After Breaking Off the Engagement, I Started Pursuing My Master

Chapter 175: Storytelling

In the quiet of the night, under the clear moon and gentle breeze.

When Jiang Huai stepped out of Bai Li’s room, he happened to meet Bai Jin, who was about to knock on the door. Their cheeks were opposite each other for a moment, and Jiang Huai’s gaze shifted away, a hint of inexplicable guilt in his heart.

He thought he had maxed out his resistance to embarrassment, but if he touched his cheek now, it would probably be burning hot.

“I wanted to talk to Bai Li. Is she asleep?” Bai Jin’s voice was soft.

“She just closed her eyes, probably getting ready to sleep,” Jiang Huai answered cautiously.

Before he left the room, Bai Li had already curled up under the covers, her snow-white slender body tightly wrapped in the bedding, still emanating a faint milky scent.

“Okay, then I’ll talk to her another day,” Bai Jin nodded slightly and turned away from Bai Li’s room.

Jiang Huai carefully closed Bai Li’s door and was about to return to his own room when he glanced at Bai Jin and noticed a look of hesitation in her eyes. He then walked to the other side of the ship’s deck.

“I’m going to get some fresh air. Aunt Bai, would you like to join me?”

Bai Jin nodded lightly and then walked beside Jiang Huai with her slender legs.

Jiang Huai’s heart was thumping, a slight unease seeping through. The woman beside him was Bai Li’s biological mother and a ninth realm Immortal Venerable.

Had he bullied Bai Li in the room earlier?

Soon they reached the side of the deck, and as the evening breeze blew, Jiang Huai turned his face and caught a glimpse of Bai Jin. Her profile was bathed in the moonlight, dazzling for a moment, making Jiang Huai’s breath seem to stop.

She must have inherited the dragon bloodline, given the coral dragon horns on her forehead were particularly conspicuous, not hidden at all. It seemed that every dragon incarnation had a certain sacred aura that inspired awe and made one subconsciously keep their distance.

Bai Jin wore a Western Region-style black dress with silver chains clinging to the skin at the cut-out waist, the skirt hugging her hips in a crisscross pattern. Her long, porcelain-white legs beneath the skirt were smooth, with a silver chain around her ankle, her delicate feet bare on the deck.

“Aunt Bai, is there something you want to know?” Jiang Huai asked cautiously.

He was sure he had seen a hint of hesitation in Bai Jin’s eyes earlier as if she had something to say to him. It was better to ask first, although Jiang Huai felt like he was pushing himself.

“Nothing much.”

Unexpectedly, Bai Jin answered like this. Her palm rested lightly on the deck railing as she looked out at the starry night sky and spoke softly,

“I think Bai Li seems to like you quite a bit. What do you think?”

“I’ve been with her through life and death in many secret realms. Naturally, our relationship is very close.”

“I’m planning to take her back to the Western Region. You seem a bit worried about that, don’t you?” Bai Jin asked softly.

“How did Aunt Bai notice?”

“After all, to her and you, I’m a stranger who suddenly appeared. Bai Li was six when I left the Serpent Clan. Maybe her memory of me has become very vague. Unlike your human clans who value etiquette, she is still my biological daughter. I came to find her this time just to take her back and give her the opportunity of the Serpent Emperor’s inheritance... As for the path she wants to take afterward, I won’t interfere. If she wants to come to the Eastern Region to find you after that, I’ll send her over.”

“Aunt Bai is truly open-minded,” Jiang Huai couldn’t help but admire.

“I just don’t want her to repeat my life. Since my childhood, I’ve been burdened with the mission of reviving the Serpent Clan. Even though I worked hard in cultivation and gained a lot of say in the Serpent Clan, the weight on my shoulders often made me feel breathless. At that time, I always thought... if I had a daughter, I would want her to freely choose whatever she wants to do.”

Bai Jin’s voice was very soft, and her lips curled up slightly as she spoke.

“Bai Li is lucky to have a mother like you,” Jiang Huai muttered, and at that moment, Bai Jin’s eyes turned to him.

Her lips still held a faint smile, but for some reason, Jiang Huai felt her gaze had become profoundly deep.

“Thank you for taking care of Bai Li these years. If you need help with anything in the future, feel free to tell me. There’s no need to be shy.”

“Aunt Bai is too polite.”

“It’s just that I don’t like to owe anything. It’s also a way to make up for the love I owe Bai Li.”

After Bai Jin softly said this, she fell silent, and Jiang Huai didn’t know what else to say. They both enjoyed the evening breeze together, and the wind seemed to make Jiang Huai’s head even more dizzy.

He had already drunk quite a bit, and after a while, he said goodbye to Bai Jin first. Bai Jin nodded lightly and walked to her own room.

...

Jiang Huai pushed open the door, his head heavy and drowsy, ready to dive into bed and sleep, but a resentful female voice suddenly rang out, “You’re getting bolder and bolder.”

This playful and resentful voice was, of course, very familiar. Jiang Huai was startled and looked up to find Luo Yueguan curled up in the bed, clutching the blanket in a pose of obedient sleep. Jiang Huai looked around and realized he had walked into the wrong room; his room was next door. He scratched his head,

“I went to the wrong room...”

