After My Death, I Became the Scum Gong's White Moonlight's Back-Spirit - Chapter 7

Bai Ziyan slept with a serene posture. Both of his hands rested at his sides, his brows and eyes peaceful, and the corners of his lips curved in a faint smile, perhaps lost in some pleasant dream.

His facial features were truly exceptional—three-dimensional yet retaining the elegance characteristic of Easterners. When his eyes were closed, he could easily be mistaken for a masterpiece by some master sculptor; the moment he opened his eyes, one would be momentarily dazed, half-believing he was a clay figurine meticulously sculpted by Nüwa who had blinked and come to life.

Yet no matter how attractive those brows and eyes were, they held no particular appeal for Mo Han.

No matter how wonderful a view might be, facing it day after day inevitably drained it of its novelty.

It was simply too boring.

Once Bai Ziyan fell asleep, he was restricted entirely to the bedroom, left to quietly await the dawn.

Day in and day out, every single night was the same.

Unable to touch any object, he was likewise incapable of producing any interaction with this world.

Such waiting was far more agonizing than the period he had spent waiting for Duan Cang back then. Perhaps it was because there had still been the hope of waiting at that time, whereas now, with no clear path ahead and no idea of his return journey, he could only muddle through day after day of waiting.

Mo Han let out a sigh.

At that moment, a subtle sound emanated from near the door.

Mo Han’s spine stiffened as he looked toward the doorway.

Only Bai Ziyan lived in this villa; could a petty thief have secretly broken in?

The door was pushed open to a gap the size of a fist, and a fluffy, black-and-white patterned head poked through the crack.

“Meow?”

Having kept cats for so many years, this was the very first time Mo Han detected the exact four words “sneaky and furtive” written all over a feline’s face.

The tuxedo cat locked eyes with Mo Han. Mo Han crouched down and extended the back of his hand into a fist, a posture meant to convey friendliness.

Seeing this, the tuxedo cat walked “on tiptoe” into the room, its pink nose twitching as a bewildered expression settled upon its cat face, as though it were baffled by why this human didn’t carry any scent.

Mo Han didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, experimentally reaching out to mimic a petting motion. The tuxedo cat familiarly leaned its head forward—and passed right through Mo Han’s palm.

“Meow-ao?”

The tuxedo cat’s eyes widened into perfect circles. On its fluffy cat face, the expression was exceedingly complex. Mo Han even caught a trace of confusion and surprise tucked within its shocked little expression; if he had to sum it up in a single sentence, it would probably be: This human looks vaguely familiar.

Taking advantage of his ghostly state, Mo Han simply sat cross-legged on the soft carpet and began playing with the cat.

Drawing upon a decade of cat-raising experience, Mo Han succeeded in coaxing the tuxedo cat into rolling over and exposing its belly in no time at all.

Before he knew it, the morning light grew faint and pearly.

Having played for half the night, the tuxedo cat stretched lazily and curled up like a little piglet to sleep right beside Mo Han.

Looking at the puddle of cat-pancake sprawled across the carpet, Mo Han’s heart felt soft and itchy, though unfortunately, his hands could never manage to touch its soft fur.

Morning light filtered through the window gauze, slowly illuminating the interior of the room. Amidst a flurry of rustling movement on the bed, Bai Ziyan woke up punctually at six in the morning.

He sat up from the bed, his mind not yet fully awake and his pupils yet to focus, his hair slightly fluffed and messy.

Mo Han sat on the carpet with the tuxedo cat huddled by his knees, looking up at him.

He watched the sunlight tumble down from behind him, gilding his fluffy, soft hair with a pale golden halo.

Resembling the divine light of a deity.

Bai Ziyan’s gaze swept over. For a fleeting instant, their eyes met. Mo Han did not dodge or evade; he knew Bai Ziyan’s gaze passed right through his body and landed on the carpet.

Just as expected, Bai Ziyan didn’t linger. Noticing the tuxedo cat soundly asleep on the floor, he climbed out of bed, squatted down beside the small stowaway, carefully observed it, and let out a helpless laugh.

“I knew it.”

His voice carried the languid hoarseness of just waking up, resembling a feather sweeping across one’s eardrums, causing Mo Han to instinctively shield his ear.

