Chapter 145 Day 9 of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

Chapter 145: Day Nine of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

An Yi strolled around the county seat, sampling some local delicacies. They tasted good.

He recalled that when he was with Ling Fengyao before, they had also traveled around like this, tasting various foods. He was pretty picky about food.

By the time he returned to that dilapidated little hut, the moon was already high in the sky, casting cold, pale light through the window lattice, leaving dappled shadows on the floor.

He carefully put away the supplies he had bought in the county town. The room remained simple, but with these new additions, it subtly took on a bit more of a lived-in feel.

An Yi nodded in satisfaction. Not bad!

The next morning, before the sun had fully burned off the morning mist, An Yi had already risen.

He changed into a simple long robe made from the indigo cotton cloth he had bought the day before. Though the tailoring wasn't great, the fabric was clean, crisp, and comfortable. Draped over his lean frame, it lent his pale but handsome face an indescribable air of refined elegance.

He was just about to go into the yard to check on those hardy clumps of weeds and tidy up the overly neglected courtyard when familiar light footsteps approached and stopped outside the wicker gate.

It was Qin Cang.

The youth was still in that same faded, worn-out tunic. He seemed to have picked up a few more fresh scrapes, but his eyes were a little brighter than the day before.

In his hand, he carried a plump, still-struggling pheasant. Standing outside the gate, he hesitated a little, not pushing it open directly like he had yesterday.

An Yi walked to the gate and pulled open the wicker door.

In the morning light, seeing An Yi in his new indigo cotton gown, Qin Cang’s eyes lit up a little. Then he quickly looked down, thrust the pheasant forward, and said in a gruff voice, "...For you."

An Yi was at a loss for words.

He looked at Qin Cang’s stubborn face. Fair enough.

"That pheasant is pretty plump. Nice catch."

An Yi didn’t refuse. He took the pheasant—it felt heavy in his hand, with bright feathers.

He didn’t immediately send Qin Cang away. Instead, he stepped aside and said, "Come in and sit."

Qin Cang was startled. He looked up at An Yi, as if trying to discern some intention from that calm, expressionless face. In the end, he pressed his lips together and stepped into the yard, a little stiffly.

He still wasn’t used to such invitations. His hands and feet didn’t know where to put themselves.

An Yi put the pheasant temporarily in a cool spot in the kitchen, then went into the room and poured a bowl of warm water. He thought for a moment, then added a little sugar, and handed it to Qin Cang.

The boy took the bowl. His fingers were rough, making a faint scraping sound against the coarse earthenware. He lowered his head and drank. His long lashes concealed the emotions in his eyes.

The water was sweet.

An Yi calmly took a sip of water, his gaze sweeping over Qin Cang, who sat on the small stool with his back straight as a rod. He suddenly spoke, his voice gentle: "Besides hunting, what else do you do?"

Qin Cang was taken aback for a moment, then said in a low voice, "...Nothing else."

"Can't read?" An Yi asked again, recalling the original story's development. His tone remained flat, as if just making casual conversation.

Qin Cang’s body tensed almost imperceptibly. His fingers tightened around the earthenware bowl, the knuckles turning white. He was silent for a moment, then let out a very faint "mm," his voice so low it was almost inaudible.

It was a complex emotion—a mix of inferiority, stubbornness, and an unspoken reverence for the unknown. In this era where "all pursuits are base, only scholarship is exalted," being illiterate almost meant being shut out of mainstream society, especially for a sensitive youth like Qin Cang.

An Yi looked at his lowered head and tightly pressed lips, showing no sympathy or pity. He suddenly became interested.

He was quite satisfied with the original story's trajectory. So what should he do now?

He recalled that in the original text, around the middle and later parts, it was mentioned that Qin Cang had a hard time during his military service because he couldn't read, and even his promotions were held back.

He looked at Qin Cang and said simply, "Do you want to learn?"

Qin Cang's head shot up. His eyes were full of disbelief, mixed with the dazed look of someone hit by a huge surprise.

He opened his mouth, his throat dry, but no sound came out.

Did he want to learn? Of course he did!

Countless times, he had secretly hidden outside the village school's window, listening to the students reciting inside, watching those peers from well-off families holding books, a craving he’d never been able to voice welling up in his heart.

But he never dared to show it, because he was a "Lone Star." He didn’t deserve it, and no one would teach him.

"...Can I...?" he asked, his voice hoarse, carrying a tentative probing, as if afraid to break this sudden sweet dream.

"Why not?" An Yi's tone was warm, and he even smiled at him. "I’m free anyway."

He turned and went into the house. From the few books that the original owner had treasured so well, he pulled out the most basic one: a Rhyming Dictionary.

The pages had yellowed, the corners a bit worn, but it was quite well-preserved.

He walked out with the book and handed it to Qin Cang.

Qin Cang looked at the old, musty book with an expression of extreme solemnity, almost reverent awe. He reached out with both hands, wiped them hard on his rough clothes, as if afraid the dirt on his hands would defile the book, and then carefully accepted the thin volume.

It felt cool and fragile in his hands, yet weighed a thousand pounds.

"East, de hong qie, chun fang ye..." An Yi sat beside him without any unnecessary words, pointing at the first characters and reading them in a clear, calm voice.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it went straight to Qin Cang’s heart.

Qin Cang immediately straightened his back, concentrating fully. His eyes were glued to those square characters that looked like alien writing to him, and his ears were pricked up, afraid of missing a single syllable.

He imitated An Yi's pronunciation and followed along. His voice was a bit rough and off-key at first, but soon he became serious, saying each word with great effort.

The sun gradually rose higher, spilling light into the small yard, stretching their shadows long.

One taught casually; the other learned clumsily but with focused attention.

Occasionally a breeze blew, stirring the hem of An Yi's blue gown and Qin Cang's somewhat messy hair.

The scene held a strange harmony.

An Yi's expression remained calm as he pointed to the next character and read it for him.

Qin Cang learned very slowly, but he was extremely serious.

His memory seemed pretty good. Though he couldn’t write the characters An Yi had taught him a few times, he could kind of remember how they sounded.

When An Yi praised him with "decent memory", the boy's ears reddened visibly, and he quickly lowered his head, struggling to hide the barely suppressed smile tugging at his lips.

His heart felt as if filled with something, warm and full.

This teaching continued for a few days.

Qin Cang came almost every day, sometimes bringing prey, sometimes empty-handed and blushing, clearly unsuccessful, but always arriving at the small courtyard on time.

An Yi didn't ask for anything; when Qin Cang came, he taught him a few characters; when he didn't come, An Yi would sit in meditation or tidy the yard, without using his special abilities, making the small courtyard more livable by his own hands, and his days passed in calm routine.

He wondered if he had become a recluse.

He smiled slightly, feeling quite cultured.

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[1]. Xiong Zhong, Yuan Dynasty, "Essentials of the Collection of Rhymes in Ancient and Modern Times".