Chapter 147 Day 11 of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

Chapter 147: The Eleventh Day of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

Logically speaking, at this moment, An Yi should step forward and soothe this ruffled child with gentle words.

He could perhaps explain that Fang Huaixing had happened to come seeking advice, and that, unlike him, Qin Cang was the "special" one he was willing to spend time teaching... With that, he could easily smooth over that unease and grievance.

But...

An Yi's gaze fell calmly, unwavering, upon Qin Cang's face, which was etched with stubbornness and anguish.

What was Qin Cang to him?

No relation whatsoever.

It was merely a whim—finding the fierceness in his eyes and the loneliness in their depths intriguing—and so he had extended a trivial kindness, like watering a weed by the roadside.

Like seeing a stubborn weed by the roadside and casually watering it.

Should he now, because this wild grass wished to be the sole recipient of his watering, soothe it and make promises to it?

There was no need for that, nor any obligation.

Thus, the faint trace of warmth on An Yi's face disappeared completely, reverting to his usual calm.

He even slightly curled the corners of his lips, revealing a smile so faint it bordered on imperceptible, and his tone was level and unruffled, betraying no emotion:

"Since that's the case, and you seem unwell, let's stop here for today."

The words were weightless, but they made Qin Cang's entire body stiffen abruptly.

The hurt he had been barely holding onto froze in his eyes, then shattered into pieces, leaving only utter shock and disbelief.

He had thought... he had thought that An Yi would at least ask, or... not end things so directly and flatly.

He swallowed painfully, as if against sand and gravel, and finally, extremely slowly and heavily, nodded, unable to utter a single word.

The surging hurt and inexplicable anger deflated like a pricked balloon, draining away completely, leaving only endless emptiness and cold.

He silently put down the branch he had been gripping to write on the ground, and stiffly turned and walked out of the yard.

Every step felt like stepping on cotton, or like dragging a thousand-pound chain.

The sunlight above cast his shadow beneath his feet.

Just as his foot stepped through the wicker gate, he stopped abruptly and turned back.

Sunlight fell on half of his face, illuminating the lingering sorrow in his eyes and a glimmer of humble hope.

"Then... can I still come tomorrow?" His voice was hoarse.

An Yi stood where he was, his figure somewhat blurred in the sunlight.

The expression on his face did not change; it remained as calm as ever, and even the faint smile at the corners of his lips didn't change.

He looked at Qin Cang, but his gaze was unmoved.

"That's up to you." He smiled back, his voice light, weightless.

That's up to you.

Come if you want; don't come if you don't.

He didn't care.

Qin Cang lowered his eyes. He snapped his head back around and ran away quickly.

Qin Cang returned to his own even more dilapidated ancestral home, utterly dejected.

The yard was kept reasonably clean.

He walked numbly to the smooth stone stool in the yard, polished by use, and sat down heavily.

The sun rose to its zenith, bringing a suffocating heat.

But he didn't feel the heat; he only felt hollow inside, as if a big hole had been torn open, and cold wind was rushing in.

He sat there in a daze, replaying in his mind An Yi's final calm, untroubled gaze and that weightless "That's up to you."

That's up to you...

What had he even been doing?!

Was he expecting Scholar An to comfort him like a child, to tell him that Fang Huaixing meant nothing, that he was the special one?

Qin Cang, how dare you be so greedy?

He suddenly raised his hand and slammed it hard against his own head, producing a dull thud.

The pain cleared his muddled mind for an instant.

An Yi had already been more than good to him.

No one had ever been like that—not caring about his reputation, not being disgusted by his coarseness and filth, willing to teach him characters, give him water, and allow him to sit in his yard.

He had even... tacitly allowed him to come every day.

How could anyone be so insatiable?

Get a little, and you want more, want to be the only one.

No more.

He couldn't afford to be greedy anymore.

Qin Cang squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive away all those improper, presumptuous thoughts from his mind.

But An Yi's serene eyes, his slender fingers when he held a book, his clear, steady voice when he taught him to read...

And what if... he really was kind only to him, taught only him, and those eyes looked only at him... How wonderful...

Qin Cang's fingertips trembled uncontrollably, and his heart felt as if it were being tightly clenched, both sore and numb, carrying a secret and surging thrill.

How wonderful that would be.

How wonderful that would be!

This thought, like wild grass, once born, grew wildly, nearly breaking through the fragile dam of his self-control.

He suddenly stood up, so abruptly that he knocked over the pile of firewood beside him with a loud clatter, the sound jarringly loud in the silent yard.

I can't think about this anymore!

I still haven't finished today's work.

I need to check the trap, split some firewood, and the water vat's almost empty.

He shook his head hard, like he was trying to shake off those messy thoughts, then strode to the corner of the house, picked up the heavy old hatchet, and brought it down hard on the woodpile.

Crack—the wood split right in two.

Sweat soon dripped down his temples, mixing with the dust from his earlier run, sticky and filthy.

He didn't care, only swinging the hatchet with even more force, as if to vent all the grievances, frustrations, and those forbidden desires and fantasies through this monotonous, exhausting labor.

Only during the brief pauses between swings, when he stopped to catch his breath, his eyes would involuntarily drift toward An Yi's house.

It was too far to see anything.

Tomorrow... could he still go?

Of course, he would go tomorrow.

----------

An Yi stood there, showing no change in emotion at Qin Cang's departure.

To him, this was just a minor incident.

He bent down, picked up the "Rhyme Book" from the stool, and gently brushed imaginary dust off its cover.

Between the pages, the faint warmth and nervous breath from the boy's focused study seemed to linger.

He closed the book, ready to return it to the house.

Just then, the familiar comment section piped up:

"Ding! Genius study card recharged! The MC's off to school again!"

"No wonder he's the MC—so hardworking, so proactive!"

"Isn't this nap time after lunch?"

"? At your age, how can you be sleeping?"

"I sleep just fine at my age!"

"I bet a pack of spicy sticks the teacher is going to be shocked again!"

"Another flex, so satisfying!"

"Major event incoming! Iconic scene alert! The teacher's pupils are about to dilate!"

"Teacher: You're telling me he's six? This is six?!"

"Teacher: Who am I? Where am I? What did I just hear? (Questioning life.jpg)"

["I... I am not learned enough to teach—I might mislead the student..." Here it comes! The classic line arrives on schedule!]

"County school teacher: A big thank you to you..."

"So the next step is a new arc at the county school? Can't wait!"

"..."

The comment section bustled with chatter, light and cheerful.

Fang Huaixing is heading to the county school!

An Yi listened to these voices, his expression unchanged. He placed the "Rhyme Book" back into its owner's simple wooden box, producing a soft "thump."