Bai Ziyan reached out a hand, seemingly intending to scoop the cat up and return it to the cat room, but hesitated for a moment before retracting his hand. Instead, he simply leaned in closer so close that Mo Han’s eyelashes practically brushed against his cheek.

Mo Han stood up and retreated a few steps.

Bai Ziyan extended a single finger and brushed the tuft of fur at the tip of the tuxedo cat’s ear. The cat let out a purr, wrapping its paws around its face. Its ear was pressed flat before springing back up, and it sank even deeper into sleep.

Bai Ziyan’s eyes curved. He stood up, stepped across the soft carpet, and walked silently toward the bathroom.

Mo Han remained seated in his original spot, floating a virtual stroke over the tuxedo cat’s sleek fur.

Bai Ziyan had just returned to China, and with the Bai family intending for him to rest, they hadn’t assigned him many tasks. This provided immense convenience for the romantic development between Bai Ziyan and Duan Cang.

Their relationship progressed rapidly. The barrier caused by the decade-long gap between them dissolved with astonishing speed, as though Bai Ziyan had never gone abroad at all and they were simply youthful lovers who had naturally stayed together from childhood into adulthood.

On this day, Duan Cang found himself unusually free. Driving his sports car, he arrived right outside Bai Ziyan’s villa.

At the time, Bai Ziyan was reading a book.

Hearing the sound of the engine, he felt a premonition and raised his head. His gaze pierced through the vibrant little garden and the brilliant midsummer sunlight, locking directly onto Duan Cang in a single glance that felt like eternity.

Meanwhile, Mo Han who had been attempting to pass through the window and hover mid-air—claimed the best seat in the house, watching this mutual gaze from upstairs and downstairs with a prime vantage point to appreciate this supremely romantic encounter.

Mo Han pressed his lips into a thin line. Without making any particular movement, he simply drifted back through the wall into the room, only to be dragged and floated downstairs by Bai Ziyan.

The sunlight today was exceptionally lovely. The tuxedo cat had found a warm patch of sunshine on a gray slab of stone, curling up to sunbathe. It was so thoroughly pampered that its coat gleamed sleekly, every single hair catching the light.

It was enjoying the warmth so comfortably that, despite its usual hyperactive nature, it merely shifted lazily to present another side when it heard the voices of Duan Cang and Bai Ziyan, continuing to pancake itself out.

Mo Han’s heart, however, tightened anxiously. Desperately, he wanted to scoop the tuxedo cat back inside the house, but his hands grasped nothingness.

“Wake up, go inside hurry, go inside!”

He repeatedly attempted to touch the tuxedo cat, but his arms passed straight through its body time and time again.

His anxiety mounted. Glancing back and forth at Duan Cang, he watched helplessly as the two drew closer and closer. Utter fear and despair enveloped him once more, making him dizzy to the point where memory and reality blurred into one.

“Meow-ao?”

The tuxedo cat started violently. At that exact fraction of a second, it felt something icy brush against it, startling the entire cat into leaping straight up in a classic “flying cat” maneuver.

It whipped its head around with a wary look, only to see the human it couldn’t touch.

The human was staring down blankly at his own hands with a dazed expression.

The tuxedo cat’s sudden liftoff startled the two conversing men as well, but Bai Ziyan was already well-accustomed to the cat’s eccentricities. He smiled apologetically toward Duan Cang. “Did it startle you? It’s quite lively and tends to be jittery at times.”

That said, Bai Ziyan’s movements as he stroked the tuxedo cat were exceptionally gentle, and the doting tone in his voice was practically overflowing.

The tuxedo cat dismissively flicked its tail, its gaze still fixed squarely on Mo Han.

Feeling Bai Ziyan draw near, Mo Han finally snapped back to his senses.

He… had just managed to touch the cat?

The warm, fluffy tactile sensation felt precisely like brushing against materialized sunlight.

Mo Han experimentally reached out his hand, but his hand passed right through the cat’s body once more; this time, he couldn’t touch it at all.

Watching the cat melt back into a liquid state of relaxation beneath Bai Ziyan’s hand, Mo Han’s anxiety flared up again, worrying whether that momentary touch might have harmed the tuxedo cat.

