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On the day Mo Han died, Duan Cang was at the airport picking up his white moonlight whom he hadn’t seen in ten years.
Before dying, he thought: his parents didn’t love him, elders weren’t affectionate, brothers didn’t respect him, and the man he loved even treated him as a substitute for his true love. Perhaps his death would be for the best for everyone.
Who would have known that after his death, his soul would drift and wander, arriving by the side of the white moonlight and forced to become the white moonlight’s back-spirit.
He watched his younger brother, who had always shown him the utmost disdain during life, go practically mad upon hearing the news of his death.
He watched his friends, who used to sneer and mock him, smoke an entire ash tray’s worth of cigarette butts.
He watched Duan Cang, eyes red, kneeling before his grave.
Only after his death did he realize that so many people had actually wished for him to live.
However, he no longer cared.
He looked up at the sky, wanting just like this to return to the deep mountains.
Yet someone chanted his name persistently, praying for him, and the sounds reached his ears.
He turned back and saw that legendary white moonlight who supposedly never believed in ghosts. Holding the documents and photographs from his life, kneeling before a Buddha statue, the man traded his romantic prospects for the rest of his life, praying millions of times in exchange for peace and safety in Mo Han’s next life.
Duan Cang made a clean break with his white moonlight.
Duan Cang sat with bloodshot eyes before his own grave, while the white moonlight sat alone at his desk all day long.
Behind the white moonlight, Mo Han sighed as he watched the man read poetry.
Such a gentle, refined, and exceptionally virtuous young master how on earth could he have been blind enough to fancy Duan Cang?
The love poems by his ear were tender and lingering, every single word heavy with deep affection.
The legendary white moonlight was wonderful in every way, but unfortunately, he was a hopeless romantic brain-in-love.
Mo Han’s sigh, like his soul, fell lightly upon the white moonlight’s ear, accompanied by the afternoon warmth of the sun.
Sensing something, the white moonlight raised his head and looked in his direction, curving his eyes in Mo Han’s astonished gaze.
“Don’t sigh anymore.”
“Since you say I’m a brain-in-love, then how about this brain-in-love likes you?”
After breaking free from the filter of childhood nostalgia, Bai Ziyan discovered that his former lover had faults everywhere, with only a single redeeming quality good taste in people.
Therefore, later on, Bai Ziyan got together with the scum Gong’s ex-boyfriend.
Duan Cang once thought that the little substitute who had always trailed behind him was merely a laughable plaything. Until later, with bloodshot eyes, he grabbed Mo Han’s arm, weeping tears of blood as he begged him to turn back.
But Mo Han merely frowned, gently holding back Bai Ziyan—who was about to make a move and then pried open Duan Cang’s fingers one by one.
“Sorry, I’m getting married.”
He raised the hand of Bai Ziyan beside him, their matching couple rings gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight.
