Chapter 159 Day 23 of Transmigrating into an Imperial Examination Novel

Chapter 159: The Twenty-Third Day of Transmigrating into the Imperial Examination Novel

Time flew by; days and months slipped away swiftly.

The days in the capital slipped by quietly as the seasons changed.

Spring’s willow catkins, summer’s lotus fragrance, autumn’s golden chrysanthemums, and winter’s gentle snow left little lasting impression on this imperial city.

An Yi still lived in that study with a small courtyard.

The old plum tree had bloomed as usual in the past winter, its sparse, slanting shadows and subtle, drifting fragrance adding a touch of quiet elegance to the courtyard.

He occasionally gathered with a few like-minded friends, sipping tea, playing chess, or discussing academic topics unrelated to pursuing official positions.

He seemed to have truly become part of that leisurely corner of the capital, a subtle, elegant brushstroke in the bustling painting.

Fang Huaixing had once thought of introducing him to his teacher, but An Yi declined, explicitly stating that even after the mourning period was over, he had no intention of taking the imperial examinations again.

Fang Huaixing felt somewhat disappointed, always believing that Senior Brother An, with his extensive knowledge, should have made something of his career.

Unfortunately... life was unpredictable, and he had given up on the examination path.

By now, Senior Brother An’s study had gained some renown, with scholars frequently gathering there to debate the classics. Senior Brother An might well become a great scholar in the world of letters in the future.

He found that acceptable.

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In the dead of night, the capital was utterly silent.

Only the occasional long call of the night watchman’s clapper sounded.

Inside An Yi’s study, a solitary lamp glowed with a flame the size of a bean, casting his seated figure in a halo of yellow light onto the bookshelf behind him, stretching it out into a long shadow.

On the desk before him lay an opened letter.

The letter paper was the rough, coarse kind commonly used in the military, its edges slightly frayed. But the handwriting was powerful and vigorous, the strokes sharp.

Every horizontal and vertical stroke revealed determination and restraint, as if one could see the writer’s tense muscles and focused expression through the ink.

“To My Esteemed Teacher:

The north wind kicks up sand, the moonlight is like frost. Whenever the lonely moon hangs in the sky and the Qiang flute’s sound dies away, Cang leans alone against the camp wall, gazing at the distant capital, and cannot help but face the wind and long for you, tears streaming down.

I recall the days of teaching in that humble, earth-floored study, my teacher holding white scrolls in the clear moonlight, his voice clear and resonant like jade chimes. At that time, I first grasped the brush, my strokes still timid. Fortunately, my teacher did not abandon me, enlightening my foolishness and cleansing my mind.

This kindness and grace, I could never fully repay this debt of gratitude.

Since parting, my soul often wanders back to that blue-tiled courtyard, my feet linger on the mossy steps of old.

I have seen my teacher leaning on bamboo to brew tea, his pale hand brushing away the snow, his demeanor elegant and ethereal. I have heard my teacher expounding the classics and analyzing mysteries, his subtle principles shining brilliantly.

All these have become an obsession in my heart, haunting me in my every action by day and invading my dreams at night.

Three years of border garrison, the iron armor easily pierced by frost, but this longing gnaws at my bones, hard to shake off.

This late autumn, I led a light cavalry out of the frontier, breaking the enemy by the river.

Fortunately, I achieved merit, beheading the enemy general and breaking their formations. My superior commended me, and orders have been issued, commanding Cang to report to the capital for duty.

When I heard the decree, my heart trembled, for I could see my teacher’s countenance. I wish I could sprout wings, ride the wind through the clouds, and descend into my teacher’s courtyard day or night.

I have heard the ‘Book of Songs’ say: ‘Having seen the gentleman, how could I not be joyful?’

Though Cang is shallow, he knows admiration for beauty.

Since being taught, I have recognized the radiance of the moon. Having admired its clear brilliance, how can I remain stuck in the mire?

Three years of campaigns and garrison, every time I faced battle, I asked myself: Can I be worthy of my teacher’s teachings? Can I stand before the jade steps of the imperial court? This heart is pure, heaven can attest; this will is firm, the sun and moon can testify.

Even if I die ten thousand times, I will not change my resolve.

Writing in haste, unable to express a fraction of my feelings.

I only wish to see my teacher soon and serve at his side.

The wild geese from the border carry my longing; the willow hues of the capital should call me back.

I humbly pray

For your good health and well-being.

Respectfully submitted,

Qin Cang”

The letter was not long, but every word burned hot, carrying the wind and sand of the border and a passionate, long-suppressed emotion almost bursting through the paper.

Especially the line, “Even if I die ten thousand times, I will not change my resolve,” the strokes particularly deep, nearly piercing the paper.

Attached with the letter was a piece of white mutton-fat jade pendant carefully wrapped in soft cloth.

