Chapter 443: Day 8 into the Farming Story

Chapter 443: The Eighth Day After Transmigrating into a Farming Story

The village chief paused, took two steps closer to An Yi, lowered his voice, and with a final note of warning and curiosity, said, "But An Yi, my boy, level with me—where did you get the money for travel and settling in the county? Did you go and steal it again?"

He didn't finish the sentence, but the implication was clear—had he robbed someone, or done something shady?

"I didn't steal it, and I didn't rob anyone." An Yi cut him off, his smile gentle, his gaze clear and frank, rendering the village chief momentarily speechless. "You can rest assured."

The village chief was half-convinced, half-doubtful.

But then he thought it over—shipping this troublemaker off might not be a bad thing for the village.

At least it would remove a risk of small-time theft, and the villagers could breathe easier.

As for whether An Yi would live or die in the county, whether he'd make it big or end up dead in the gutter... well, to each his own fate, and that was beyond his reach.

"Alright, then." The village chief waved his hand, conceding. "I'll write you the letter of proof when I get back. Come by my place tomorrow morning and grab it."

"Thank you, village chief." An Yi thanked him.

"Mm." The village chief nodded, turned to go, but after a couple of steps, remembered something and glanced back, hesitating. "Oh, by the way—now that you're moving out, what about your house..."

He trailed off.

An Yi's house, though shabby and old, and out of the way, at least had intact walls and a roof—it was a place a person could live in.

Jiang Chiliu had just been thrown out with not a penny to his name, and the only place in the village he could crash temporarily was that abandoned old shack at the east end—even more run-down and falling apart... If An Yi moved out, his house would be vacant, and it would actually be a better fit than the east-end shack for putting up Jiang Chiliu temporarily.

But the village chief swallowed the words back down.

There was too much tangled up in this—an unmarried young man, and a widower who'd just lost his husband and been thrown out by his in-laws. Even if the man didn't live in the village anymore, renting or letting his house to the widower would stir up gossip, and it would only add insult to injury for Jiang Chiliu's reputation.

The village chief wanted to do what he could for Jiang Chiliu, but he couldn't just ignore the social rules and the wagging tongues.

"I'll hold onto the house for now." An Yi seemed to read the village chief's unfinished thought, taking over the conversation, his tone offhand. "Maybe I'll come back and check on it someday."

The village chief gave a grunt of acknowledgment and didn't say more.

Leaving it be was fine—saved him the hassle.

He gave An Yi one last look, and with his hands clasped behind his back, turned and ambled off.

An Yi stood in place, watching the village chief's slightly hunched back grow smaller and vanish around the bend of the village road. Only then did he turn and head back toward his own crumbling mud-brick shack.

The setting sun stretched his shadow long across the rutted dirt road.

In the distance, birds chirped as they returned to their nests, mixing with the sounds of the village coming to life.

An Yi returned to the original owner's shabby mud-brick shack.

Using the last faint light from the window, he took one more look around this "home" he was about to leave.

There was nothing the original owner had left behind that was worth keeping or taking.

An Yi raised his right hand, palm up, fingers slightly spread, with a casual air.

A faint crackling, like the snap of paper-thin ice, sounded softly in the air.

From the center of his palm, a visible layer of white frost, radiating cold, spread out like ripples, silently coating the floor, walls, and ceiling of the whole room.

Everywhere it touched, the temperature dropped sharply.

The thick dust on the table crystallized into tiny ice particles. The crisscrossing cobwebs in the corners were covered in fluffy white frost, like ice flowers blooming. The damp, dark earth floor instantly froze solid, a layer of frost forming on its surface.

An Yi's gaze swept over every item in the room, utterly calm. He closed his fingers lightly.

"Crack, crack-crack!"

More rapid, dense cracking sounds followed in quick succession. Every object in the room, big or small, was instantly covered in a thick layer of ice!

An Yi lowered his hand and walked to the broken bed, now a solid block of ice. His footsteps on the frost-covered floor made no sound at all.

He extended his slender fingers, fingertips with a soft sheen, and lightly touched the ice encasing the broken bed.

The thick, hard ice—along with the straw, wooden planks, and tattered mat frozen solid inside—silently dissolved into powdery white ice crystals at his touch.

With another flick of his sleeve, it was all gone.

The entire room, save for the mottled earthen walls, the earthen stove, and the blackened thatch overhead, was now completely empty—truly a bare room with nothing but four walls.

An Yi stood in the center of the empty room, his gaze sweeping over the floor and the bare walls, and gave a satisfied nod.

Now, the house was truly "emptied out."

Everything of the original owner's had turned to ice dust, without a trace.

He moved his fingertips slightly, and several clear, translucent spheres of water condensed in the air, hovering before him.

He reached out and carefully washed his hands and face.

Water droplets rolled over his skin, washing away the last bit of grime.

Using the clean water, he undid his hair, which had been loosely tied and was dry, yellowed, and frizzy.

In the next instant, his hair visibly turned jet-black and glossy, and grew much fuller.

He ran his fingers through it a few times, then deftly twisted the long hair into a neat, simple bun at the back of his head, securing it with a hairpin.

A few loose strands fell naturally at his temples, softening his features.

Finally, he stripped off the original owner's patched, coarse, slightly smelly old clothes.

With a flicker of intent, a set of clothing appeared in his hands.

A moon-white fine cotton robe, a slightly thicker blue-gray outer garment, and a matching sash that cinched the robe, showing off his figure—already subtly transformed by his power: tall, lean, with a smooth, powerful waist, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist, perfectly proportioned.

He also produced a pair of clean cloth boots, replacing the old shoes that were always on a first-name basis with his big toe.

An Yi took a mirror out of his space and looked at his reflection.

The reflection showed delicate features—long brows sweeping toward his temples, thick lashes, a straight nose, and well-shaped lips. His eyes were a lighter amber than most people's, clear and bright, as if they could mirror a person's heart, yet bottomless.

This face was a world apart from the original owner's—sallow and gaunt from malnutrition, with murky eyes from a life of loafing and trouble. They were as different as night and day.

An Yi smiled slightly at his reflection.

The beauty in the mirror smiled back, a radiant light dancing in his eyes, as if moonlight were rippling outward, brightening the dim room.

"Almost there," he murmured to himself.