Duan Cang?
Why on earth would Bai Ziyan go out of his way to investigate Duan Cang?
Mo Han looked at Bai Ziyan in confusion.
Bai Ziyan sat quietly on the sofa. As dusk was settling in, the setting sun dyed one half of him in a golden-orange hue while plunging the other half into shadow, making him look somewhat like a creature whose wings were burning away for no apparent reason.
His mood appeared exceptionally poor.
Mo Han floated over, sat down beside him, and watched him in silence. He thought he should perhaps try to comfort the man who was the only one willing to arrange a proper burial for him after his death, even if the other person couldn’t see him.
Having shadowed Bai Ziyan for so long, Mo Han had rarely seen him in such a state. In his impression, Bai Ziyan always seemed effortlessly in control of everything.
Could it be that, upon hearing about Duan Cang’s harrowing experiences over those ten years, his heart ached for the suffering Duan Cang had endured?
Even so, there was no need to investigate Duan Cang behind his back, especially since Duan Cang was completely transparent with Bai Ziyan except regarding matters concerning himself.
At this thought, Mo Han’s heart suddenly gave a sharp lurch.
Could Bai Ziyan have picked up on something amiss and grown suspicious?
In the past, whenever Mo Han heard others talking about him in front of Bai Ziyan, a malicious sense of anticipation would always rise within his chest. He would think: since Duan Cang tried so desperately to conceal his existence, perhaps when that existence was finally exposed, it would become a wedge driven between the two of them.
Yet now, his heart felt as though it were being tightly squeezed by an invisible hand.
Just last night, he had never so vividly realized the truth: he was dead.
And since he was already dead, he shouldn’t cling to the affairs of the living anymore.
He could not deny that he still loved Duan Cang even if the Duan Cang he loved was perhaps an idealized fantasy of a man who loved him back, and even if this affection was no longer pure, he still loved him all the same.
Therefore, he still hoped that Duan Cang would achieve his heart’s desire and spend the rest of his life with Bai Ziyan forever harboring that lingering unease of a secret waiting to be unmasked.
Yet Duan Cang was a scoundrel, while Bai Ziyan was anything but. Bai Ziyan was the purest, cleanest person he had ever met; he truly was like a bright moon, far removed from the hypocrites in novels who merely disguised themselves as moonlight.
The moon hung properly in the sky, casting its gentle radiance upon everyone. Even he, after death, had been guided forward by that very moonlight.
Such a completely innocent party in this romance, Bai Ziyan was a person Mo Han had no wish to drag into unmerited suffering. Watching him now, Mo Han felt as though he were looking at his former self.
He wasn’t even sure whether he should hope that Bai Ziyan uncovered this buried secret or not.
His head spinning from these tangled thoughts, Mo Han watched as Bai Ziyan eventually finished washing up and went straight to bed. Clearly, Bai Ziyan did not sleep well that night; sitting right beside him, Mo Han watched his brows knit tightly together, wondering what kind of dreams were plaguing him.
By the next morning, when the alarm clock rang, Bai Ziyan paused for a brief moment before dragging himself up.
Yet Bai Ziyan possessed a formidable skill: he possessed immense focus, neatly compartmentalizing his life and his work. The moment he rose early to head to the company and handle official affairs, yesterday’s heavy gloom was completely swept away, leaving Mo Han deeply impressed.
He recalled how, back when he used to wait for Duan Cang to finish work while braiding handmade bracelets, a familiar weaving pattern would make him mess up three times in a row, forcing him to halt his work entirely.
While Bai Ziyan attended to his affairs, Mo Han sat on the opposite sofa, occasionally gazing out at the drifting clouds and passing birds, or turning his gaze back to Bai Ziyan.
Fairly speaking, Bai Ziyan’s appearance was rare and striking. His features were neither overly soft nor aggressively sharp; the moment one laid eyes on him, lines of classical poetry inevitably sprang to mind“A refined and courteous gentleman, as cut and as filed, as carved and as polished,” or “Lifting my wine cup, I gaze blankly at the azure sky, as bright as a jade tree standing tall before the wind.” He was like a quiet mountain stream tranquil yet brimming with resilient strength.
Mo Han always felt that Bai Ziyan was profoundly different from himself, leaving him utterly baffled as to how Duan Cang, relying merely on a few superficial similarities, had managed to steel his resolve and pursue him.
Pondering it endlessly, he could only attribute it to the fact that Duan Cang simply wasn’t a decent human being.
Time flew by. The moment the watch on the desk chimed, Bai Ziyan closed his final document.
After partaking in a midday meal, Bai Ziyan did not return to his office; instead, he fetched his car keys and drove straight to a commercial district.
This time, Bai Ziyan did not take his white Rolls-Royce, opting instead for a small delivery truck.
The truck created a wonderfully whimsical contrast with Bai Ziyan, carrying a subtle sense of incongruity, yet the moment he climbed into the driver’s seat, it somehow looked remarkably harmonious.
Bai Ziyan had purchased a vast array of goods, predominantly items meant for children’s consumption and daily use.
Watching him, a realization bloomed within Mo Han’s chest.
Could Bai Ziyan be heading to an orphanage to visit the children?
Given Mo Han’s years spent navigating high society, he knew that the philanthropic methods of the wealthy usually consisted of direct donations to registered institutions under their names.
He was well aware that the Bai family maintained charitable organizations of their own; indeed, he knew that the sums the Bai family poured into philanthropy every year were far from insignificant.
Yet he had never anticipated that Bai Ziyan would personally visit the children.
