Chapter 176 Day 8 of Transmigrating into a True and False Young Master Novel

Chapter 176: The Eighth Day of Transmigrating into a True and False Heir Novel

That afternoon, the all-day drizzle that had lingered finally ceased.

The sky remained a gloomy gray, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of rain soaking into the soil and plants—damp and cool.

After the rain washed over it, the bustling city shed some of its restlessness, wrapped in a hazy, quiet gray veil.

An Yi emerged from the library after looking up some materials for his graduation thesis. He had dismissed the Song family driver and now strolled leisurely along the rain-washed sidewalk, walking slowly.

He enjoyed this feeling of walking by himself.

Around him was the clamor of traffic and hurried pedestrians, yet he seemed to have a transparent barrier, carving out a space of absolute stillness for himself amid the chaos.

The wet ground reflected the neon lights and the glow of streetlamps, creating a dreamy play of light and shadow.

By the street, a tastefully decorated café glowed with warm, inviting orange light.

An Yi happened to glance over, and his steps faltered so slightly it was almost imperceptible.

There was someone sitting by the window.

It was Yan Hui.

He had his usual laid-back, arrogant demeanor, leaning back against the soft sofa, one arm casually draped over the backrest, while the fingers of his other hand idly twirled the white coffee cup on the table.

A trademark, slightly cocky smile played at the corner of his mouth, yet his eyes were sharply scanning the passing street outside.

When Yan Hui’s eyes cut through the still-damp glass and hazy air to lock onto the slender figure on the sidewalk, and met An Yi’s calm, expressionless gaze in the air—

The fingers twirling the cup paused, a momentary freeze.

Then, deep in his eyes, a dark flame seemed to flicker; the smile that had merely been on his lips deepened beyond his control, taking on a hint of profound meaning.

He had been “staking out” this area for days, and finally his patience paid off.

An Yi calmly looked away. He did not stop walking, continuing forward along the wet sidewalk, leaving behind the warm orange glow and the man with an intense presence in the café.

Inside the café, Yan Hui looked away, picked up the now-lukewarm coffee, and took a sip.

The bitter liquid slid down his throat, but his tongue seemed to taste something else. He lightly pushed his tongue against his cheek, relishing the fleeting glimpse.

The young man was slender and upright, in a simple white shirt and dark trousers, walking with unhurried, composed steps. Though surrounded by the damp, gray post-rain streetscape, he looked like a masterfully painted ink wash.

His essence was pure and aloof, untouchable, yet radiating from within a mysterious allure that invited exploration—or even a desire to shatter that tranquility.

Especially those eyes.

In the instant their gazes met through the rain curtain and mist, they were as calm as a deep, bottomless ancient well, as if nothing in the world, no worldly troubles, could leave any trace in them.

No surprise, no disgust, no curiosity—nothing at all.

Truly... each time brings fresh wonder, and a stronger urge... to get closer, to break through that icy shell.

Yan Hui didn't hesitate. He set down the coffee cup, stood up quickly, and strode out after him.

An Yi was walking unhurriedly when suddenly a low, rhythmic roar of a motorcycle engine reached his ears, approaching rapidly from a distance.

“Vroom—vroom!”

A perfectly controlled screech of brakes sounded.

A heavy-duty motorcycle with sleek lines, wild and domineering styling, and all matte black, executed a flamboyant, powerful fishtail, stopping solidly less than three meters in front of An Yi, perfectly blocking his path.

The tires screeched on the wet ground, kicking up fine droplets and grit that nearly splashed onto An Yi's spotless trousers.

But luckily, none touched him.

An Yi stopped, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly.

The rider swung a long leg over, dismounting in a fluid, powerful motion.

He raised his hand, removed the heavy black full-face helmet, and tucked it casually under his arm, revealing a rugged face with a chiseled jawline.

Under dark, thick brows, his eyes held wild amusement and blatant aggression.

It was Yan Hui.

Today, he was dressed even more casually and boldly than in the café.

A black leather jacket hung open, showing only a tight dark gray tank top, clearly outlining the contours of his firm chest and abdominal muscles.

Below, he wore multi-pocket cargo pants, the cuffs neatly tucked into a pair of black short boots.

He looked like he’d just come back from an extreme sports competition.

“Yo, what a coincidence, An... Yi?”

Yan Hui grinned brightly, revealing a row of neat white teeth, but his eyes seemed glued to An Yi, with a heat that seemed ready to burn him up.

“Where to? I’ll give you a ride.” His voice was low and magnetic, tinged with a slight vibration like the lingering rumble of a motorcycle engine.

An Yi looked up at him. “Not a coincidence.”

An Yi’s voice was clear and crisp, unusually distinct in the cool, damp air, like jade clashing with stone.

His gaze swept coolly over the flashy black beast behind Yan Hui, his tone calm and undisturbed. “Give me a ride? Where to—hell's gates?”

He paused, then added, “Besides, we don't know each other.”

The bright, carefree smile on Yan Hui's face stiffened almost imperceptibly.

Had he misjudged the approach? He'd thought this flashy entrance would be impressive.

But Yan Hui was Yan Hui after all. He quickly composed himself, holding his smile in place, and took a step forward instead.

He was tall and imposing, and at close range, the pressure he gave off was intense. The faint tobacco scent on him, mixed with the smell of leather and bike, formed an almost invisible field, enclosing the slender An Yi.

“If we're not close, we need more interaction. More interaction, and we'll naturally click.”

Yan Hui's gaze roamed boldly over An Yi's delicate features, his straight nose, and finally settled on his lips—pale in color but exquisitely shaped and full—his gaze darkening.

His Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily. “I don't have many hobbies, but I like making friends.”

His words carried a clear flirtatious vibe, his breath warm and close.

However, An Yi simply tilted his head slightly, avoiding his breath, which was too close and smelled of tobacco, and furrowed his brow again, this time with clear displeasure: "Stay away from me."

Then, as Yan Hui stared in momentary shock, he raised his hand, gently pressing his fingertips just under his nose, and said with undisguised disdain: "You stink."

Watching Yan Hui's expression shift through a range of emotions, he said, spitting out each word: "I hate the smell of smoke."

Yan Hui froze completely.

He looked into An Yi's clear, untainted eyes.

Almost instinctively, Yan Hui straightened up abruptly, quickly stepping back two paces to put distance between them.

His roguish smile faltered, a rare flicker of embarrassment and frustration in his eyes, but more than that, a desperate need to explain himself.

"Sorry." The words slipped out. He looked at An Yi, his gaze focused and his tone sincere: "I didn't know you hated it. I'll quit smoking."