Chapter 360: The Third Day in the Struggle for Supremacy World

Chapter 360: Day Three of Transmigrating into a Power-Struggle Story

The household began making preparations for the departure of the young masters and young ladies in an orderly fashion.

On the surface, it was all about packing books, clothing, and everyday belongings—servants bustled through the corridors carrying trunks and crates, the steward checking items against a list, a scene both bustling and routine.

Behind the scenes, certain critical transfers were proceeding in parallel.

An Yi's trusted confidants, acting on his orders and with An Zheng's tacit approval, handled the contracts, duplicate ledgers, and portions of the secret network maps that the An family had amassed over generations.

The An family had operated in Yuncang for generations, the visible and hidden sides of their operations deeply intertwined.

An Yi himself continued to maintain his usual daily routine.

Each morning, he would exercise in the courtyard, then read and practice calligraphy. In the afternoons, he might nap or strum the guqin. Occasionally, friends would visit, and they would brew tea and discuss philosophy in the flower hall in the west wing.

He discussed the finer points of the *Xufang* with his classmates from the Imperial Academy, critiqued poetry with literati who came drawn by his reputation, and even when current affairs came up, he always steered the conversation toward "concern for the nation and its people."

He lamented the hardships of the common folk, grieved over the exile of worthy ministers, and expressed hope that the emperor would awaken—his words sincere, his emotions perfectly pitched, fitting the image of a proper young nobleman shaped by Confucian values, ambitious yet restrained.

The memorial draft that had once made An Zheng pound the table—the one that directly indicted the eunuchs and the families of imperial consorts, prophesying that "man-made disaster is coming"—seemed as though it had never existed.

Only the sharpest eyes might have caught, in his calm gaze drifting toward the clouds outside, a hint of something far too distant.

----------

Two weeks slipped by.

One afternoon, a sudden rainstorm hit. Fat raindrops pelted the tiles and the flowers and trees in the courtyard, kicking up a fine white mist.

The rain came on fast and cleared just as quickly—within half an hour, the clouds parted and it stopped.

The sky, washed clean, was a clear azure. Sunlight spilled down anew, refracting into tiny halos on the remaining droplets.

The air was filled with the fresh scent of earth and vegetation after the rain—a deep breath felt cool and refreshing.

An Yi was practicing calligraphy, copying from model texts, in his study.

The window was half open, and the cool, post-rain breeze drifted in, stirring a few loose strands of hair on his forehead.

His brush moved with fluid grace, each stroke precise. The characters were clean and vigorous, yet with a barely perceptible sharpness at the turns—much like the restrained edge within him.

He'd been practicing calligraphy for over ten thousand years, so by now it was pretty good.

The brush tip moved steadily across the paper, leaving behind characters with strong structure and elegant form.

Not long after the rain ceased, footsteps—deliberately softened but still brisk—came from the corridor.

An Yi didn't stop his brush, finishing the last character.

A knock came at the study door.

"Enter."

A servant pushed the door open, standing with his hands clasped in front of him just outside the threshold, reporting respectfully: "Young master, there is a scholar at the gate requesting an audience. He claims to be Bai Ji, saying he wrote to you and you agreed to meet."

So he's here.

An Yi's final hook stroke ended with steady control, the force held in check.

He gently set the brush on the brush rest, then picked up a plain white cloth from the edge of the desk, wiping his fingertips slowly and deliberately.

A warm smile tugged at the corners of his lips: "Please escort him to the west-wing parlor and serve tea."

An Yi said: "I will arrive shortly."

"Yes." The servant withdrew.

An Yi stood alone in the study for a beat.

Sunlight fell through the window onto the damp courtyard, bright and glaring.

He walked to the bronze basin, washed his hands in the clean water, and dried them with a soft cloth.

Then he went to the inner chamber and changed into a casual robe.

The fabric was excellent, cool to the touch, comfortable against his skin, and it made the skin of his neck and wrists look even more radiant, like polished jade.

He undid the casual hair tie that had loosely held his hair, replacing it with a white jade hairpin carved with cloud patterns, and pinned his black hair up.

Once he was properly dressed and groomed, he glanced at himself in the mirror.

The face in the mirror was as beautiful as a painting—with the change in clothing and hairstyle, that lazy air about him seemed to have sharpened into something more focused.

He slowly curved his lips at the mirror, giving a smile as warm as a spring breeze.

Then he turned, pushed open the door, and stepped into the crisp post-rain air.

As he walked, his sleeves swayed gently.

He crossed the corridor, washed bright by the rain and reflecting the clear sky, with leftover rainwater still dripping from the eaves.

The wisteria trellis, battered by the sudden storm, had lost many petals, which lay scattered across the bluestone path, some floating in puddles, slowly spinning.

Several servants were busy cleaning up. Seeing him approach, they quickly bowed: "Eldest Young Master."

An Yi nodded: "Carry on."

His gaze skimmed the fallen petals, but he didn't slow his steps.

The west-wing parlor had several carved wooden windows left open to let in the breeze.

The cool post-rain wind passed through, carrying away the last trace of stuffiness, leaving the room cool and fresh.

As An Yi entered the hall, he immediately spotted the figure standing by the window, seemingly taking in the rain-soaked plantains in the courtyard.

The man was tall and lean, wearing a blue Confucian robe that was neither new nor old.

The fabric was clearly of good quality, but it had been washed until the color had faded, with faint signs of wear visible at the cuffs and hem.

He seemed completely absorbed in looking at the plantains, their leaves drooping low from the rain. He stood quietly, yet his bearing was natural and relaxed, without the stiffness of a first-time visitor.

Hearing the slow, steady footsteps behind him, the man stirred slightly.

Then he turned around.

An Yi's gaze met Bai Ji's.

The moment An Yi saw Bai Ji, the voices of commenters echoed in his ears.

"??? Something's off here—is the author just padding this out? What's with this two-page-long physical description?"

"Huh... he's actually kinda pretty, isn't he? This new character that just showed up."

"He's not really new—didn't he already write to the male lead before?"

"Judging by his letters, they really hit it off. The male lead came to check him out this time; if he's to his liking, he might end up being the guy the male lead swears loyalty to!"

"Nah, I don't think so. After all, this guy's a well-known child prodigy, known everywhere. Usually, these types never make it to the end. It's the ones who start from nothing and slowly climb up that fit the novel's whole vibe!"

"Who says that? Plenty of famous prodigies in history made it to the end. What about Er Feng, huh?"

"I'm talking about novels, not history! Besides, do you think the author could write someone like Er Feng? Don't overestimate him! He can only write low-tier web novels—pure fantasy fodder!"

"Boo hoo hoo!"

"..."

An Yi: ...

Indeed, that makes sense.

Meanwhile, An Yi also received the original novel's information about this world.

Bai Ji, courtesy name Ruzhi (a traditional style name), is currently nineteen.

A history student at a modern university, he transmigrated after a plane crash, becoming a seven-year-old orphan whose parents had died, taken in by his uncle.

He has an exceptional talent for scholarship, but due to his merchant-class background, he is barred from officialdom by the current dynasty's laws.

Since the age of fifteen, he has traveled extensively, observing the world across north and south, building connections and insight.

Three years ago, he heard of An Yi's reputation, sent a tentative letter, and after receiving a reply, began a three-year correspondence.