Clearly, this was not Bai Ziyan’s first time undertaking such a task. As he shopped, his actions carried the casual precision of someone working from a well-rehearsed mental checklist, picking out items swiftly and steadily all of them ideally suited for children.
Starting the engine, Bai Ziyan drove straight toward the outskirts where the orphanage was located.
Upon arrival at the gates, the director hurried out to greet him with a warm smile. Their easy familiarity caught Mo Han’s attention, and through snatches of their conversation, Mo Han learned that Bai Ziyan had been faithfully visiting this place since a decade ago.
A decade ago, Bai Ziyan had been nothing more than an adolescent a child himself.
Children gravitated naturally toward Bai Ziyan. Though initially shy, they quickly gathered around him in high spirits. Possessing vast erudition spanning music, Go, calligraphy, and painting, Bai Ziyan casually plucked a leaf, placed it horizontally against his lips, and coaxed a moving melody from its surface.
The children’s eyes shone as they watched him.
With infinite patience, Bai Ziyan instructed the little ones on how to coax sound from a leaf, lingering to play and interact with them. Within minutes, every child in the institution had fallen in love with this tall older brother.
Unwilling to draw too close to the youngsters for fear that any lingering chill from his spectral state might discomfort them, Mo Han remained lingering under the shade of a tree.
From this vantage point, he had a clear view of Bai Ziyan playing his leaf-flute, surrounded by a cluster of children sitting obediently around him like sunflowers turning toward their sun.
The weather today was extraordinarily fine, casting sunlight across the bridge of Bai Ziyan’s straight nose and his slender, pale fingers. The leaf caught the sunlight, glowing jade-green like a precious emerald a brushstroke of high-contrast brilliance dropped by the hand of a divine artist.
Back when he and Duan Cang had first gotten together, Duan Cang had also promised to bring him to an orphanage. Yet for reasons unknown, after bringing him there once, Duan Cang had claimed the children were unaccustomed to strangers and worried he might frighten them, ultimately refusing to let him step out of the car.
He had sat inside the vehicle, peering through tinted privacy glass out toward the world beyond.
Duan Cang possessed features that were far too sharp and an aura that refused to be reined in, making him resemble an unsheathed sword capable of accidentally harming anyone who drew too close. In truth, his interactions with the children had been somewhat stiff and unnatural. Yet he had kept a constant smile on his face, softening those sharp edges just enough.
Clumsily and tentatively, he had tried to reach out to the little ones. After accidentally frightening a toddler to tears, a look of blank helplessness had crossed his face, making him appear rather pitiful.
Mo Han had almost felt his heart melt entirely from the expression worn by the man he loved.
Back then, he had been so utterly convinced that his lover was a gentle soul struggling with expression a man of deep compassion who never bullied the weak.
After a long bout of play, the children grew tired, prompting Bai Ziyan to seek out the director for a conversation. Following closely behind, Mo Han trailed him into the orphanage’s corridor.
Bai Ziyan appeared deeply invested in the children’s education, pressing the director for granular details concerning schooling subsidies and support programs.
Lining both sides of the corridor were numerous photo frames, likely showcasing the kind benefactors who had donated to the orphanage over the years.
Curious, Mo Han scanned the displays until his gaze suddenly locked onto a specific spot.
At the very end of the corridor hung an old photograph.
Depicted within the frame were two youths one sharp-featured, one gentle standing side by side, their shared smiles imbued with a warmth that seemed capable of transcending the barriers of time to reach out and touch him.
It was a photograph of Duan Cang and Bai Ziyan from their youth.
Judging by their appearance in the picture, they could not have been very old perhaps around ten-odd years of age.
A wave of astonishment washed over Mo Han.
Could the two of them have been participating in charitable endeavors together since they were teenagers?
A profound sense of admiration stirred within him.
Growing up deep in the mountains, Mo Han’s formal education had been cut short at the primary level simply because the local teachers only taught up to that grade.
It wasn’t until a kind benefactor built a schoolhouse in their region and established a scholarship fund that he was able to resume his studies.
Fortunately, Mo Han possessed a natural aptitude for learning. Discovering his potential during middle school, his teachers ensured he could continue his education, skipping two grades along the way and carrying him all the way to university.
Without that, had Mo Han been retrieved by the Mo family bearing nothing more than a primary school education, his subsequent trials would undoubtedly have been infinitely more harrowing.
Mo Han felt a deep, abiding gratitude toward the anonymous donor from all those years ago.
Behind him, the dialogue between Bai Ziyan and the director continued unabated. With an astonishing memory paired with terrifying judgment and executive capability, Bai Ziyan swiftly synthesized the children’s academic performance, singling out several promising youngsters displaying early talents in particular fields for targeted support and cultivation.
Turning his head, Mo Han watched as Bai Ziyan maneuvered effortlessly through these complex affairs, his slender fingers holding a pen to make quick, precise annotations in his ledger radiating the same elegant charm he possessed when playing an instrument.
Though standing amid the shadows, he seemed to emit an internal radiance, and that light, in turn, illuminated the lives of countless others.
Mo Han fell into a momentary daze.
In an instant, the old photograph flashed back into his mind, alongside the memory of the gentle warmth Duan Cang had displayed while bandaging an injured child.
So, Duan Cang had also been touched by that moonlight.
The tenderness that had once drawn Mo Han to Duan Cang was, in truth, something learned from Bai Ziyan.
Bai Ziyan was a sanctuary within his heart, and this orphanage was another.
So that was why, after deep consideration back then, Duan Cang had ultimately chosen not to let him set foot inside this very orphanage.