After concluding their itinerary at the welfare institution, Bai Ziyan still had no intention of returning home. He drove back to his company to switch cars, planning to pick up his third younger brother, Bai Ziyan, so they could go visit their youngest brother together.
Throughout the afternoon, Bai Ziyan had worn a smile on his face while interacting with the children. However, as he drove, the smile on his face faded completely.
Mo Han knew that he was thinking about the matter regarding Duan Cang.
After all, this was a lover he had cherished for ten years someone who occupied a third of his life and to whom he had once delivered all his trust. When one suddenly had no choice but to cast a suspicious gaze upon such a person, how could anyone easily accept it?
Back when he and Duan Cang fell in love, it was the exact same way.
Generally speaking, his romance with Duan Cang could roughly be divided into three stages.
At first, it was the first four years of their relationship.
They were like every couple in love: there were sweet moments, and there were arguments. But looking back, those memories felt like pebbles glistening in the sunlight shining brightly.
The turning point occurred in the fifth year.
That year, Duan Cang’s illegitimate younger brother was driven to desperate measures; he drove his car straight into Duan Cang.
That day was Mo Han’s graduation day. When it was time to leave campus, the Mo family did not come to pick him up; Duan Cang did.
In order to haul Mo Han’s belongings, Duan Cang did not drive any of the increasingly eye-catching sports cars in his garage. Instead, he drove a large-capacity Range Rover. Feeling that smoking inside the car was too stuffy, he parked in a slightly remote corner and stepped outside to get some fresh air.
In just the span of a single cigarette, he was targeted.
When Mo Han arrived carrying his bedding, a car came roaring over.
Duan Cang had his back to the car.
That day, Mo Han had never imagined that he could run so fast.
He lunged forward and slammed into Duan Cang, shoving him out of the way. Duan Cang let out a low “Fuck!” as he stumbled backward, only to witness Mo Han being hit and flung into the air.
In order not to make Duan Cang wait long, Mo Han had carried as many things at once as possible. He had folded his bedding neatly and strapped it across his back, with various miscellaneous items tied on top.
Running all the way there, he certainly didn’t look presentable. Strands of sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead. Upon impact, his bangs and the bedding behind him scattered through the air simultaneously. The bedding was snow-white; he looked like a bird whose wings had been broken upon collision.
Duan Cang’s pupils contracted violently.
After being rushed to the hospital, Mo Han was diagnosed with two broken ribs, a soft tissue contusion on his right leg, and a comminuted fracture in his right arm that might leave permanent damage.
The doctor said that the thick mattress of bedding had saved his life.
When Mo Han woke up, he was deeply concerned about Duan Cang’s condition. Yet, right up until his discharge, he never saw Duan Cang’s shadow even once—there was only a caregiver hired by Duan Cang taking care of him at his bedside.
After his discharge, Duan Cang came to pick him up. He offered no explanation for his cold demeanor and near-complete loss of contact over those two months, nor did he express any thanks or gratitude. His attitude toward Mo Han remained exactly as it was before, as if those two months had never existed at all.
That car accident was like a turning point, forcibly striking a sharp bend into the relationship between Duan Cang and Mo Han.
With that event as the boundary line, their relationship went downhill rapidly.
Duan Cang grew increasingly cold and became quick to anger. His verbal put-downs toward Mo Han seemed even more severe than before. Even someone as forgiving as Mo Han could no longer treat those words as well-meaning advice.
Mo Han merely assumed that something had gone wrong with the company and worried about his health. Thus, after completing his hand rehabilitation exercises, he brought freshly made dishes to deliver a meal to Duan Cang.
Duan Cang’s attitude was cold; he told him never to come to the company again.
Duan Cang did not take a single bite of that boxed meal, and the food gradually went cold.
Mo Han did not know what had happened. He didn’t understand what was wrong, nor why Duan Cang had suddenly become inexplicable and cold. Duan Cang said nothing and refused to talk to Mo Han.
Yet, he wasn’t entirely indifferent either. He would still tuck the blanket in for Mo Han, pack and bring home dishes that Mo Han liked when he encountered them, and occasionally as if on a sudden whim buy expensive collectibles or accessories to give him with a smile, making it seem as though the coldness of those days was merely an illusion.
