The young man, groggy from a mix of drunkenness and drugs, grimaced as the sudden kick landed. His dark, well-defined brows drew together, showing a flicker of discomfort.
He slowly pushed himself upright and finally saw the culprit: Jiang Bailan, shrunk under the blanket at the far edge of the bed like a cocoon.
Their eyes met. Jiang Bailan stared, utterly stunned by those sharp, indifferent eyes. The young man likewise froze, mouth slightly agape.
Silence stretched between them. Jiang Bailan’s gaze flicked to the hand the man tentatively reached toward him, trembling slightly.
No… no way he meant to… touch him, right?
Jiang Bailan twisted, trying to dodge, but the blanket was wrapped too tightly. He toppled over the edge of the bed and landed on the floor.
Wrapped in the blanket, the fall still stung painfully. Yet the sharp, undeniable pain made him realize this was no dream.
On the floor, he saw his clothes strewn about, tangled with the young man’s garments. His cheeks burned. Flustered, he quickly snatched his clothes and held them to his chest, tossing aside what wasn’t his.
The man on the bed leaned forward to check on Jiang Bailan—but several pieces of clothing flew straight into his face.
Jiang Bailan fumbled to get dressed, his mind a jumble of shock and confusion.
Wait… I’m already a ghost, how could I suddenly be in the same bed with my husband from back then?
Glancing around the room, and at the young man with the ethereal, almost divine face, Jiang Bailan realized:
This… this was the very first time he had seen Ning Muyan as a young man!
Before he could figure out what was happening, footsteps sounded urgently from the long corridor outside, along with shouts:
“Search faster! If you can’t find Young Master Ning, no one will escape punishment!”
Jiang Bailan’s heart sank. In the past, it had been precisely such a search that interrupted him and Ning Muyan, leading to his fate being utterly overturned.
Recalling the bitterness of those years, his chest tightened. Wealth and prestige, fame and glory—they all looked dazzling from the outside, but only those who lived them knew the true hardship.
In that instant, he resolved: he would not make the same mistakes again.
As he considered where to hide, a voice suddenly called from above:
“Did you hurt yourself?”
Jiang Bailan had no time to think about the sudden concern from the young man. He scrambled to his feet.
“Someone’s coming!” he said, hastily tying his clothes and looking for a place to hide. The footsteps and noise from the corridor were growing closer, and his panic rose.
He felt like an irresponsible opportunist who had taken advantage of someone.
Amid the chaos, his eyes fell on Ning Muyan, shirtless and sitting at the edge of the bed. Jiang Bailan looked at him like one might look at a long-lost treasure, uncertain but full of hope.
Clenching his chest, he reminded himself: his priority was survival, not reading the strange expression in Ning Muyan’s eyes. If the intruders found them, neither of them would escape.
“You—can’t you at least put on your clothes properly!” Jiang Bailan exclaimed, cheeks burning in anger. “Don’t you care if someone sees?”
Hearing this, Ning Muyan slowly lowered his gaze to his still-bare body, furrowing his brows as if pondering something.
After a moment, he began dressing meticulously, taking his time.
“You’re Ning, right? Someone’s looking for you outside. If they catch us like this, it’s over. Think of a way to handle it!”
Jiang Bailan, flustered and anxious, had to pretend not to know him. With nowhere to hide, he cursed the poorly arranged room.
Hearing the approaching clamor, he bit his lip and carefully opened the window.
“What are you doing!”
Ning Muyan, mid-dressing, saw him attempting to escape through the window and got off the bed.
Jiang Bailan glanced back at him—black hair falling over his shoulders, tall and graceful. Even amid the chaos, he radiated the poise of a noble scion.
He shook his head, steeling himself. He was no longer the naive country boy who had once admired beauty without understanding the world. Beauty was no substitute for warmth or safety.
“This… must not be mentioned, Young Master. You know, I know. We leave it at that. I won’t cling or cause trouble in the future.”
Seeing Jiang Bailan eager to dissociate himself, Ning Muyan’s gaze darkened.
“You’re an innocent young man from a respectable family. Something like this happens, I would—”
“Please, do not feel guilty, Young Master. I was the one who took advantage!” Jiang Bailan interrupted hastily.
After speaking, Bailan noticed that the young man not only didn’t acknowledge his words, but his expression had grown even darker. Bailan’s heart thumped nervously.
There was no time to argue—good words weren’t working—so he immediately put on a stern face and warned, “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll—”
Ning Muyan stepped closer, lowering his gaze. “You’ll… what?”
Bailan froze. The young man was a scion of an official family, with limitless prospects. What leverage did a powerless country boy like him have to threaten anyone?
After a moment’s thought, he forced himself to sound coarse and threatening, though his tone wavered: “I… I’ll spread word that you’re… incompetent, ruin your reputation. Let all those rich young ladies and gentlemen think twice before marrying you. Let the barefoot feel no fear of those in shoes.”
Ning Muyan’s eyes flickered slightly at that, and he nearly tripped over the coat Bailan had dropped on the floor. Just as he was about to protest, Bailan used the moment’s distraction, scrambling hand and foot, and leapt out the window like a sly little fox.
Ning Muyan hurried after him, gathering the fallen clothes, calling out anxiously: “Jiang Bailan!”
Bailan ran as fast as he could, only faintly hearing Ning Muyan’s gritted, angry roar. He focused entirely on escaping and didn’t catch the exact words—probably his shameless threats had angered the young master.
A small pang of guilt stirred in him, but recalling the lonely, harsh days in the Ning residence, he reminded himself that his decisive action today was justified. He would no longer pity himself or say anything about responsibility. With no ties left, he needn’t think twice.
Finally, he reached the bustling streets. Hands on his hips, he took a long breath. The streets were lively; shops opening, vendors calling out their wares. Bailan’s eyes darted about, drinking in the vibrant city scene.
He finally looked down at his hands. Though calloused from years of labor, they were still the hands of a living, breathing young man.
He had been dead for decades, yet he had never crossed the threshold of the underworld, never drunk Meng Po’s soup. As a wandering soul, he had no understanding of why he had never committed crimes—why he couldn’t be reincarnated. Yet heaven had pity on him and granted him a second chance at life.
Still… his face brightened, then clouded. Why, of all times, did his misfortune strike precisely on the day he lost his virginity? If only it had happened a few hours earlier, maybe he could have cheated fate!
Suppressing a sigh, he straightened his back and slowly headed toward the city’s outskirts.