Mo Han turned back, cast a deep look at Bai Ziyan and the teacher who were deep in conversation, and turned to run outside.
At first, he was running along the ground, but soon his speed became faster and faster, faster and faster. His feet lifted off the ground, and he soared into the air.
He wanted to see if his current self would still be restricted by a boundary range.
The scenery on both sides flashed past rapidly. He flew over the tall academic buildings, flew over the beautiful landscaping, and flew over the bustling sports field.
He flew right out of the campus.
He continued flying forward. The wind blew from ahead, not particularly biting, blowing his bangs apart to both sides. The joy in his heart was like a sprout being nourished becoming increasingly active, as if in the next second it would pierce through the seed coat and shoot out tender green buds.
He was going to leave.
To return to the great mountains, head toward the deep forests, travel across this vast and magnificent land in this form, or go see his former friends and teachers.
Any of it would be fine.
He no longer wanted to be forced to follow by Bai Ziyan’s side to look at Duan Cang, replaying that wretched and pathetic state over and over again.
His spirits gradually rose. He went faster and faster, faster and faster, like a free wind.
Until a massive force grabbed hold of him.
He slammed into an invisible wall and was violently bounced backward.
Mo Han stared blankly at the bustling traffic ahead for a moment, then silently and slowly drifted away from that wall.
Floating mid-air, Mo Han looked around in a daze, and finally chose a streetlamp to sit upon, as if doing so gave him some sense of reliance.
After sitting for a little while, Mo Han grew cheerful once more. Having witnessed all kinds of hardships in the first half of his life, this minor incident wasn’t enough to make him sad. At the very least, his range of movement had indeed grown larger, hadn’t it?
Perched on the streetlamp, gazing at the heavy traffic on the road below, Mo Han began to ponder why his activity range had suddenly expanded.
Did he do anything special before leaving the house?
Mo Han thought back carefully, but it seemed he hadn’t.
He pressed his temples.
Could it be that his obsession with Duan Cang had faded, and that was why his range of movement had increased?
Yet that didn’t make sense either. He had originally been bound to Bai Ziyan’s side; if his obsession truly ran deep, shouldn’t he have been tethered right beside Duan Cang instead?
Mo Han pondered for a while, but ultimately couldn’t come up with an answer, his attention soon drawn by a trembling elderly grandmother down below.
The old woman crossed the street, made a turn, and stepped onto a narrow alleyway. This alley wasn’t far from the road, yet few people walked through it because it backed against a row of residential buildings and was extremely dirty and messy, with garbage casually discarded everywhere.
The elderly grandmother walking down the path looked quite advanced in age, with a full head of silver hair, leaning on a walking cane with her right hand and carrying a bamboo basket on her left arm, walking along the messy tactile paving of the alley.
Because of his grandfather, Mo Han always subconsciously paid extra attention to the elderly. As he watched, his brow furrowed.
The grandmother’s movements were very slow, and her eyesight seemed rather poor.
Watching from above, Mo Han drifted down from the streetlamp and landed beside the old woman.
Up close, the old woman’s eyeballs were cloudy; looking at her, she appeared genuinely blind.
Leaning on her cane and feeling her way forward, she found that someone had carelessly placed several bicycles right in the middle of the tactile paving, blocking it completely. The old woman probed with her cane, her back hunched as she stepped to one side.
A wave of irritation rose in Mo Han’s heart. He reached out to grab the handlebar of a bicycle, and this time, he managed to grasp it quite easily.
Mo Han was startled. Recalling his previous experiences with physical contact, he roughly figured out a certain pattern: the fatigue caused by touching lifeless objects was relatively weak, making them easier to touch; the fatigue caused by touching living beings was intense, living humans especially so, and they could only be touched under extremely critical circumstances; as for touching cats, it didn’t cause any fatigue at all.
Whether this had anything to do with the folklore about cats possessing heavy yin energy, he wasn’t sure.
With this thought in mind, Mo Han briskly moved the bicycles aside, clearing out a clean path along the tactile paving.
The old woman smiled, narrowing her eyes as she expressed her thanks.
Thus, Mo Han walked ahead of the old woman, clearing away all the obstacles on the tactile paving until the grandmother stopped in front of a residential building.
Trembling slightly, she reached into her bamboo basket and took out the largest, plumpest mandarin orange, accurately extending it outward in Mo Han’s direction.
“Thank you, young man. This old lady doesn’t have much else to offer, so take this orange. I just bought it, and it’s terribly sweet.”
Mo Han was stunned. He bent over slightly, looking straight into the old woman’s cloudy, unfocused eyes, and waved his hand.
The old woman wasn’t upset in the least; she said with a beaming smile, “My eyesight isn’t great, but I can still tell when such a handsome young man is standing right here.”
Mo Han froze. He pressed his lips together and apologized, “I’m sorry, I thought you couldn’t see.”
The old woman persisted in holding the orange forward, saying, “I’m getting on in years, so things do look quite blurry, but I manage.”
