HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C80

Chapter 80: Rumors Arise, the Jealous One

Midway through the ride, Jiang Baiye realized he was far from skilled on horseback. Yet having mounted, he pressed on, the snow and wind not slowing his pace in the least.

His heart grew hotter, beating wilder, the nearer he came.

Still, he did not rush headlong to the Academy. Instead, he stopped first at the He household, just as two tailors arrived bearing specially made down coats and fur-lined cloaks.

At this hour, only his family’s garments had been completed, the He family’s to follow later.

Jiang Baiye was most pleased. Though styled after current fashions, these coats were filled with the finest goose down, warmer than the thickest padded robes.

The women of the He household were equally delighted, urging the tailors to bring on more hands to hasten their work, for the twelfth month loomed, each day colder than the last.

This year’s coal for braziers already cost several times past winters—though the household’s new habit of hotpot had not helped.

Jiang Baiye bathed, cleansed himself, donned a black robe of down, and over it a fur cloak. Warmth enveloped him, without bulk, and striding through the snowbound corridor he cut such a figure that He Lin stared in awe.

“Are you out to dazzle Lizhi?”

Jiang Baiye, who cared little for his outward appearance, laughed. “Need I strive to dazzle him?”

“Do not be so sure of yourself—beware you trip in the gutter.”

He Lin spoke without intent, but Jiang Baiye heard with his heart. At once his face darkened, thinking of that likely rival—the book had painted his elegance and beauty at length.

He hastened his steps to Doctor Pang’s chamber.

“Shut the door, quickly!” The cold pierced in but an instant, and Doctor Pang shivered, snatching up a steaming morsel with his chopsticks.

“Your hotpot paste is gone. Make more, I beg you—this winter demands it!” He mumbled between bites.

“Are the medicines ready?” Jiang Baiye asked at once. “Did you not find a substitute herb?”

The scheme to force seedlings in the hothouse had failed—the young shoots he brought had soon perished. Yet Doctor Pang was not bound to that alone.

“No need for haste—there.”

On the table lay dozens of wrapped packets. Jiang Baiye’s heart leapt. “Then I’ll take them to him at once!”

“Wait. Medicine must be aided by baths, and every ten days or so, acupuncture. Arrange the time carefully. Once begun, the treatment must not be broken, else the effect is halved.”

He rose to point out, “Yellow-wrapped are to be drunk daily after meals, warm. Green-wrapped, for bathing, one hour every three days. But remember—all this is but support. Acupuncture is the decisive cure. Do not delay.”

So grave a matter, neither Jiang Baiye nor Lu Lizhi would put off. Yet in the Academy, in such a winter, how could he bathe long, who would bring hot water?

What if he forgot to drink his dose while absorbed in books? Who would remind him, who would prepare it?

Anxiety burned within Jiang Baiye, though he forced calm, cooking a rich meal in the He kitchen.

Doctor Pang, deprived these days of good fare, was sated at once. Yet he soon saw this banquet was not for him alone.

Jiang Baiye packed half away in two lacquered food boxes.

Fish-head tofu soup, milky white; chestnut pastries, sweet and soft; sweet potato balls, candied rice cake, radish with beef brisket, braised wings, vinegar-sautéed potatoes…

The kitchen bustled—too many dishes for one man, so the Hes’ cooks lent their hands.

At last, Jiang Baiye wrapped the food boxes well, took warm clothing and the medicines, and dragged He Lin—still mid-bite—out the door.

He Lin, near weeping, clutched his cakes. “Such haste! Could we not eat first?”

“Once cold, the taste is lost.” Jiang Baiye bundled the boxes in layers of cloth, though any eye could see which one he guarded most carefully.

He Lin sighed. “You are too clinging. Lizhi is not like you—likely he thinks of nothing but his books.”

Jiang Baiye snatched the cakes from his hand. “Then you shall have none.”

“Mercy, elder brother, I am not yet full!”

The carriage rolled swiftly along the swept avenue, soon halting before the Academy gates.

He Lin, familiar from past visits, explained they sought his younger brother He Min. “The cold is too harsh; we bring food and clothing for him.”

The porter, knowing He Min and pitying his youth, and seeing He Lin’s silver, hastened to report.

Soon they were allowed in.

Jiang Baiye, laden with parcels, followed behind, ignored as a servant.

He Lin chuckled, “Why look so guilty?”

Jiang Baiye only wished not to bring Lizhi trouble, thus came by He Min’s name.

But the protagonist had shifted—and still the rumors spread.

He happened to overhear two students whispering on their way to the privy.

