Chapter 155 Day 19 of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

Chapter 155: The Nineteenth Day of Transmigrating into a Scholarly Examination Novel

It wasn’t until a voice asked from behind that Qin Cang suddenly remembered the group of dumbfounded guards still trailing after him.

He took a deep breath, forcing down the storm surging in his chest, and without turning his head, his voice returned to its usual cold, hard tone: “You all... go find yourselves a table and eat. No need to follow.”

The guards felt as if granted a pardon. Though filled with curiosity and shock, they dared not ask a single question. They quickly responded with “Yes, sir,” then hurried back to a table in the corner of the hall, though they still occasionally stole glances toward the odd table by the window.

The storyteller seemed not to notice the unusual atmosphere over here. He tapped his gavel again, cleared his throat, and told the tale with even more vivid detail.

Qin Cang’s hands rested on his knees, unconsciously clenched into fists, his knuckles white from the strain.

He greedily traced with his eyes An Yi’s brows, eyes, nose bridge, lips... inch by inch, as if making up for three years of not seeing him in one go.

An Yi was unfazed. He picked up his wine glass again, occasionally taking a sip, his eyes fixed on the storytelling stage, his expression focused and relaxed, the faint smile on his lips still as warm as a spring day.

Soon, the storyteller finished a segment.

Leaving the hook of “If you wish to know what happens next, listen to the next installment,” he took a sip of tea and took a break amidst the lingering discussions of the diners.

An Yi had apparently heard enough. He slowly withdrew his gaze, the smile the entertaining tale had brought not yet fading, but carrying a lingering afterglow. He naturally turned his head to look at Qin Cang across the table.

“Long time no see,” An Yi said, his voice still gentle, with calm detachment.

“Qin Cang.”

“How have you been lately?”

He called his name.

Qin Cang’s heart felt like it had been slammed by those words. He looked at the smile that had not faded from An Yi’s face, seeing his own reflection clearly in those eyes. He swallowed hard.

Suddenly, he smiled too.

When he smiled, the scar above his left eyebrow pulled with the smile, not looking fierce at all but adding a touch of rugged charm.

“Master,” he spoke, his voice low and hoarse. “I’ve been doing great.”

Master?

A flicker of surprise passed swiftly through An Yi’s eyes.

During the year he taught Qin Cang, the youth either remained silent, directly called him “An Yi,” or awkwardly said nothing—never formally addressing him as “Master.”

Qin Cang seemed to sense his surprise, his smile deepening, but his eyes grew even more profound.

He leaned forward slightly, shortening the distance, his gaze burning as it locked onto An Yi’s eyes, his tone carrying a softness that contrasted with his usual ferocity:

“Master imparted the Way, taught knowledge, resolved doubts... So to me, you are my master.”

He paused, and a hint of almost imperceptible seduction crept into his voice: “In the past, I was too young to understand.”

It was as if he was explaining his younger self, who had sulked because some attention was taken away.

But... An Yi narrowed his eyes slightly. The way Qin Cang called him “Master” sounded so strange!

“As you wish,” he said casually.

Then, An Yi set down his wine glass, straightened his already flawless sleeve, and stood up with an elegant posture, seeming ready to leave.

The moment he rose, Qin Cang, as if a nerve had been struck, instinctively reached out and grabbed An Yi’s wrist!

His movement was so fast it cut through the air, and the force was such that An Yi could clearly feel the thick calluses on his palm from long years of wielding a blade, and the scorching heat that seemed to burn him.

An Yi did not dodge. He just paused, lowered his eyes slightly to look at his tightly gripped wrist, then slowly raised them again to meet Qin Cang’s gaze, calm and unruffled.

Qin Cang almost forcibly maintained the smile that was on the verge of crumbling, darkness churning deep in his eyes. His voice, strained from holding back, was unnaturally tight and dry:

“Master... are you leaving again?”

That word “again” was bitten off with a heavy, bloody emphasis.

An Yi looked into his deep eyes, clearly feeling the slight tremor through his wrist.

He was silent for a moment, then replied in his clear, crisp voice:

“I’m going home.”

Home?

Home?

That word instantly shattered the smile on Qin Cang’s face, like porcelain shattering on the ground, cracking piece by piece, revealing the pale, ferocious true emotions underneath.

“Home?” His voice suddenly rose a notch, carrying a sharp disbelief.

The grip on An Yi’s wrist unconsciously tightened, his knuckles turning white: “Master has... settled down here?”

He asked the question almost through gritted teeth, his mind conjuring the worst possible scenario.

A violent impulse raced wildly in his chest.

Could it be... could it be that An Yi had married here?

Is that why he now had a “home” in this strange place?

Just the thought almost made Qin Cang lose control of the jealousy inside him, his eyes instantly turning dark and vicious.

It made the guards secretly watching from a distance shiver.

An Yi clearly saw the murderous intent in his eyes.

How had Qin Cang become so... so savage?

He didn’t struggle or explain. He simply let him hold on, then, under Qin Cang’s almost devouring dark gaze, slowly shook his head.

“No,” his voice was calm, but it instantly doused the raging fire in Qin Cang’s heart like a clear spring. “I just bought a small yard and am staying here temporarily.”

Qin Cang’s taut nerves suddenly relaxed. The violent aura that nearly erupted receded like an ebbing tide, replaced by a feeling of having just survived a disaster.

He let out a long breath, only then realizing that his back was soaked with cold sweat.

No marriage.

Just temporary residence.

Overwhelming relief washed over him, making him almost want to cry.

He thought he was late.

He still did not let go of An Yi's wrist, instead gripping it even tighter, as if afraid that the moment he released it, the person before him would vanish into thin air.

An Yi flexed his wrist and stated calmly, "It hurts a little."

Qin Cang released his hand as if burned. "Sorry."

"Sir..." he lowered his voice. "I was wondering... if Cang could come visit you?"

An Yi's silence made Qin Cang's heart clench tighter and tighter.

He could almost hear the roar of his own blood, pounding against his eardrums, each second stretching endlessly like an eternity of agony on a knife's edge.

"You may," An Yi spoke up. "It's just a humble place. Don't think less of it, General."

Hearing An Yi's answer, Qin Cang's vision blurred for a moment.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, using the sharp pain to force himself to hold onto the last shred of reason, to avoid losing his composure.

"How could I?" he replied almost instantly. "Please just call me by my name, sir."

How could he possibly despise it?

That was where An Yi lived—the place he had dreamed of and yearned for for three years, the place he could never have.

Even if it were a thatched hut, to him it was a paradise on earth.