Transmigrating Into a Book, the Villain Becomes the White Moonlight!

158: Chapter 158 Ran Shu’s Ten Years AgoAfter the door closed, the sound of footsteps faded away.

Ran Shu remained sitting on the edge of the bed, maintaining her posture with her head turned, staring at the dusty iron door.

Two beams of moonlight leaked down from the vent, landing by her feet, motionless, like two pieces of old cloth someone had carelessly tossed there.

She slowly released her grip on the bedsheet.

Deep nail marks, tinged with red, were etched into her palm.

Little Fullness.

She hadn’t heard that name in many years.

After leaving China, she went by Ran Shu, Dragon Two, and various other code names, but no one ever called her by that name.

That name belonged to a chubby little girl, to someone who had died long ago.

But he remembered.

Not only did he remember the name, but he also remembered her stuffing candy into his backpack, her quiet nature, and the birthmark on her collarbone.

Ran Shu raised her hand and pressed it against her collarbone. Through the thin fabric, the birthmark felt slightly warm, as if it had been scorched by his gaze.

She recalled the expression on Su Bai’s face when he had accidentally glimpsed the birthmark back at the training hall—a bit awkward, a bit embarrassed, as he quickly looked away and said, ”I saw it by mistake.” At the time, she had been incredibly panicked, clutching her collar for fear he would recognize her.

He truly had recognized her.

He just hadn’t said anything.

Ran Shu leaned against the wall and tilted her head back, staring at the dust motes floating in the two beams of light on the ceiling.

The dust was very light, drifting and falling slowly, as if it would never reach the bottom.

She thought about many things.

She thought about that lazy teenager from her childhood, the buns he would casually hand her, and the cloyingly sweet candies.

She thought about the years that followed—the cold training grounds, her trembling hands the first time she killed someone, and the countless sleepless nights in a foreign land.

She thought about that cup of poisoned water, the two blades sliding from her sleeves, and him standing outside the bathroom door asking her, ”Are you okay?”

That tone was exactly the same as when he had asked her many years ago, ”Why aren’t you eating?”

She hadn’t answered then.

And she didn’t answer now.

But he still asked.

Ran Shu closed her eyes.

It was very quiet, so quiet she could hear her own breathing. The two beams of light were still there, the dust still drifted; time seemed to have stopped, yet also seemed to pass very quickly.

After an unknown amount of time, there was a slight sound outside the door.

It wasn’t footsteps, but something else—very light, like something being placed on the ground. Then came the sound of retreating footsteps, different from before, heavier.

Ran Shu opened her eyes and stared at the door.

No one came in.

She waited for a moment before finally standing up and walking to the door. The gap was very narrow, and she couldn’t see anything. She crouched down and looked out through the crack at the bottom of the door—

A bowl of rice.

White rice topped with side dishes, still steaming slightly. Beside it lay a pair of clean chopsticks.

Ran Shu crouched there, staring at the bowl of rice for a long time.

She didn’t pick it up.

She just crouched there, watching through the narrow gap as the steam from the rice gradually thinned and finally vanished completely.

When she stood up, her knees felt a bit sore. She walked back to the bed and sat down again, leaning against the cold wall and staring at the door.

The moonlight remained the same, motionless.

The dust was still drifting.

After a long time, she stood up again, went to the door, and brought the bowl of rice inside.

As she held the chopsticks, she suddenly remembered many years ago when that boy had stuffed a bun into her hand and said, ”Eat. How will you grow if you don’t eat your fill?”

Back then, she had kept her head down, not daring to look at him.

Now, she kept her head down, looking at the food in the bowl that had already gone cold.

She picked up the chopsticks, took a bite, and put it in her mouth.

The rice was a bit hard, and the side dishes were no longer warm. But she still chewed slowly, bite by bite, finishing the entire bowl of rice.

After finishing, she placed the bowl and chopsticks back by the door, sat back on the bed, leaned against the wall, and stared at the door.

The door was still closed.

The two beams of light had shifted slightly, but they were still there.

She suddenly spoke, her voice so soft it was as if she were speaking only to herself:

”...It’s quite sweet.”

It was unclear if she was referring to the bowl of rice or something else.

When the bowl was taken away, Ran Shu didn’t see who it was.

She only heard a hand reach in through the gap under the door and take the bowl and chopsticks. That hand was aged and steady, with neatly trimmed nails—it was Uncle Fu.

Then came the sound of footsteps, receding until they disappeared.

The compartment became quiet again.

The moonlight had vanished from the floor, and the two beams of light had turned a faint grayish-white, as if someone had dimmed the brightness.