Mo Han held his right arm, gazing at the continuous rain outside the window, his heart filled with exhaustion.
That car accident back then had ultimately left behind permanent damage. Whenever it rained, his right arm would ache continuously with a dull pain, exceedingly similar to the rain outside the window.
And in the sixth year, Mo Han finally learned the cause of Duan Cang’s abnormal behavior.
Unexpectedly, it was neither an affair nor anything he had done wrong. It was simply because he was nothing more than a stand-in.
A stand-in was not the real person. There was no need to invest true feelings. When tired of them, swap for another; when no longer wanting to play the game of romance, terminate it. Wasn’t that perfectly normal?
Mo Han looked at Bai Ziyan and let out a gentle sigh. A faint trace of sorrow welled up in his heart perhaps out of sympathy for a fellow sufferer.
When it came to matters of love, everyone’s happiness had its own unique qualities, but their suffering was mostly the same.
However, Bai Ziyan was different from him after all. Ultimately, Duan Cang truly loved him.
Bai Ziyan always drove very smoothly. Even when he was in a bad mood like right now, he would not drive fast.
The car came to a steady stop at the main gate of A University.
At this moment, Bai Ziyan’s third brother’s class had not ended yet.
As Bai Ziyan walked through the campus, the sunset glowing across the sky behind him seemed to serve as a backdrop for him, attracting countless gazes that fell upon his figure.
Bai Ziyan was used to being watched, but he did not like it. He looked around and simply stepped into an academic building at random.
The academic buildings of A University were interconnected, with several teaching zones joined together to form a massive architectural complex. A University covered a vast area and had many such building complexes.
The specific building Bai Ziyan entered happened to be the one where the Department of Folk Art was located.
Mo Han followed behind Bai Ziyan. Looking at the familiar long corridor, his heart felt as though it were rising to his throat. If he had to find a word for this emotion, it would probably be “timidity upon returning home.”
There weren’t many people in their department, and even fewer focused on physical craft production; Mo Han was one of them.
Mo Han’s luck had always been terrible, but while at school, the people he met were all quite good.
Even though his classmates from back then had already left the school, Mo Han still felt a poignant nostalgia, as if revisiting an old haunt.
After looking at the directory map on the wall, Bai Ziyan walked straight toward the top floor. On the top floor, works by students and teachers were displayed; Bai Ziyan had always liked handcrafted items.
Since it was currently class time, the academic building was quiet and silent. The heels of Bai Ziyan’s shoes produced faint sounds that echoed through the empty corridor.
On both sides of the corridor hung paper-cutting and kite works created by students. Umbrellas were suspended from the ceiling, their surfaces either painted with ink landscapes or inscribed with calligraphy, delicate and elegant.
Suddenly, Bai Ziyan stopped in his tracks.
Mo Han walked over to take a look, not expecting that the paper-cutting he had made back then was still hanging here.
On the round paper surface, there were distant mountains and flowing water in the background, with flowers, birds, and pavilions in the foreground. The artisan’s craft was exquisite, to the point of cutting out the subtle ripples of water waves.
This was a work from Mo Han’s elective course. Back then, it had been selected by the teacher to be hung up. He hadn’t expected that after so many years, it would surprisingly still be hanging here.
Bai Ziyan took a step closer and clearly read the name of the author at the bottom: “Mo…… Han?”
At this moment, footsteps sounded once more, accompanied by an old man’s voice filled with smiles: “How do you like this piece of paper-cutting?”
Mo Han’s entire body shuddered; at this moment, he actually didn’t dare to turn his head back.
Bai Ziyan was startled for a moment, then looked up and smiled: “This must be a student’s work, right? Although it is a bit unpolished, for a student, it is already quite excellent.”
The footsteps stopped beside him, allowing Mo Han to clearly see his appearance.
The old man had short, silver-white hair and wore a clean, neat Tang suit, looking at Bai Ziyan with a beaming smile.
It was precisely Mo Han’s former teacher, Zhang Cheng.
“You aren’t a student of our school, are you? You look somewhat familiar.”
