Chapter 139 Day 3 of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

Chapter 139: Day Three of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

However, it didn't end there.

Not long after those relatives left in frustration, the greediest and loudest uncle among them somehow fell into a ditch on his way home, breaking his leg. Unable to get timely medical help, he ended up paralyzed in bed, and his family soon fell into decline.

When news of this reached the village, the eight-year-old Qin Cang heard about it and, instead of showing any sorrow or sympathy, bared his teeth in a nearly vicious grin.

Because of that smile, the villagers completely branded him as a "cold-hearted wolf" and "poisonous."

Coupled with the "fact" that he had "caused the deaths" of his parents and grandfather, the reputation of "Lone Star" and "kin-killer doomed by fate" clung to him like a leech, spreading farther and wider, growing more exaggerated, and far more fearsome than the original owner's "Jinx" reputation.

Moreover, not many people actually said the original owner brought misfortune to his family; most pitied him, and the real malice came from those jealous of his child prodigy reputation.

Still, many did find him unlucky.

An Yi: "..."

The neighbors regarded Qin Cang like a flood or a beast, avoiding him at all costs.

Thus, he survived alone on his meager savings, occasionally foraging in the mountains and rivers for food, relying on his fierce demeanor that kept others from provoking him, scraping through until he was fourteen.

An Yi quickly reviewed these memories, feeling a rare sense of absurd speechlessness.

This small village, with its "unique" feng shui, had actually nurtured both him and Qin Cang as two "kin-killing" Lone Stars. Whether it was misfortune or a "chosen village," he couldn't say.

Truly a land of exceptional people.

His gaze returned to the chaotic scene.

The besieged boy's eyes were still as fierce as if he wanted to devour someone, but his strength was clearly failing. His movements slowed, his breathing grew heavy, and each block became more difficult while more punches, kicks, and clods of earth hit him.

Yet he still gritted his teeth, silent, glaring at his attackers with those icy eyes.

The original owner was crushed by rumors and a string of setbacks, dying of depression.

But this Qin Cang seemed to stubbornly and clumsily resist the malice of the whole world with his rebellious spirit and near-self-destructive rage.

Seeing the older boys, now both angry and scared, their attacks becoming more reckless, someone picked up a thick branch and aimed it at Qin Cang's head!

An Yi frowned.

He looked at those unyielding wolf-cub eyes, and considering his own current identity and situation, a subtle, almost darkly humorous sense of "misery loves company" quietly surfaced.

He stepped forward. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a strange, calm power that cut through the noise as he said softly:

"Stop."

An Yi's voice wasn't loud—bearing a slight hoarseness from his recent recovery—and his tone was even and unhurried, without reproach or anger, yet it held a peculiar penetrating force.

For a moment, the chaotic scene froze.

The boys, who had been hitting and cursing with gusto, froze in shock, instinctively stopping, looking toward the sound.

When they saw it was the usually sickly, silent, and recently labeled "Jinx" little scholar An Yi standing near the haystack, surprise and confusion flashed across their faces. They seemed not to expect this guy who could barely save himself to meddle.

What does he even know to butt in?

Qin Cang, surrounded in the middle, also glimpsed An Yi through the crowd.

Under his messy black hair, a flicker of surprise flickered in his wolf-like eyes, more than he'd ever show for anyone else.

He hadn't expected An Yi to say anything.

But this emotion faded quickly, replaced by a thicker layer of cold wariness and indifference. He remained tense, like a wounded animal on high alert.

An Yi took a few steps forward, his calm gaze sweeping over the boys' faces, which still held traces of fierceness and unease, finally resting on those who were visibly injured and yelping. His tone remained flat: "Bullying someone outnumbered, and still getting beaten up this bad—impressive?"

His gaze was indifferent, lacking any aggressive threat or obvious emotion—just a plain statement of fact.

Yet this overly calm scrutiny, combined with his pale but strikingly handsome scholar's face, and his pointed remark about "getting beaten up this badly," made the boys feel an intense discomfort and shame, as if crushed by an invisible force.

One tall boy, who seemed to be the ringleader, felt humiliated to be cowed by a "Jinx" scholar, so he stuck his neck out and blustered, "Scholar An, mind your own business! He's a Lone Star, a monster who brings misfortune! We're doing a good deed!"

"A good deed?" An Yi repeated softly, a faint smile seeming to curl at the corners of his mouth. "Doing good deeds with your fists? You must have grand ambitions. One day, you'll all have seats in the magistrate's torture chamber."

His words were neither sharp nor strong, but the boys' faces flushed red with shame and anger.

They were cowards who bullied the weak and feared the strong, ganging up on Qin Cang because he was isolated and had a bad reputation, and because strength lay in numbers. But once the yamen and the court were brought up, they got scared.

Besides, a scholar, even a down-and-out one with a bad name, had a scholar's status that these country boys naturally stood in awe of.

An Yi didn't look at them again. He turned his gaze to Qin Cang, who still held a defensive stance with icy eyes, and said calmly, "You still able to walk?"

Qin Cang stared at him intently, his split lips bleeding, saying nothing. He just moved slowly and cautiously, enduring pain, trying to stand on his own.

The boys exchanged glances; their momentum was completely gone.

An Yi looked at them and added with a smile, "If you don't leave now, I'll tell the village head."

The boys: "..."

Tattling to the village head—how shameless.

The tall boy shot Qin Cang a resentful look, then cast a wary glance at An Yi. He blustered, putting on a brave face, "Consider yourself lucky!"

Then he called to the others, and they limped away as fast as they could.

Only An Yi and Qin Cang remained, amidst the trampled ground and swirling dust.

Qin Cang still held his body tense, his wariness undiminished, even more focused now that the others had left.

He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, a rough, defiant motion.