With that, he turned to leave, but Luo Yueguan’s voice came from behind, “Since you’re here by mistake, why not stay and chat with me for a while?”

“No, I’m too sleepy.”

Jiang Huai quickened his pace, and Luo Yueguan fell silent behind him. When Jiang Huai reached the door and glanced back inadvertently, he saw Luo Yueguan had sat up in bed, clutching the blanket, her eyes fixed on him, full of unsaid words.

A strange sense of guilt suddenly emerged in Jiang Huai’s heart. He looked helplessly at Luo Yueguan,

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Don’t talk, just go,” Luo Yueguan turned her face away.

Clearly, this was because of the helplessness that had just appeared on Jiang Huai’s face. Luo Yueguan was always good at reading people. But Jiang Huai didn’t leave; instead, he closed the door and walked back to the bed, sitting down on the edge, looking at Luo Yueguan’s snow-white cheeks. There was only a dim yellow lamp by the bed, no wonder he hadn’t noticed he was in the wrong room.

“Aunt Luo is so petulant, just like a little girl who likes to sulk and make others guess what’s on her mind,” Jiang Huai said helplessly, looking into her eyes.

Strangely, when he looked at her, she turned her face away, but when he didn’t look at her, her eyes were fixed on him.

“Then guess what I’m thinking right now?” Luo Yueguan’s voice carried a deliberately cold tone.

“If I could guess that, I’d be a real immortal. Sometimes thoughts can be spoken out loud, not left for others to guess. Guessing can lead to misunderstandings. Humans invented language to communicate and share thoughts and feelings.”

“What about thoughts that can’t be spoken out loud?”

Luo Yueguan finally turned her head, slightly lifting her face, the dim light casting a glow on her snow-white cheek, her emotions hidden in the dark depths of her eyes.

Jiang Huai Jr. was suddenly covered in cold sweat on his forehead.

What are the thoughts that cannot be spoken out loud?

At this very moment, it was once again time to feign ignorance. He had no choice but to answer,

“If it can’t be said out loud, then I won’t say it. Maybe after a while, I won’t even want to say it.”

Luo Yueguan stared at him for several seconds before slowly lowering her head.

“That’s true.”

Her tone seemed thoughtful. Jiang Huai let out a slight sigh of relief, but then Luo Yueguan reached out and gently tugged at his arm.

“Aunt Luo just had another nightmare and couldn’t sleep. What should I do?”

“At times like these, I usually suggest not thinking about anything.”

“How can you just stop thinking about something if you don’t want to?”

“Alright, then how about I tell you a bedtime story?”

“Bedtime stories for kids might not work on me.”

Jiang Huai pulled his hand away from Luo Yueguan’s grasp, but almost subconsciously, he lifted his palm to Luo Yueguan’s face, pinched her chin, tilted her cheek slightly upward, and said with a hint of annoyance.

“So, are you going to listen or not?”

Such an annoying tone!

A sudden sense of inexplicable grievance welled up in Luo Yueguan’s heart. In her presence, he was always so fierce and unreserved, but in front of his master, he was as docile and eager to please as a pug.

Chu Xianning could tell him to go west, and he would go west; tell him to go east, and he would go east. She suspected that even if Chu Xianning asked him to crawl on the ground like a dog and carry her, he would be willing.

But in front of her, he had this fierce and annoying demeanor. He was doing it on purpose, trying to make her dislike him.

“If the story isn’t good... I won’t buy it,” Luo Yueguan said, her cheeks slightly tilted up, maintaining her last bit of pride.

“Fine.”

Jiang Huai’s hand, which was pinching her chin, moved to pinch her face instead, but then he suddenly realized... could it be that many times, it was he who inadvertently sent some kind of signal to Luo Yueguan, causing a subtle change in her feelings towards him?

It seemed he had to admit this point and the reason... simply because he couldn’t help himself. Seeing Luo Yueguan acting like a petulant little girl, he really wanted to teach her a lesson or tease her.

The pinching of her chin was an unconscious action, and unexpectedly, he wasn’t afraid of Luo Yueguan at all...

Strange, when did his impression of Luo Yueguan become like this?

Just half a year ago, he only had respect for Aunt Luo.

The bedtime story Jiang Huai was about to tell was actually quite simple. He had written quite a few drafts of ancient-style tragic love short stories before. He wasn’t skilled at storytelling at first, but after telling them to Luo Qingyu many times, his tone became more dramatic, and the stories were clear and concise, focusing on familiarity.

Luo Yueguan gradually became engrossed in the story. By the time it ended, her eyes were veiled with a thin layer of mist. Jiang Huai’s voice came to an abrupt halt, and after a moment of silence, Luo Yueguan gently tapped his shoulder,

“Is that it?”

“Yes, it’s over. What more could there be after both characters die for love?”

Luo Yueguan’s eyes looked at him deeply, “I’m not satisfied.”

“Then I’ll tell you another one.”

Jiang Huai had many more self-written ancient-style tragic love short stories, and he was always worried that he had no one to share them with.