After My Death, I Became the Scum Gong's White Moonlight's Back-Spirit - Chapter 2

When Mo Han opened his eyes, he only felt dizzy and his body felt as though it were enveloped in a layer of mist.

The world gradually became clear. When he saw the scene before him, his pupils shrank sharply.

Amidst a patch of hazy white mist, filtering through the layers of vapor, he dimly caught sight of a pair of exceptionally well-shaped collarbones.

A young man whose face was obscured tilted his neck slightly, revealing an extremely gorgeous jawline. Water droplets flowed down from his chin along his neck, and his Adam’s apple, stained with water droplets, rolled gently.

Mo Han only glanced at it before hurriedly looking away. He wanted to leave this place, but he found that he couldn’t move at all, nor could he even speak.

He frowned. Before he could sort out the current situation, he heard the sound of water stop. The rustling sound of friction against fabric rang out, and then the sound walked toward him.

Only then did Mo Han realize that his perspective was somewhat strange. Viewed horizontally, he could unexpectedly only see the young man’s waist.

The young man’s waist was wrapped in a bath towel. Wiping his hair with one hand, he reached out and grabbed toward him.

Mo Han was startled. He frantically tried to dodge, but still remained completely unable to move.

Limited by his perspective, looking upward, he could only see the young man’s smooth-lined jaw.

Who on earth was this person?!

Perhaps struggling too violently, he only felt his body lighten, his whole body seeming to fly into mid-air, and his vision went black, losing consciousness.

Before his vision blurred completely, the last thing he saw was the tear mole at the corner of the young man’s eyes.

“Ziyan, how about going to Deep Blue for a while? I remember that before you went abroad, you liked their steak the most.”

“Okay. I haven’t eaten it in a long time, and I am indeed craving it a bit.”

The conversational voices entered his ears. Both male voices were exceptionally pleasant—one magnetic, one gentle. Clearly, these were timbres that could make many people captivated without even seeing the person, but heard in Mo Han’s ears, they made him frown slightly.

Duan… Cang?

Mo Han snapped his eyes open, breaking free from the dream-like, enthralling, and unreasonable scene just a moment ago.

He saw that on the sofa directly opposite him, at a distance of mere meters from him, two people were sitting.

The one on the left had sharp, angular facial features, with his whole edge exposed like an unsheathed saber. It was precisely his newly broken-up ex-boyfriend, Duan Cang.

As for the young man on the other side, sharing a five-part resemblance to his own face, who else could it be if not Duan Cang’s unforgettable white moonlight, Bai Ziyan?

Right in front of him, as if he, a living person, did not exist at all, they were intimately discussing where to go next.

Mo Han’s expression was calm as he curved the corners of his lips, smiling with irony.

There were many scumbag deeds that Duan Cang had committed, and this one was no exception. Perhaps it was another trick he had thought up to humiliate someone, using him to amuse himself in order to manifest his pure and flawless love for Bai Ziyan.

“You… really haven’t changed at all, Ziyan. I missed you very much.”

“Countless times I worried that you would never come back. Fortunately, you’re back now.”

The hand he reached out toward Bai Ziyan hesitated in mid-air before resting lightly on Bai Ziyan’s shoulder.

This action was less like the intimacy between lovers than it was the closeness between brothers, yet it was equally impossible for outsiders to insert themselves into.

A satisfied smile appeared on Duan Cang’s face.

Duan Cang was originally accustomed to being arbitrary and autocratic, yet in front of Bai Ziyan, he tried his utmost to rein in his sharpness, looking like a fierce beast terrified that its own sharp claws might scratch a delicate rose.

Mo Han looked at this scene and looked away.

His chest felt as though it had a giant hole blown into it. All of Duan Cang’s gentleness toward Bai Ziyan turned into the wind of midwinter, blowing across his heart and leaving behind only a cavity of full chill.

Mo Han and Bai Ziyan were different. They possessed similar faces, but they did not share similar fates.

Bai Ziyan was the bright moon in the sky, the clouds lingering around the mountain peak, and the priceless snow lotus atop the snowy mountain peak. Meanwhile, Mo Han was merely an unknown wild grass, growing wantonly with a tenacious vitality. Only because he bore a slight resemblance to the snow lotus was he chosen by Duan Cang, who used affection as bait to bring him home and plant him in a flowerpot.

Sometimes, Duan Cang would also water this strand of wild grass and catch its insects, as if at a certain moment, he had also placed this small grass in his heart.

Yet wild grass was wild grass; no matter how much it grew to resemble the real snow lotus, how could it ever dare to wish for treatment equal to that of a snow lotus?

Having just woken up, Mo Han still felt somewhat dizzy. He did not want to pursue why he had appeared here, nor did he wish to recall what had happened previously; he simply wanted to leave this place.

He felt his body floating lightly, possessing a terrible sense of being unable to control his four limbs. As he walked toward the main door, he was still chuckling inwardly, thinking that if this scene were filmed and posted online, netizens might just slap a title on it like “Valuable Footage of Early Humans Taming Their Four Limbs” and let it go slightly viral.

He thought again that it would be fine if his hands were ruined and wouldn’t listen to commands, but why were his legs somewhat disobedient too, making his walk feel like he was drifting? It couldn’t be that Duan Cang feared he would cling on relentlessly and ruin their sweet life, so he simply crippled his legs outright.

He thought desperately, thinking about messy things so that he could control himself and avoid thinking about that heartbreaking seven years.

Right ahead was the main door. Mo Han reached out his hand with a motion so fast it carried a hint of fleeing in panic.