Bai Ziyan nodded and replied, “I am not a student. I came to pick up my younger brother and am waiting for his class to finish.”
Teacher Zhang Cheng didn’t mind either. He tilted his head up to look at the paper-cutting: “This is the work of my most proud student. When he completed this piece, he had only attended one semester of the paper-cutting elective course and half of that semester was spent learning theory and history.”
Bai Ziyan’s eyes widened suddenly: “Half a semester?”
Zhang Cheng nodded proudly: “That’s right.”
Bai Ziyan’s voice sounded slightly dry: “With such talent, why didn’t you let him continue studying it?”
Zhang Cheng let out a sigh, his tone carrying a sense of boastfulness that suggested ‘My student is so outstanding, what can I possibly do?’: “It couldn’t be helped. Little Han’s talent in bamboo weaving and straw weaving was even better, and he personally preferred to develop in those other two directions. I could only let him have his way.”
As Zhang Cheng spoke, he laughed again: “Come, come, come, let me take you to see the works of our department’s students.”
Zhang Cheng was naturally very friendly and conversed with Bai Ziyan easily. The old and the young walked side by side through the corridor, heading toward the main hall, while Mo Han quietly followed behind them.
Inside the main hall were hundreds of student works.
Olive pit carving, straw weaving, bamboo weaving, eggshell carving, gourd carving, clay sculpting, dough sculpting, paper-cutting, embroidery……
A dazzling array that overwhelmed the eyes.
And directly in the center stood a mythical beast.
A huge mythical beast shaped like a fox sat upright upon a bamboo platform. The pair of long horns on its back was sharp, yet its coat of fur looked incomparably soft.
The Kingdom of the White People lies to the north of the Dragon-Fish; its people have white bodies and draped hair.
There is the Chenghuang, whose shape is like a fox, with horns on its back; riding it grants a lifespan of two thousand years.
The mythical beast was named Chenghuang.
Bai Ziyan stood frozen on the spot, rendered speechless.
A giant beast two meters in length, woven from a combination of straw weaving and bamboo weaving, looked as though it might shake its soft fur and leap up in the very next second.
Only after an unknown amount of time did Zhang Cheng’s voice pull him back to reality: “How is it? My student’s work?”
Bai Ziyan’s throat moved slightly: “……Stunning.”
After a long moment, he finally recovered his senses. As if surprised yet simultaneously expecting it, he asked, “Is this Mo Han’s work?”
Zhang Cheng laughed heartily: “Yes, it’s his.”
Bai Ziyan turned his gaze back to the Chenghuang.
He had seen photographs of Mo Han’s works before, but they were far inferior to the shock of witnessing it in person.
Zhang Cheng also looked at the Chenghuang, his eyes filled with admiration: “Mo Han’s talent is the highest I have ever seen.”
Bai Ziyan nodded: “Before I met his work, I had never imagined that straw weaving and bamboo weaving could reach such a level.”
Pausing for a moment, his tone rose slightly, becoming somewhat spirited, his eyes bright with excitement: “He and his weaving art deserve to be known by the entire country!”
Not only did Zhang Cheng not refute him, but he nodded in agreement instead, looking like someone who had found a kindred spirit: “I have always believed that Little Han could take our nation’s folk arts to the world stage.”
Zhang Cheng tapped on the glass display case surrounding the Chenghuang: “His works were all conceived entirely by himself.”
Bai Ziyan examined it closely: “Then he must be a person with an extraordinarily rich imagination, and his foundational skills must certainly be exceptionally solid.”
Mo Han was praised back and forth by the two of them until his face turned red with embarrassment. He was thin-skinned to begin with; being praised like this now, his redness spread from his ears down to his neck, looking almost like a piece of translucent red jade.
His face stiffened, feeling a kind of awkwardness akin to being publicly executed. The embarrassment and shyness in his heart intertwined, causing him to halt his steps instead of keeping up with Bai Ziyan, to the point that he suddenly realized the distance between himself and Bai Ziyan had unconsciously exceeded the three-meter limit.
Mo Han was startled. He tentatively took two steps backward, and still, he encountered no restriction.