It was still dark outside the vent; occasionally, there was the sound of the wind, whimpering past before falling silent again.

Ran Shu didn’t know how long she had been sitting there.

She tried to lie down, but the bed board was too hard, making her back ache. She rolled over and lay on her side, staring at the door.

The color of the door was hard to make out in the darkness; she only knew it was gray, much like the walls.

She had also slept on hard-board beds when she was a child.

After the incident at home, she was sent to a distant relative.

That family wasn’t bad to her, but they weren’t close either; they gave her food and a bed, and that was it.

Back then, she had learned to lie on her side, staring at the light filtering through the crack in the door, waiting for dawn.

Later, when she went abroad, the training camp also had hard-board beds. The instructor said an assassin couldn’t sleep on a bed that was too soft, or they would become lax and die.

She had thought then that since she had grown up on hard-board beds, she had nothing to get used to.

But today’s bed was even harder than the ones in the training camp.

Ran Shu rolled over and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. The two beams of light were still there, and the dust was still drifting.

There was so much dust; it had drifted all night and still wasn’t gone.

She thought it was probably because no one had lived in this room for a long time.

Or perhaps, the dust would never stop drifting.

After an unknown amount of time, the grayish-white light from the vent began to brighten. It was dawn outside.

Ran Shu sat up and rubbed her neck. Having not slept well all night, her cervical spine was a bit stiff. She moved around a few times, hearing the slight cracking of her bones.

There was movement outside the door.

This time it was footsteps, lighter than the ones from the previous night’s meal delivery, with a different rhythm.

Ran Shu listened intently and determined it was one person, their pace unhurried and carrying a hint of nonchalance.

It was him.

The footsteps stopped outside the door for a few seconds.

Then came the sound of a key being inserted into the lock, the cylinder turning, and the door being pushed open.

Su Bai stood at the doorway.

He had changed his clothes today into a light gray casual jacket; his hair was still its usual unkempt self, and he was carrying a brown paper bag.

Sunlight streamed in from behind him, casting a long shadow on the floor.

”Morning,” he said.

Ran Shu didn’t speak.

Su Bai walked in and placed the brown paper bag on the table.

The bag was open, revealing several plump white buns inside, still steaming slightly.

”Still that same shop,” he said. ”I was passing by and picked them up.”

Ran Shu glanced at the buns and then looked away.

Su Bai didn’t mind; he pulled over the chair and sat down, crossing his legs. He glanced at the sink in the corner, then at Ran Shu, and suddenly smiled.

”Did you wash your face?”

Ran Shu was taken aback for a moment.

”No,” she said. ”No towel.”

”Oh.” Su Bai nodded and pulled a neatly folded towel from his pocket, tossing it to her.

Then a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a small bottle of facial cleanser were tossed onto the bed one by one.

”Uncle Fu prepared them,” he said. ”He said you’d know how to use them.”

Ran Shu looked down at the items but didn’t move.

Su Bai didn’t rush her. He just sat there, watching the dust drift in the two beams of light.

”Did you eat last night’s meal?” he asked.

”...I did.”

”Was it okay?”

Ran Shu didn’t answer.

Su Bai nodded, seemingly talking to himself. ”That’s good then.”

The compartment was quiet for a while.

”Uncle Fu recognized you,” Su Bai said suddenly. ”After he went back last night, he told me a lot about when you were little. He said you always sat next to me back then, that you didn’t talk much but were a quick learner. He said you practiced the few martial arts moves he taught you more seriously than anyone else.”

Ran Shu lowered her eyes, her fingers resting on the towel.

”He said he regrets it quite a bit,” Su Bai continued. ”He only taught you the basics before you left. If he had taught you more, you might not have had to suffer so much.”

Ran Shu’s finger twitched.

”I didn’t suffer,” she said, her voice a bit low.

Su Bai glanced at her but didn’t respond.

”The training camp was my own choice,” Ran Shu said. ”Killing was my own choice. No one forced me.”

Su Bai nodded, though it was unclear whether he believed her or not.

He reached into the paper bag, took out a bun, and took a bite.

”Cabbage filling,” he said. ”Tastes just like it did back then.”

Ran Shu looked at his profile, watching the slight movement of his cheek as he chewed.

She remembered many years ago, he would also sit next to her like this, eating buns and talking nonchalantly.

Back then, she would always steal glances at him, yet she was afraid of being caught, so she always kept her head down.

Now, she kept her head down.

Her hand gripped the towel.

”Why aren’t you eating?” Su Bai asked.