His head was crammed with a swirling storm of thoughts, perhaps causing the dizziness he felt.

Yet watching Duan Cang walk closer and closer, his body tensed up all over again.

Duan Cang did not like cats.

When they had first gotten together, perhaps because this face still held a sense of novelty for Duan Cang, he had been willing to love the house and its crow, occasionally humoring Xiao Hei. However, Xiao Hei had always been aloof and proud, refusing to let anyone besides Mo Han touch it. Finding it unrewarding, Duan Cang stopped trying to entertain it, leaving the man and cat to mind their own business.

Later on, as cracks began to form in their relationship, seeing Mo Han show affection toward Xiao Hei, Duan Cang would even resort to sarcasm: Making such a fuss over a beast—Mo Han, you really must have too much time on your hands.

That said, despite his words, Duan Cang had never laid a hand on Xiao Hei, and occasionally even took the initiative to refresh its water and food.

Therefore, Mo Han had never expected that Duan Cang would drive out to abandon the cat in the suburbs during a torrential rainstorm.

When Mo Han returned home that day, the house was dead silent. He searched everywhere without catching a single glimpse of Xiao Hei.

Without holding out much hope, he called Duan Cang, never expecting that Duan Cang—who had stopped answering his calls for a long time—would pick up instantly.

He asked Duan Cang if he had seen Xiao Hei, only to hear a cold sneer from the other end of the line, laden with mockery: You take such good care of that beast, why didn’t you pack it up and bring it with you when you went out.

That cat’s yowling was giving me a headache, so I took it out and dumped it.

Right around the East Suburbs; it’s been dumped for an hour. If you go right now—oh, I’m sorry, I forgot.

Duan Cang laughed, his tone gleeful and malicious.

It’s raining outside, I’m afraid you won’t be able to find it even if you go now.

I’m coming back tonight. If you go out, I won’t leave the door unlocked for you; you’re too annoying.

He answered with such finality and hung up just as crisply, practically as though he had been waiting by the phone specifically to deliver this piece of devastating news to Mo Han and watch his reaction.

Mo Han didn’t have time to think further. He threw on a raincoat, grabbed an umbrella, and rushed out into the downpour.

The red rainstorm warning and gale warning were still sitting unread in his mobile text messages. The fierce wind snapped his umbrella in half, and heavy raindrops battered his face, generating a suffocating sense of plunging into violent ocean breakers.

That night, amidst the torrential rain across the sky, he ran and shouted, the freezing rain stripping away his body heat. His right arm began to ache faintly, the chill feeling as though it were drilling straight into his bone marrow.

The more he shivered from the cold, the more worried he grew about Xiao Hei.

Cats detested water above all else, and Xiao Hei doubly so.

On such a wildly rainy day, in such an expansive and desolate East Suburb, what was it supposed to do?

The rain was too heavy; no delivery company was willing to take jobs searching for a lost cat outside. Moreover, with the East Suburb being only partially developed, a moment of carelessness could send someone plunging into a muddy ditch or onto a stray nail to take a nasty spill, making it all the more perilous. With weather alerts pinging one after another, nobody wanted to venture out, leaving Mo Han with no choice but to search on his own.

In the end, after scouring the entire East Suburb, he failed to recover his cat.

He returned home in an absolute mess. Duan Cang was already neat and dressed, preparing to head out.

Mo Han, drenched straight through and looking utterly disheveled, crossed paths with him head-on.

The smile on Duan Cang’s face carried mockery alongside a wave of fury Mo Han couldn’t comprehend, as he sneered, “Good.”

“You really did go out yesterday.”

“And you actually managed to come back in weather this heavy.”

“Truly a cheap, worthless life.”

Mo Han said nothing. Shaking as he stood, he made his way indoors. Finding Duan Cang’s presence tedious, he slammed the door behind him with a thunderous crash.

Mo Han stared at the empty cat bed, holding that gaze for a very long time.

He changed his clothes, packed all his belongings accumulated over the years into a single backpack, and taking along the small felted cat pendant he had crafted—left the house where he had lived for nearly seven years.

He knew he could no longer continue loving Duan Cang.