but running deep, the calculation happening somewhere below the surface of expression. When he finished he set the phone down. The ocean was loud tonight. The wind had come up off the water and was pressing against the estate's windows with the flat insistence of something that intended to be notice
Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 42: Who Is Watching
The second morning arrived with the particular quality of something that had been set in motion and was not going to stop on its own. I woke at five-fifty with the phone already in my hand — I'd fallen asleep holding it, which told me more about my mental state than I wanted to examine. The screen was dark. No new messages. The unknown number was silent, doing what unknown things did when they wanted you to feel their absence more than their presence. I got up. Showered. Stood at the window with the ocean below and ran what I knew. Two messages. Timed deliberately — the first arriving the morning after Huo Yan's public statement, the second hours later when I hadn't responded to the first. The timing said: I'm tracking you in real time. The content said: I know things about Huo Yan that aren't public. The direction said: ask him about Venice. I had not asked him about Venice. I had also not told him about the messages. This was the first time since the pool that I was carrying s
Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 41: The Morning After the Statement
The estate woke up knowing. That was the only way to describe it. No announcement had been made internally. No memo had circulated. But Huo Yan had stood in front of cameras at the estate's entrance and said what he said, and the internet had done what the internet does, and by the time the crew arrived for the morning's shoot every single person in the building had seen the clip, read the statement, and drawn their own conclusions. The conclusions were correct. I felt it the moment I came downstairs. Not hostility — nothing so simple. Just the specific atmospheric shift of a social environment that has received new information and is quietly reorganizing itself around it. The way people made space. The way conversations paused a half-second when I entered a room and then resumed, warmer than before. The way Liu nodded at me from across the production office with the nod that meant: noted, filed, approved. Wen Ru hugged me at breakfast. Just walked up and put her arms around me wi
Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 16: The Devil's Assistant
His door was open, as it almost always was, and the amber light from the desk lamp was making the room feel smaller and more private than it did in daylight. He was at his desk going through something on his tablet. He looked up when I appeared in the doorway with the complete absence of surprise t
Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 4:The Gilded Cage
The words on the single sheet of paper felt like they were crawling off the page and burrowing into my skin. "In all matters professional and private." It wasn't a contract; it was a receipt. I was now the property of Huo Yan, and the terms were non-negotiable. My hand, the traitorous limb, was st
Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 3:The Devil's Contract
He didn't drag me. That was the terrifying part. His grip on my wrist was firm, but he walked with a calm, unhurried pace, as if we were simply taking a stroll. It was the confidence of a man who knew his prey wasn't going to run. Mostly because I couldn't. My legs were moving, but my brain was sti
Transmigrated as the Alpha's Cannon Fodder. 2: The Predator's Interest
His finger on my chin was a brand. It was a question and a threat all at once, and my brain, the poor, overworked thing, was having a complete system shutdown. I was supposed to be groveling, pathetic, forgettable. I was not supposed to be intriguing. This was a critical script error. "They told
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