Ran Shu didn’t move.

Su Bai took another bite of the bun and said while chewing, ”It won’t taste good once it gets cold.”

Ran Shu was silent for a few seconds before finally reaching out and taking a bun from the paper bag.

It was still warm.

She took a bite.

The fresh scent of cabbage spread in her mouth, mixed with the sweetness of the dough.

That flavor instantly pulled her back many years, back to the old street covered in sycamore leaves, back to the side of the boy who always stuffed buns into her hands.

She chewed, saying nothing.

Su Bai didn’t speak either.

The two of them just sat there, both eating buns, as the sunlight streamed in through the door, casting their shadows on the floor, very close together.

After finishing one, Su Bai took another.

”Uncle Fu will bring you some fresh clothes later,” he said without looking up. ”The conditions here aren’t great, but staying for a few days won’t be a problem. Tell him if you need anything.”

Ran Shu looked at him.

”You’re not going to kill me?” she asked.

Su Bai’s chewing paused for a moment.

”You asked that yesterday,” he said. ”And I already answered.”

”That wasn’t an answer.”

”That was the answer.”

Ran Shu stared at him, trying to see something in his face. But there was nothing, just that lazy, indifferent look.

”I’m from the Dragon King Hall,” she said. ”I came here to kill you. Even if I failed this time, the Dragon King will send others. If you don’t kill me, there will be endless trouble.”

Su Bai stuffed the last bite of the bun into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and brushed the crumbs off his hands.

”I know,” he said.

Ran Shu waited.

Su Bai stood up, walked under the two beams of light, and looked up at the vent. It was white outside, nothing visible, only a bit of light falling on his face.

”Little Fullness,” he suddenly spoke, using that long-lost name. ”Do you remember one time when you were a kid, you were sick and didn’t come to class, so I went to your house to see you after school?”

Ran Shu was stunned.

She didn’t remember.

Or rather, she didn’t remember such an event.

”You had a fever then, lying in bed with your face flushed red,” Su Bai said unhurriedly, his back to her. ”Your mom opened the door for me and said you were sleeping, told me not to disturb you. I just stood at the door and took a look inside.”

He paused.

”You were delirious from the fever then, calling out for your mom in your sleep. After calling for your mom, you called out...”

He didn’t finish.

Ran Shu looked at his back, her fingers tightening around the half-eaten bun.

The sunlight shone on him, outlining his silhouette clearly. He just stood there, not turning around.

The compartment was very quiet.

Outside the vent, from somewhere unknown, came the faint sound of a bird chirping.

”Speaking of which, after the incident at your home back then, I even had Uncle Fu lend a hand,” Su Bai turned around, that half-smile on his face, his tone unclear whether he was scolding or simply reflecting. ”And yet, here you are, coming back to kill me. Truly heartless.”

Ran Shu froze there.

She was still clutching the bitten bun; her knuckles slowly tightened, squeezing it out of shape as a bit of filling seeped from the tear and dripped onto the back of her hand. But she didn’t notice, only staring at Su Bai.

”How come I didn’t know?”

Her voice was a bit dry and raspy, as if forced out from deep within her throat.

Su Bai leaned against the wall, his legs crossed casually.

He looked at Ran Shu with a calm gaze, like someone watching another person finally reach a certain threshold.

”I just asked Uncle Fu,” he said. ”Your family offended someone back then and ended up deep in debt. That money... Uncle Fu paid it back for you.”

”Impossible.”

Ran Shu’s voice suddenly grew louder, as if she had been sharply stung by something.

She stood up from the edge of the bed; the bun fell from her hand and rolled on the floor, but she didn’t care to pick it up.

”Impossible!” she said again, her chest heaving violently, her eyes fixed on Su Bai. ”What happened back then—it was Brother Bufan and his master who stepped in after my parents’ incident. That’s how my family’s affairs were settled!”

Su Bai didn’t speak, he just looked at her.

That gaze was too quiet, so quiet it made Ran Shu’s heart turn cold.

Her mind was a mess, countless images rushing out—that rainy night, the chaotic crowd, the crying, and then Brother Bufan’s master appearing before her, saying, ”Come with me, I’ll help you.”

She had followed him, gone to the training camp, learned to kill, and became Dragon Two.

She had always believed it was a life-saving debt, that she owed the Dragon King Hall and needed to repay it with her life.

If...

If what Su Bai said was true...

Then why did her parents die later?

She had asked Brother Bufan, and he said it was because of revenge from their enemies, and that he had already cleaned it up for her.

She believed him.

She had believed it for ten whole years.