Chapter 221 The Twenty-Third Day of Entering a Rebirth Novel

Chapter 221: The Twenty-Third Day of Transmigrating into a Rebirth Novel

Huo Huai slowly rose to his feet, his tall figure casting shadows in the candlelight. He spoke each word deliberately: "Even if I can never have a special relationship with the Grandmaster, I have already decided that I will spend this life as his student, staying by his side. Being able to watch him is the only wish I, Huo Huai, have for the rest of my life. I seek nothing else."

"You worthless piece of trash!" Huo Hong could no longer hold back; he raised his hand, but seeing his son's unflinching gaze, the slap never landed.

His chest heaved with fury as he pointed at Huo Huai, his fingers trembling: "You... you have been bewitched! How did our Huo family produce such a... such a..."

He went on like that for a while, unable to find the right words to describe the complexity and anger he felt at that moment.

Huo Huai simply stood in silence, enduring his father's reprimands, the determination in his eyes unwavering.

Seeing his son so obstinate and stubborn, Huo Hong knew that further words would be useless.

He did not dare to stir up trouble over this—if word ever reached the Grandmaster's ears, even if the Grandmaster did not care, a single hint of displeasure from him could bring utter disaster upon the Huo family!

"Fine! Fine! Fine!" Huo Hong said three "fine" in a row, his face ashen, grinding his teeth as he spoke: "I can't control you anymore! You're on your own! Just remember what you said today—don't bring calamity upon our Huo family! Otherwise, I'll be the first to make you pay!"

With that, he gave a heavy flick of his sleeve and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The study fell silent once more, leaving only the flickering candlelight illuminating Huo Huai's figure.

He stood there, unmoving for a long time.

His father's harsh parting words still echoed in his ears, yet his heart was strangely calm.

Yes, being able to follow the Grandmaster as his student was already a blessing that others could only dream of.

He slowly sat back down in his chair, his gaze falling on the piece of paper on the desk with the name "An Yi" written on it.

The ink had dried, the strokes deep and firm.

He reached out, his fingertips gently stroking those two characters with an incredibly gentle touch.

The cold paper seemed to radiate a burning heat, making his fingertips tremble slightly.

He picked up the paper, carefully smoothing out the creases caused by his earlier nervousness, then folded it in half, and again, before tucking it into a hidden inner pocket of his clothing.

He let that hopeless longing rest close to his heart.

From then on, it was his secret alone—his own private eternity.

He knew the road ahead was long and utterly impossible.

But so what?

Looking up at the bright moon was already the greatest fortune of this life.

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Autumn passed and winter arrived. The biting north wind swept away the last withered leaves from the trees, and the first light snow fell silently, and in the span of a single night.

The capital was blanketed in pristine white.

The blue-tiled eaves, jagged rockeries, and barren branches of the Grandmaster's estate were all covered in a soft, clean layer of silver. The world was tranquil.

Inside the main lecture hall, however, it was warm and cozy.

Several antique bronze braziers were burning brightly, the finest silver-frost charcoal emitted a steady heat, driving away all chill.

The air was filled with a faint scent of ink and a soothing, calming cold fragrance, mingling with the reassuring warmth of the charcoal fire.

After months of study, the knowledge An Yi imparted to his students had gradually begun to bear fruit.

Some began to attempt to ponder and explore the more essential laws and connotations hidden behind phenomena.

Questions asking "why is it so" began to arise more frequently in class, the tendrils of their thoughts trying to pierce through the shell of idealistic, metaphysical "cultivation laws" and quietly explore a more objective, logical realm of cognition.

An Yi was pleased by this change, guiding them from "knowing what" to "knowing why."

Huo Huai sat in his seat, his attention focused on what An Yi was saying. The lesson that day was quite interesting—An Yi was using a charcoal pencil to sketch simple diagrams on a specially made, mirror-smooth black slate.

But today, Huo Huai's gaze was drawn to the hand that was writing at the front of the lectern.

An Yi's hands were beautiful, and one of his fingers bore a ring.

This wasn't the first time Huo Huai had noticed the ring on An Yi's hand, but he had never seen it so clearly before.

Those hands—the fingers were long and well-proportioned, the skin pale to the point of translucence, as if carved from finest mutton-fat jade, yet possessing the warm luster of life.

The nails were neatly trimmed, a healthy light pink.

Perhaps it was the angle of the snowlight outside, or the way the flickering candlelight happened to converge, but Huo Huai saw clearly that on the ring finger of An Yi's left hand, a faint blue light shimmered and shifted as he wrote.

It was the ring.

The ring's design was extremely unusual, completely different from any gold, jade, or thumb ring Huo Huai had ever seen.

It was a restrained silver color throughout, but the sheen was delicate and unique, far from ordinary metal.

The band was sleek and minimalist, without any ornate carvings. On the front of the ring, several tiny, pure, deep-blue gemstones were skillfully set, arranged like a starry sky.

The blue light shimmered with a mysterious luster in the interplay of candle and snowlight.

This ring fit so perfectly on An Yi's fair, slender, well-defined hand.

It didn't look like an accessory; rather, it seemed to be part of his body, complementing his cool, simple, yet profound and unfathomable aura.

This ring... Huo Huai thought back carefully—he had never seen the Grandmaster take it off.

No matter where or when, whether while teaching, meditating, or at the palace banquet when he displayed such earth-shattering power, this ring always remained on his finger.

Where did it come from?

What special meaning did it hold?

Was it some powerful artifact?

Or was it merely a piece of jewelry the Grandmaster personally favored, insignificant in the grand scheme of things?

An irrepressible curiosity took root in his heart.

He stared at the faint blue ring on An Yi's fingertip, unable to look away.

Because this seemed to be the only item on the Grandmaster that bore a distinct "personal mark."

Unlike the black Daoist robe that symbolized his status, this ring was so intimate, so private, like a hidden crack that vaguely led to An Yi's innermost world, shrouded in thick fog and beyond the reach of anyone.

The lesson ended.

An Yi gave them a few small tasks and dismissed the class.

His disciples respectfully stood up and bowed, then, in groups of twos and threes, discussing what they had just learned, wrapped their robes tighter and stepped out onto the soft new snow outside, departing one after another.

The sounds of footsteps and conversation gradually faded, finally disappearing beyond the courtyard walls.

Soon, the main hall fell silent, leaving only the occasional crackle of the silver-frost charcoal in the braziers and the sound of the snow falling more heavily outside the window.