Chapter 151 Day 15 of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

Chapter 151: The Fifteenth Day of Transmigrating into a Civil Exam Novel

Outside the window, Qin Cang, who had been staring fixedly at that faint light, felt his heart clench violently as the flame went out. Had An Yi gone to sleep?

The next day, before dawn, Qin Cang opened his bloodshot eyes.

He had not slept all night, but his mind was unusually energized.

Morning mist enveloped the village, wrapping it in a gray veil.

He kept his eyes locked on An Yi's courtyard gate, as time slowly slipped by.

The east grew pale, the first light of dawn breaking faintly.

In the village, the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs sounded in succession, and wisps of cooking smoke rose up.

The sun climbed higher, dispersing the morning mist, and the sunlight became somewhat glaring.

The gate to An Yi's courtyard remained tightly shut, silent and still, without any sign of movement.

Qin Cang's heart, from anxious anticipation, gradually grew restless and uneasy.

He had a bad feeling.

Why... hasn't he come out yet? An Yi said he would leave in the morning...

As the sun reached its zenith, shining brightly over the earth, An Yi's courtyard still showed no trace of anyone.

Qin Cang's heart leaped violently, and that ominous premonition instantly swelled to its peak!

Unable to contain himself any longer, he rushed out from his hiding place and strode over to the courtyard gate. Forgetting all decorum, he shoved open the creaky wicker gate!

The courtyard was empty.

Those few green plants were still lush, and the water ladle lay quietly against the wall.

His heart pounded wildly as he dashed toward the house he had entered countless times, throwing open the half-closed wooden door!

Empty.

The room was utterly empty.

Only in the air lingered an extremely faint trace of the crisp, clean scent that belonged to An Yi, a testament to the fact that such a brilliant person had once been here.

An Yi was gone.

He had slipped away silently even under his sleepless watch.

Qin Cang didn't even know when he had left or which direction he had gone.

Qin Cang stood frozen in the center of the room, as if his soul had been ripped away.

Sunlight streamed in through the doorway, falling on him, but he felt no warmth—only a bone-chilling cold.

He was gone. He had truly left.

He had left him behind.

An immense pain and a despair of being abandoned by the whole world crashed over him like a tidal wave.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Only his eyes quickly became bloodshot.

He stood there, from high noon to sunset, until the moonlight, like a pale shroud, slowly enveloped the silent village.

Finally, stiffly and with excruciating slowness, he moved his nearly numb legs.

Under the moonlight, he slowly lifted his head and gazed out the door into the boundless, unknown darkness.

Those eyes, once fierce and stubborn like a wolf cub's, now held only a frantic, last-ditch determination.

He was going to find him.

No matter the ends of the earth.

No matter the cost.

He would find An Yi, no matter what.

An Yi had left Tuhei Village.

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He had no clear destination, simply letting his feet carry him toward unknown places.

He still wore plain, elegant clothes, his figure graceful, his steps light and unstained by dust. An aura of otherworldly purity surrounded him, as if he were a transcendent being on the verge of ascending to immortality.

Three years passed.

Over these years, he traveled alone through the misty rain of Jiangnan's water towns, traveling by a black awning boat through intertwining waterways, watching the boatwoman skillfully scull, listening to soft Wu folk tunes, and hearing the laughter of silk-washing women on the shore like silver bells.

He lingered at ancient, majestic border fortresses, touching the weathered walls stained by countless wars and ages, watching the setting sun melting into gold, dyeing the vast land a magnificent blood red.

He also ventured deep into bustling, prosperous cities, wandering through crowded markets, breathing in the air mixed with the smell of food, powder, and sweat, watching street vendors hawk their wares and the carriages of nobles rumbling past.

Everyone had their own life, their own goals.

Even if only to survive.

He stood in this world, yet remained out of place.

One day, he walked onto a stone bridge spanning a surging river.

It was dusk. The setting sun turned the river into a flowing golden ribbon, shimmering and sparkling.

Carts, horses, and travelers passed endlessly on the bridge, noisy and full of life.

An Yi leaned on the railing, gazing calmly at the river rushing beneath the bridge and the faint lights beginning to glimmer on both banks.

His expression was as calm as ever, even carrying a trace of worldly detachment.

Many passersby, drawn by his striking looks and aura, cast sidelong glances or even stopped to look back, but he seemed oblivious, as if existing in a different dimension.

What was he thinking? Or perhaps nothing at all.

Just then, a muffled, despairing sob reached his ears.

He turned his head slightly and saw, not far away beside a bridge pier, a young man in a faded scholar's robe crouching on the ground, his shoulders heaving violently, clutching a tear-stained letter.

Beside the man was a traveling book chest, and he looked like a scholar heading to the imperial examinations.

"Ten years of diligent study... and... and this is how it ends... My mother at home is gravely ill, waiting for me... I..." The scholar sobbed incoherently, his voice thick with grief.

An Yi's gaze lingered on him for a moment.

He could see the gray, hopeless aura clinging to the scholar—the despair of crushed hope and utter helplessness in the face of reality.

This feeling was both familiar and foreign to him.

He had seen countless similar scenes before, in different worlds, in different people.

Almost at the same time, a joyful clamor arose from the other end of the bridge.

A wedding procession came through, loud with music and drumming, the bright red bridal sedan chair particularly eye-catching. The groom rode a horse, wearing a red flower on his chest, his face beaming with uncontrollable joy.

Children chased and laughed, the air thick with the festive smell of firecracker smoke.

One side, desperate weeping; the other, bustling hope.

Birth, aging, sickness, death; love, hate, parting; desires unfulfilled; resentment against fate...

The full spectrum of human life unfolded before him like a condensed scroll painting.

An Yi stood motionless, like a jade statue.

But deep inside, something long dormant seemed to stir faintly.

He thought about himself.

His life was long.

So long that even he didn't know where it would end.

Unlike when he first transmigrated, clueless and fighting to survive, he now had enough power to hop between different worlds, watching them like a series of dramas.

He even had a vague intuition that he wouldn't easily perish in this endless journey through books; his future still held unimaginably vast stretches of time.

But was he supposed to keep going like this forever?

Growing stronger, seeing more, yet his heart growing colder.

He saw all beings as if watching ants scurry, their joys and sorrows fading into an irrelevant backdrop.

He was like an aloof observer, calmly watching but never truly engaging.

If this continued, what would he become?

Would he ultimately turn into a statue of a god—perched high on the clouds, devoid of emotion, desire, and care for anything?

To possess endless life and power, yet lose the ability to feel warmth?