“He moved to a single chamber days ago.”

“And Yu Zhijie troubled him not?”

“Hah! I heard Lizhi tugged his sash, and Yu Zhijie fled, avoiding him since as if from plague.”

“And Song Haocheng? I cannot believe he fancies men.”

“Unclear. But they spent half a night together in the library, and grow closer by the day…”

Jiang Baiye halted. He Lin, ahead, turned to find him gone, only to see him on another path. This man—so impatient!

He thought he would rush straight to Lu Lizhi. Instead, Jiang Baiye turned back, face dark.

“What is it?”

Jiang Baiye kept silent.

The very fear gnawed at him: against such a partner of the soul, what was he, but cannon fodder in the tale?

He gave a low laugh.

He Lin shivered. “Do not laugh so.”

“Let us see your brother first.”

“I fear you’ll scare him.”

Jiang Baiye strode ahead, needing calm. He must meet He Min—later it would prove useful.

Yet the rumors stung still. Even false, they hurt.

Led by a guide, they reached He Min’s chamber.

Those with attendants had single rooms, costly but private, less strictly overseen, for it was assumed such students were wealthy.

It was noon rest. Many read in halls, some returned to dorms.

Lu Lizhi had just stepped from his new chamber, and thought he glimpsed Jiang Baiye.

He looked again—no one. Only snow upon tiles and branches, bleak as his heart.

Hallucinations now.

Head bowed, he went toward the refectory. At this hour, only scraps remained. But scraps were better than whispers.

The food was poor; his appetite poorer. In mere days, his thinness was plain to see.

Song Haocheng, from afar, saw him and hesitated, then offered his own tray. “Too late—you’ll find little left.”

Lizhi looked anyway. The hall was already cleaning.

He refused. He had still some cakes and sweets—Jiang Baiye’s gifts.

Only when touching those did joy stir in him.

Outwardly, all went well—Yu Zhijie cowed, a private chamber gained, Tutor Yi’s view of him improved.

Though rumors spread, none dared openly. He had even found a few friends who cared not for the world’s opinion.

Yet the desire to leave grew daily stronger.

Thirteen days had passed.

Song Haocheng thought him like a frost-wilted eggplant, even dazing in class.

He guessed the cause, and was about to urge him to eat, when a boy came running.

“Brother Lu! I am He Min. A man sent me to find you. He said his surname—”

He broke off, for Lu Lizhi’s face lit with joy, the first true expression in days.

He hastened toward the dorms, scarcely pausing to consider—if it were a trap, he would fall straight in.

Still he ran, He Min guiding, “This way!”

He realized then how near He Min’s chamber lay to his own. That glimpse of a figure—perhaps not illusion.

He flung the door wide.

He Lin started. The other man, however, sat calmly sipping tea.

Lu Lizhi pressed his lips tight, staring.

Jiang Baiye could not endure. “Well? Will you not come?” But his tone held jealousy.

He Min, gasping, was seized—one hand holding the food box, the other his collar—and dragged out by his elder brother.

The door slammed shut.

Lu Lizhi watched as Jiang Baiye laid out the dishes one by one.

He felt the strange air between them.

A hand closed upon his.

“You’ve been happy of late?” Jiang Baiye smiled.

Lizhi’s grip tightened, white-knuckled, but he gave no answer.

“You’re so thin—eat.” Jiang Baiye, worried, tried to pull away, but Lizhi held fast.

He thought he would be rejected, cut off. Pain pierced his chest.

But then—a sigh.

Jiang Baiye dragged him close, crushed him against his chest, teeth gritted. “Plainly it is you—so why does it feel as though I am at fault?”

Lizhi, baffled and wronged, tried to push away, but the grip upon his waist was iron.

The pain made him bite Jiang Baiye’s shoulder, a protest against both coldness and ferocity.

But Jiang Baiye only grew more inflamed.

“So! Found a soulmate, have you? That Song Haocheng—do you laugh together? Spend nights in the library? Shall you be inseparable, sharing dreams and deeds, seeing no one else?”

He knew himself unreasonable. But how could he not, when the book’s shadow loomed? When he knew what place that man held in Lizhi’s life?

Lizhi ceased struggling. Slowly, he understood—Baiye was jealous. Jealous of whispers born of the library.

And indeed, there was fault in himself.

For Song Haocheng did understand him, at least in matters of learning.

Yet it was not, and never could be, the same as their bond.

Lizhi cupped his face.

Baiye turned aside, still fierce, hands tight as though to crush.

Lizhi nearly laughed. So this ever-confident Baiye could be jealous.