With a “啪” sound, his hand touched a hard object.

Mo Han was stunned, lowering his head to look at his hand, which had stopped two inches away from the door handle and could no longer stretch forward.

He felt up and down, touching a transparent wall.

Mo Han’s mind went blank for a fraction of a second. Some memory he did not want to recall was breaking through the mist, clamoring to emerge.

At this moment, the rustling sound of clothing friction came from behind. The two men had already stood up and were preparing to walk toward the main door.

One of Mo Han’s hands was still resting against that invisible wall when he saw the two step forward in this direction. The wall beside his hand suddenly shifted backward, carrying his arm along with it to stretch outward due to inertia.

Thus, Mo Han saw his own hand pass right through the door panel.

Duan Cang and Bai Ziyan, both tall with long legs, reached his side in just two steps. Duan Cang stretched out his hand, passing through his back and out his chest to grip the door handle, and then opened the main door.

The two of them successively passed right through his body and walked out the door.

Mo Han blankly lowered his head, looking at his own hands, looking at the ferocious scar left on his right arm, and he tugged slightly at the corners of his mouth, revealing a smile.

Ah, I remember now.

Turns out I’m already dead.

His memory fully recovered, Mo Han recalled suddenly encountering a natural disaster, their tour bus being smashed by falling rocks down a cliff, and recalling the half of the tourists who survived due to the buffer zone, alongside his own legs being ground into minced meat by the giant boulder.

The little child in his arms had been trembling all over when pulled out; clearly frightened to tears, he had still desperately grabbed onto Mo Han’s hands without letting go, wanting to save him out.

Unfortunately, the fuel tank had ruptured, sparks had splashed, and together with the bus, he remained forever in the sea of fire.

He was dead.

He should have been dead.

Yet for some reason, after dying, he had returned to Duan Cang’s side. Could it be that his deep resentment had driven his soul to become a life-claiming vengeful ghost, entangled with Duan Cang until death; or was some deity taking pity on him, letting him stay by Duan Cang’s side to fulfill his pre-mortem obsession?

Before Mo Han could figure it out, he felt his body being pulled by a great force. He was dragged forward with a rush, practically as if something behind him were pushing him forward.

Looking at the figures of Duan Cang and Bai Ziyan not far away, Mo Han couldn’t help but offer a bitter smile.

He hadn’t expected that during his lifetime he would cling stubbornly to Duan Cang and earn the terrible reputation of a dog-skin plaster, only to be forced to continue carrying this abusive label even after death.

Mo Han walked a circle touching the transparent wall and found that he could only move within a three-meter radius centered around Duan Cang.

In the end, rather than dying in the mountains and becoming an orphan ghost of some faction, he had turned into a backing spirit instead.

The experience on the way to Deep Blue was equally terrible. The sports car Duan Cang drove only had two seats; naturally, Mo Han couldn’t sit in Bai Ziyan’s lap, so he could only be pushed along by the invisible wall like a kite, following behind in flight.

Mo Han thought with gallows humor that the only thing worth rejoicing over was that Duan Cang, mindful of Bai Ziyan being in the car, didn’t drive the sports car at airplane speed; otherwise, he would have experienced a roller coaster ride for free.

Upon arriving at Deep Blue, Duan Cang, as a black card VIP, naturally had a dedicated manager to receive them early on. However, seeing the familiar face of the manager, Mo Han’s heart skipped a beat with a “thump.”

The next second, his inner premonition came true. The manager smiled and nodded at Duan Cang, then casually nodded toward Bai Ziyan as well: “President Duan, Young Master Mo.”

“The booth you previously liked…”

“Shut up!”

Duan Cang roughly interrupted the manager. His expression at that instant was nearly ferocious. Bai Ziyan, upon hearing the manager’s address and seeing his familiar attitude, had already felt somewhat strange; catching Duan Cang’s voice, he subconsciously turned his head to look and saw Duan Cang’s momentary lapse of composure.

“A-Cang?”

Duan Cang reined in his expression, offering no explanation, and simply looked coldly at the at-a-loss manager, stating, “This is Young Master Bai of the Bai family, Bai Ziyan.”

“Notify your general manager to swap me for a manager who doesn’t randomly run his mouth.”

The manager’s face turned ashen white.

Yet he did not dare to say much else, only smiling stiffly as he nodded, “I am sorry, Mr. Duan. I am very sorry for the inconvenience caused to the two of you; I will contact the general manager to handle it.”

Mo Han looked at the manager’s pale face and apologized: “I’m sorry.”

Pity that no one could hear him.

After the manager left, Duan Cang barely managed to curve the corners of his mouth, looking toward Bai Ziyan: “I’m sorry, I lost my composure a bit.”

Mo Han lingered by Duan Cang’s side, quietly watching Duan Cang’s profile. He couldn’t tell whether his heart held worry, fear, or carried a trace of lingering gratification he wanted to hear how Duan Cang would explain their seven years to Bai Ziyan.

Duan Cang reached out to press his temple. He looked toward Bai Ziyan, and as if recalling something, disgust flashed through his gaze.

“…That Young Master Mo he mentioned is just that illegitimate son of the Mo family who has been hounding me relentlessly.”

“I get a headache just hearing news of him.”

Hearing this, Mo Han felt as though he had suffered a head-on blow.

He turned his head blankly, looking at Bai Ziyan, who was gently soothing Duan Cang, looking at that face resembling his own, and he almost couldn’t help laughing out loud.

He wanted to grab Duan Cang by the collar and ask.

Is this how you explain my identity as a substitute to your white moonlight, just to gloss over those seven years we spent together?