Chapter 202 The Fourth Day of Entering a Rebirth Novel

Chapter 202: The Fourth Day of Transmigrating into a Rebirth Story

An Yi extended two slender, fair fingers with well-defined knuckles, gently lifting a corner of the carriage curtain, his gaze calmly fixed outside.

The street was thronged with people, shoulder to shoulder, as carriages, horses, and sedan chairs shuttled endlessly.

Though his carriage was not ostentatious, the dense, heavy feel of the dark wood, the spirited four horses pulling it, and the small yet unmistakable emblem of the State Preceptor's mansion hanging in front all caused passersby and other vehicles to instinctively slow down, step aside slightly, leaving a small path clear for passage.

Most commoners kept their heads down and walked hastily, not daring to look directly at this carriage that symbolized "imperial authority" and "divine power." A few bold elderly people or women would even stop, secretly press their palms together or bow toward the carriage, muttering prayers, their faces a mix of awe and supplication.

In this dynasty, where the emperor was obsessed with seeking immortality through alchemy, the State Preceptor's status had indeed been raised to an almost absurd level.

An Yi's gaze idly swept past the shop signs lined along the street—"Silk & Satin Shop," "Teahouse," "Silver Jewelry Store," "Herbal Pharmacy"—past the peddlers carrying loads and shaking rattles as they hawked their wares, and past the literary men on the second floor of the tea houses along the street, engaged in lofty discussions and pointing fingers at the state of the nation.

Every face of life—joy and sorrow, love and hate, poverty and wealth, nobility and lowliness—all passed before his eyes like fleeting shadows.

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At the same time, at the other end of the long street, a small group of riders was proceeding slowly.

There were only five or six people, but each was lean and tough, clearly well-trained.

The leader was a young man in black martial attire, about twenty years old.

His figure was upright as a pine or cypress, with broad shoulders and a straight back. Even seated on horseback, one could sense the agile and explosive power concealed beneath his black garments.

His facial features were sharply defined: slanted brows flying into his temples, carrying an air of unyielding sharpness; a high nose bridge, tightly pursed lips.

This person was none other than Huo Huai, the heir to the Marquis of Zhongyong.

The Huo family had earned their noble title fighting alongside the founding emperor to win the empire. They were loyal and virtuous for generations, with a strict and upright family tradition.

From a young age, Huo Huai had been placed under great expectations. He trained diligently in both martial arts and literature. He was resolute, decisive, and taciturn, earning him the reputation among the younger generation in the capital as the "Cold-faced Young Master." As the nineteenth in his generation of the clan, close acquaintances would also call him Huo Nineteen.

Today, on his father's orders, he had handled some affairs and was now returning home with a few trusted attendants.

The street was crowded, the flow of people like a tide. Even with excellent riding skills, the horses could only proceed at a slow pace to avoid bumping into pedestrians.

As usual, Huo Huai kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, his face cold and stern, exuding an aura that warned others to stay back.

Just as his mount passed a seemingly simple carriage made of dark wood, Huo Huai's peripheral vision caught the unique cloud-pattern emblem in front.

He furrowed his eyebrows almost imperceptibly and pursed his lips even tighter.

The State Preceptor's carriage.

As for this State Preceptor, who was deeply trusted by His Majesty and said to be able to communicate with spirits, Huo Huai had little admiration in his heart—in fact, he secretly felt some aversion toward people who used cunning arts to curry favor and deceive the emperor.

But propriety could not be ignored. He must not give anyone a reason to criticize him.

He reined in his horse, dismounted with a swift and agile movement, faced the carriage, clasped his hands, and bowed in a standard official salute. His voice was clear, yet cold: "Huo Huai pays respects to the State Preceptor."

The several attendants behind him immediately followed suit, dismounting and bowing in unison, their movements neat and well-trained.

This was a very ordinary scene—encountering a superior on the road and paying ritual respects, something that happened countless times every day in the capital.

However, just as Huo Huai bowed his head, a breeze came out of nowhere, sweeping across the street, mischievously lifting a corner of the heavy silk curtain.

The curtain fluttered up, revealing a glimpse inside.

In that moment, time seemed to stretch endlessly.

Huo Huai maintained his bowing posture, and out of the corner of his eye, in that brief instant the curtain lifted, he inadvertently glimpsed what lay inside.

Inside the carriage sat a young man dressed in a black, wide-sleeved Daoist robe.

The man was slightly turned, looking out the window. Since it was a profile, Huo Huai couldn't see his full face, but that fleeting silhouette alone made his breath catch.

The man's skin was extremely fair—not the pallor of illness, but like fine mutton-fat jade, warm and lustrous. In the carriage's dim light, it seemed to glow faintly, as if carrying its own radiance.

His nose bridge was elegantly shaped, with smooth and graceful lines. His lips were neither too thin nor too thick, naturally tinted a light crimson. The line of his jaw was smooth and distinct, outlining a perfect profile.

His long eyelashes cast faint, fan-shaped shadows beneath his eyelids. With the subtle movement of his blinking, those lashes trembled like butterfly wings, carrying a breathtaking delicacy.

He made no deliberate effort to appear lofty; he was just leaning casually and lazily against the carriage wall.

It was a beauty that transcended gender, beyond worldly definitions—pure, ethereal, untouched by dust, possessing a kind of divinity that seemed not of this world. It crashed abruptly into Huo Huai's view.

It was soul-shaking, striking him to the core.

An Yi sensed the commotion outside and that too-focused gaze. He lifted the curtain, which had fallen back after being blown by the wind, turned his gaze slightly, and looked at Huo Huai bowing outside.

Seeing a young man with a straight posture and a cold, stern face, he retrieved the identity from the original owner's memories. Habitually, he curved the corners of his mouth into that gentle, faint smile. His voice, clear and calm, came through the curtain: "The young marquis need not stand on ceremony. Please rise."

After saying this, he naturally released the fingers holding up the curtain, and the silk curtain fell back, firmly sealing the view once more.

The last thing Huo Huai saw was a single blindingly pale fingertip quickly withdrawn, and then the carriage began to move again, the dark wood carriage fading into the distance.

The clamor of the street, the clatter of horse hooves...

All sounds suddenly receded in an instant, blurring into meaningless background noise.

Huo Huai stood frozen, still slightly bowed, as if struck by a paralysis spell.

His eyes went wide, the image from that fleeting glance still vivid in his mind.

He felt his heart begin to beat violently, at a completely uncontrollable speed—pounding, pounding, pounding.

Like war drums on a battlefield urging an advance, it hammered against his chest, producing a thunderous sound that made his eardrums buzz, almost drowning out all other sounds.

He could even clearly "hear" the hot blood rushing and surging in his veins with a gurgling sound.

A wave of unfamiliar, surging, uncontrollable heat pumped from his violently beating heart, instantly spread through his limbs and rushed to his head, making him slightly dizzy. His ears burned uncontrollably, even his neck felt hot.

That... was the State Preceptor?