Chapter 148 Day 12 of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

Chapter 148: The Twelfth Day of Transmigrating into a Scholarly Exam Novel

The next day, the sky had not yet fully brightened, with only a faint pale light of dawn visible on the eastern horizon.

Qin Cang had already opened his eyes, lying flat on his back on the hard wooden bed, staring at the old beam above his head.

He had barely slept all night, his mind churning with An Yi's calm, placid gaze from yesterday and those words, "It's up to you."

Dark circles had inevitably formed under his eyes, but his mind, driven by a taut, almost stubborn tension, was unusually alert—even carrying a sharp edge of desperation.

As usual, he rose silently without lighting a lamp. By the dim light from outside the window, he picked up the snare rope and the woodcutter's knife by the wall, then slipped into the dim woods without a sound.

Luck seemed to be on his side in his anxious state.

At one of his carefully concealed snare traps, he found a foolish roe deer, securely caught and still struggling in vain.

The deer was quite large, with tender, succulent meat.

There was no joy in Qin Cang's eyes at the catch—only a numb focus.

He moved swiftly and efficiently to finish off the prey, then crouched by the stream, in the icy cold water to skin the deer, bleed it, and cut it into pieces.

His movements were practiced, his fingers slightly red from the exertion.

He selected the tenderest and best piece—a hind leg—and carefully wrapped it in a clean, broad leaf he had prepared earlier, ensuring it wouldn't touch any dirt.

It had been almost a year since he had caught such a good catch.

By the time he stood once again outside the wicker gate of An Yi's yard, the sky had brightened considerably. Morning light pierced through the mist, bathing the dilapidated village with a pale golden glow.

The morning breeze blew through his hair, dampened by dew and sweat, bringing a chill.

Would An Yi... be angry at him for making a fuss yesterday?

Just then, his gaze caught movement inside the yard.

An Yi had already gotten up.

He had changed out of yesterday's indigo clothes and was now wearing a slightly loose, moon-white cotton robe.

The plain color made his slender, upright figure appear even more striking—like a piece of jade polished after the rain.

He was slightly bent over, holding a coarse wooden gourd ladle, slowly watering a few unknown green plants. The plants had just broken through the soil, their tender leaves spread out.

The early morning light was soft, falling on his lowered profile, outlining his finely carved jawline like jade and straight nose. His long, thick lashes were like butterfly wings, casting two faint, shadowy curves under his eyelids, shadows that seemed to beckon.

His movements were unhurried, even carrying an indescribable rhythm, utterly out of place with the barren, rundown surroundings—as if he were not in a humble hut, but carefully tending a quiet, elegant garden.

Tranquil, graceful, transcendent.

As if yesterday's small storm stirred up by him—the grievances, the awkwardness, and the silent accusations—were but a speck of dust thrown into this deep pond, not even leaving a ripple behind.

Qin Cang's heart felt as if something had slammed into it hard. Sourness, racing heart, shame...

All kinds of emotions intertwined, nearly suffocating him.

His grip on the leaf-wrapped bundle tightened, his nails almost digging into the flexible veins, leaving deep marks.

Perhaps sensing the too-focused, even burning gaze from outside the door, An Yi paused slightly in his watering motion.

He slowly straightened up and raised his head.

His gaze, like cold moonlight, pierced through the sparse gaps in the wicker fence and landed exactly on the stiff figure standing outside the door.

Their eyes met.

In that instant, Qin Cang's heart pounded violently twice.

It pounded against his ribs, aching—was he sick?

Almost instinctively, he lowered his head, avoiding that calm gaze that seemed to see right through him, making all his hidden thoughts impossible to conceal.

His cheeks felt hot, his throat dry as if he had swallowed sand, his heart churning with a thousand words—yet he couldn't utter a single one, leaving only clumsy silence and panic.

An Yi: ????

What's his deal?

He'd sensed Qin Cang had arrived and thought he would come in on his own, but instead he just stood there like an idiot.

What's his deal? Watching the sunrise?

An Yi calmly looked away and continued his task, pouring the last bit of clear water evenly and carefully onto the roots of those few green plants.

After finishing, he gently set the ladle aside and said, "Come in."

Such a flat tone.

Qin Cang's heart then felt a dull, sour ache.

He pressed his dry, cracked lips together; the slight sting from his lips made him more alert.

That settled it: An Yi didn't care about him at all.

He'd already known that yesterday.

An Yi had already turned and walked toward the shabby wooden desk inside the house, not looking back at him, only casually pointing to a shady, well-ventilated corner of the yard, indicating he should put the things there.

Qin Cang silently walked over and placed the leaf-wrapped roe deer meat at the designated spot.

"Sit down," An Yi's voice came from behind.

Qin Cang obediently walked to the same small stool he'd used yesterday and sat down.

His back was straight as a ramrod, his hands neatly placed on his knees, like a child waiting for his tutor's lecture.

But his slightly lowered eyelashes concealed the more complex emotions churning deep in his eyes.

An Yi took out the book "Rhyme Book," turned to the section he'd taught yesterday, and made no comment on Qin Cang's unusually silent state.

He pointed to the characters on the page, in his clear voice to read out the pronunciations and explain the meanings.

What a pleasant voice he had!

Qin Cang forced himself to focus, his ears capturing every syllable, his eyes glued to the black ink characters on the page.

An Yi's voice was like a mountain spring, flowing through his restless heart, bringing a comfort tinged with a slight sting.

His voice was addictive to him, made him yearn, yet also made him more restless.

He greedily absorbed every word, every sound, trying to use this focus to mask the dark, growing desires inside him.

He was obedient, compliant, trying hard to act like the model student he should be.

Yet, in the corners of his downcast eyes, under his obedient mask, a more hidden, stubborn emotion was quietly taking root, feeding like the new sprouts in the nearby vegetable patch.

He revered the figure before him, as cool and distant as moonlight, with an almost pious devotion.

But within that reverence lurked a darker, unspoken urge to pry and possess—one he hadn't yet fully understood.

He wanted to know everything about An Yi, to understand every thought beneath that calm surface, to... make those gentle yet indifferent eyes reflect only him.

These thoughts silently coiled around his heart.

What "don't be greedy"?

If he hadn't been greedy, he wouldn't have survived to this day—he would have been devoured by those relatives long ago.

Yesterday's thinking was completely discarded.

Starting today, he wanted more.