The pendant was small, the jade quality average, but it felt warm and smooth to the touch, like solidified cream.

The carved cloud patterns were simple and smooth, the lines flowing, without any intricate adornment, yet it exuded a quiet elegance in its simplicity, much like An Yi himself.

The surface of the pendant was smooth and glossy, its edges even bearing the faint, subtle traces of years of careful handling by its previous owner, clearly cherished for a long time.

An Yi picked up the jade pendant and examined it closely by the candlelight.

The flickering flame cast a warm orange glow on the creamy white jade, making it appear even more pure.

And the fingers holding the pendant were long, fair, with well-defined knuckles, gleaming in the candlelight with a translucent, jade-like luster.

They complemented the white mutton-fat jade, making one momentarily unsure whether the jade enhanced the whiteness of the fingers or the perfect fingers breathed life into the jade.

He looked at the jade, a faint, unconscious smile playing at the corners of his lips.

But at that moment, his keen ears caught an extremely faint sound from outside the window, almost blending with the night breeze—a subtle rustle of fabric brushing against tiles, and a deliberately slowed, nearly silent breath.

In an instant, the smile on An Yi’s face vanished.

His eyes, usually warm and smiling, suddenly sharpened, as if they could pierce the window paper and gaze directly at the uninvited guest outside.

What reckless thief dared come here? Asking for death?

Just then, a tall, well-defined silhouette was clearly projected onto the window paper of his study by the moonlight.

That silhouette had a familiar outline.

An Yi: “...”

He recognized it.

It was Qin Cang.

You scoundrel? What are you doing?

What? You've earned military merit, been transferred to the capital, yet instead of coming through the front door, you've taken to sneaking around like a burglar?

A barely noticeable helplessness flickered in An Yi's eyes. He rose abruptly, walked to the window, and flung it open.

"Creak—" The window swung open.

Outside, moonlight poured like liquid silver, clearly illuminating the tall figure standing almost right outside his window.

Qin Cang clearly hadn't expected An Yi to open the window so abruptly; for an instant his expression froze.

He was still in his travel-worn martial attire, dusty from the journey, the ends of his hair even damp with the night's dew. The years at the border had left deeper marks on his face—his skin was a healthy wheat color, his features even sharper and more defined, and the scar at the left end of his eyebrow was especially clear under the moonlight.

Qin Cang stared directly at An Yi's face, as if trying to make up for an entire year of absence in that one look.

His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, and then, in a voice hoarse from the long journey but deliberately lowered and gentle, he said:

"I thought... I would have to stand here all night, until dawn tomorrow, before I could see you."

Though he had rushed back day and night, by the time he arrived, it was already too late. He didn't even have the courage to knock recklessly and disturb him; he could only stay like a shadow, guarding outside his window.

Looking at him like this, listening to his almost foolish words, the slight displeasure from being spied on for some reason dissipated.

He shot him an irritated glance—just because you miss someone, you think you can stand outside their window all night like a stone statue? That's just perverted!

Yet, seeing Qin Cang's tense, almost breathless expression, with only An Yi's reflection in his eyes, An Yi ultimately couldn't maintain his coldness.

He stepped aside, clearing the window, and said in a tone that seemed helpless but carried a trace of barely perceptible indulgence: "Come in."

Qin Cang didn't hesitate. With one hand on the windowsill, his tall figure nimbly vaulted in, landing lightly on the floor of the study without making a sound.

An Yi had already returned to his seat behind the desk. He casually placed the mutton-fat white jade pendant on the table, his fingertips unconsciously stroking its warm, smooth surface.

Qin Cang followed him step by step and stopped before him.

He watched An Yi holding the pendant he had treasured for four years, finally given, watched the way his fair fingertips contrasted with the warm white jade, and his eyes suddenly stung with heat. A glint of moisture flickered in his eyes, barely contained, before he forced it back.

It was the gift he had wanted to give four years ago, the best thing his bleak life could imagine.

He suddenly knelt on one knee, bowed his head, and gently pressed his nose to An Yi's fingertips in a light kiss, which rested beside the pendant.

The faint, cool touch of An Yi's fingers, carrying the subtle scent of ink and paper, made his heart tremble and his soul shiver.

"I've come," he said softly, his voice brimming with intense longing.

He lifted his head, his gaze burning as he looked into An Yi's eyes, which seemed to see through everything:

"Master... that chance you gave me back in Qingxi... does it still count?"

An Yi felt the brief warmth of Qin Cang's nose against his fingertips, and a barely perceptible tremor ran through them.

He lowered his gaze, looking at the young man kneeling before him—that tall, imposing figure now so obedient.

The candle flame in the study crackled softly. After a moment, An Yi lifted his eyes to meet Qin Cang's gaze and gave a slight nod:

"Yes, it still counts."