Mo Han’s gaze swept over the grandmother’s washed-faded outer jacket, and he declined, “It was just a small favor, I really can’t accept”
Before he could finish his sentence, the orange was gently pressed into his hand.
Like a mischievous child, the old woman smiled and told him, “Don’t turn your nose up at an old lady’s fruit; it’s all clean and fresh.”
Mo Han opened his mouth, and finally offered a soft word of thanks: “Thank you.”
At that, the old woman smiled happily, waved at him, and walked up the stairs leaning on her cane.
Mo Han stood downstairs, looking upward, then lowered his gaze to look at the orange in his hand, tentatively peeling back the skin.
A burst of citrus fragrance rushed toward him.
Mo Han cautiously plucked a segment of the orange and placed it into his mouth.
The moment his teeth parted and closed, he tasted a long-missed touch of mortal warmth and domestic life.
The grandmother really knew how to pick oranges; this orange was bursting with juice, nine parts sweet and one part sour, striking the exact right balance.
Mo Han leaned quietly against the wall, eating the orange segment by segment.
Perhaps because he hadn’t eaten mortal food for too long, he found this orange indescribably delicious. The sweet and clear juices flowed down his esophagus, comforting him as if seeping into his very limbs and bones.
He had cooked for Duan Cang for seven years, but it seemed he hadn’t earnestly enjoyed a meal for a very long time.
After his hands were ruined and he could no longer handle delicate tasks, he couldn’t do fine work anymore, but boiling porridge and stir-frying dishes were still within his capability.
When he scooped up the homemade cat food to feed the stray cats outside, he happened to run into a junior student from his school.
The junior squatted down beside him, opened his eyes wide with exaggerated flair, and praised, “As expected of our senior! Even cat food smells this delicious; it makes me want to take a bite!”
As he spoke, the junior’s stomach rumbled right on cue, turning the young man’s face a bright red.
Mo Han couldn’t help whether to laugh or cry. “Is the school that busy lately? How are you even missing meals?”
The junior scratched his head like a golden retriever caught in the act: “There’s a drama performance going on during this period. Sometimes once practice starts, we miss meal times. And because we’re borrowing that art exhibition hall off-campus that place is too remote, and delivery orders are ice-cold by the time they arrive so we just skip eating altogether.”
Mo Han glanced at the sky. It was already past the middle of the afternoon; no wonder the junior was so hungry he practically wanted to fight the cats for food.
The art exhibition hall wasn’t far from here, and Mo Han’s relationship with his juniors was fairly good especially this kid in front of him, who used to pester him to teach him straw weaving. Although he didn’t learn fast, his attitude was very sincere, and every time he came to see him, he brought small snacks or milk tea, acting just like an irresistible puppy.
Mo Han thought for a moment and asked, “How many of you are there? Would it be alright if I brought some food over for you?”
The junior’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
Then he added, “No, no, that won’t do. Those beasts eat way too much; it would be too much trouble for Senior.”
Mo Han smiled and said, “It’s no trouble at all.”
It truly wasn’t trouble. Now that both of his hands were completely ruined and he could no longer tinker with his tools, he wanted to go out and find a job, but Duan Cang strictly forbade it under the pretext of his poor health, leaving him stuck at home day after day, waiting endlessly for Duan Cang.
If he actually delivered meals to his juniors, it might help clear his mind and lift his spirits.
Seeing that Mo Han seemed genuinely indifferent to the trouble, the junior added, “Well then, we can’t eat Senior’s food for free. I’ll go back and discuss it with them; everyone can chip in thirty yuan a day for meal money, is that okay?”
Mo Han thought it over and nodded.
Thus, for the next few days, he brought food to check on his junior students.
At first, everything was wonderful. They all adored this legendary senior, buzzing around him like a flock of little birds as they chattered away.
He began to feel that his daily routine of cooking had acquired a certain spark of interest.
Until one day later on, remembering a casual comment a junior female student had made previously about wanting to eat braised chicken drumsticks, he braised a whole pot of them and brought them over for the students.
Arriving at the hall, he smiled and said, “Today we have braised chicken drumsticks. Try them and see if you like them.”
The students didn’t rush over like they used to. Their expressions looked somewhat awkward, nudging one another, until that same junior finally stepped forward.
He scratched his head, looking just as awkward as he had that afternoon, and said softly, “Um… Senior, I’m sorry.”
Scratching his head, he spoke in a low voice, “Senior, actually, the food you cook doesn’t really suit our tastes. You don’t need to bring food anymore starting tomorrow.”
“We didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but if we don’t eat well and lack energy, we can’t get our afternoon work done.”
Mo Han forced the corners of his mouth upward. “It’s fine. Just tell me if it doesn’t suit your taste; there’s no need to feel embarrassed about it.”
“Then I’ll head back first. I’ll refund today’s money to Xiaowang.”
That entire pot of braised chicken drumsticks was ultimately finished by Mo Han alone.
Was it really that unpalatable?
Mo Han took a bite.
It was probably indeed not very tasty.