He leaned to kiss him.

Baiye turned away. “Eat.”

Still angry, he would not forgive so quickly. Let Lizhi coax him—let him see the gravity of it. Let him stay far from that boy.

Baiye thought himself guileless, ruled by instinct—yet his instincts were guile enough, binding Lizhi fast.

Denied even a kiss, Lizhi grew restless, wanting to cling.

The food, still warm, was far better than the refectory’s fare.

Lizhi ate with true appetite, his eyes bright.

Baiye, watching, felt his heart ease. He brought out the medicine, explaining Doctor Pang’s instructions.

But as he pressed Lizhi’s hand, it was caught, fingers entwined.

Baiye drew back solemnly. “I have already arranged with He Min’s page. I pay him to aid you—prepare your baths, boil your medicine, fetch water. The boy is clever.”

Even as he said it, he felt the guilt of child labor—but at eleven or twelve, safe enough.

“And He Min’s page will be half yours. You may guide him, in turn keeping you too busy for idle company.”

Thus would He Min serve as helper and spy both.

Lizhi nodded. Truly, he lacked time for chores, and teaching He Min was no burden.

“When I cook for Doctor Pang, I’ll have them bring you a portion as well. Eat more.”

Lizhi blinked. Would he not bring it himself? He chided his own clinging. Baiye was busy.

“Doctor Pang says you must come out every ten days for acupuncture. That is the key. I’ll wait for you outside.”

The last words, soft as pillow-talk, made Lizhi’s heart quiver.

Yet even as he left, Baiye had not kissed him.

Meanwhile, He Min, finishing the feast, sighed, “Brother, I no longer wish to study—I wish only to eat at home daily.”

He Lin raised his hand to cuff him, when a voice behind them laughed, “Daily feasts are easy enough… so long as you help me.”

Jiang Baiye, smiling like a wolf in grandma’s cloak.

After leaving the Academy, He Lin shuddered. “You are too cunning. Poor Lizhi, to fall into your hands.”

He shrank into the carriage’s farthest corner.

Baiye kicked him. “Stop your act.”

He Lin groaned. “Now I know how you bent him.”

Baiye’s brow twitched. Why did all assume it was his doing? In the book, Lizhi had been straighter than a blade.

But with his interference, wishing only for Lizhi’s success, Baiye would step back—for now.

Back home, he began designing the new house, hiring craftsmen despite the cold, paying them well. By some blessing, the weather cleared.

The manor too required planning. The farmhouse retreat he envisioned was not rustic charm, but food above all. A restaurant, cooks trained in his dishes—soon even the remotest place would draw crowds.

Add boating, fishing, outings, lotus-picking, orchards, planting, hunting, camping…

His patrons would be the wealthy and powerful. Add poetry gatherings, painting, Lizhi’s calligraphy and storytelling—so many ideas.

He left the execution to He Yun, reliable in work if not invention.

Meanwhile, the Jiangs grew more active in the city.

Father Jiang, once making recliners, now turned to other crafts, and with Lizhi’s rolling trunk, business boomed—from Academy to city, to all travelers.

Too great for one man, he bought two apprentices from the brokers, teaching them as they worked.

Tiring, but profitable. He even gave Lizhi a share, for his aid in promotion.

Soon, more and more came to their workshop across from the Hes, buying on the spot.

But that was for later.

For now, after Baiye’s visit, Lizhi’s spirits lifted. With study, teaching He Min, and medicines, he had no time for others.

Song Haocheng came again to the library, finding him absent, feeling him distant. Perhaps it was Qi Jiu. Yet this Qi Jiu was never seen.

Rumors shifted, attaching to others. But lacking proof, and with studies pressing, soon few cared.

Day by day, Lizhi excelled, earning his tutors’ admiration, used as example, burdening his peers.

Ten days passed, smooth. He ate Baiye’s meals, grew stronger. With He Min and the page, he was no longer alone.

If only he could see Baiye himself.

Even his private chamber he won by merit, not by pulling rank.

At last, with an essay, he moved Tutor Yi’s heart, and gained his leave.

“Had you told me it was for treatment, I would not forbid you,” the tutor said, oddly moved.

Lizhi only pressed his lips. Words not to be taken at face value.

“Go, then. Swiftly return. Do not lose yourself in the world’s charms.”

And Lizhi, plotting only how to steal a kiss from Jiang Baiye, said nothing.

Author’s Note:

Tomorrow and the next, I must write ten thousand daily to rise in the rankings—save me, my poor numbers! (Octopus dance)

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