HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C37

Chapter 37: Drunk, Asking for a Kiss

Feng Lan’er whispered so softly that no one around heard her.

Wang Yujiao, sensitive to the shift, glanced at her again, only to see Feng Lan’er smiling radiantly as she exclaimed, “I heard they said all these dishes were made by him. They look so tempting!”

“Here, have some soup first.” Madam Feng directly lifted the entire pot of sea urchin tofu soup in front of her, leaving the mother who had been about to serve a bowl for the child in her arms completely stunned.

The little one had followed obediently at his mother’s side, working without fuss. Now, watching, he pouted, reaching his small hand toward the plate of crispy fried yellowfish on the table. Before he could touch it, Madam Feng quickly snatched it away with obsequious eagerness. “Lan’er, taste this instead. Extra crispy! Even better than your father’s cooking back in the day!”

Feng Lan’er’s eyes lit up immediately. She picked up one. Double-fried, seasoned with rare wild spices from the mountains—the skin fragrant, spicy, crisp, the flesh carrying a faint herbal freshness that lingered long after.

Then a sip of the golden sea urchin tofu soup—silken tofu melting on the tongue, broth rich and slightly thick, part soup, part stew, with the fragrance of old hen broth wrapped in a sweetness she had never tasted before. The textures interwove, layered and sumptuous.

Lan’er’s heart leapt. A man so capable—if she married him, life would be endless indulgence in delicacies…

Beside her, Madam Feng hovered like a nursemaid, serving attentively, so much so that many mistook Lan’er for a noble young lady, yielding space for her.

Until the boy nicknamed Pot dared to swallow and reached for a crab. Madam Feng, face twisted in disgust, smacked his hand hard with chopsticks. “So filthy! Don’t touch! Do you want everyone to stop eating? No manners at all!”

Pot’s hands weren’t dirty—he had washed them properly at the well. But his skin was dark, unlike their carefully maintained fairness. The strike left two angry red welts across the back of his small hand.

His mother immediately clutched his hand in distress, soft-natured and unable to protest. But the child, unable to bear the sting, burst into tears.

An aunt nearby could hold back no longer. “He’s just a child! You could have spoken kindly! And this is a village banquet—this is how we all eat. If you don’t like it, sit at another table. This table is for those who’ve worked since yesterday!”

Even Wang Yujiao tugged her aunt’s sleeve in embarrassment, but Madam Feng brushed her off, glaring. “Yujiao, you’re not as slender as my Lan’er. Better eat less meat, or your face will be as big as a plate!”

Wang Yujiao flushed scarlet, setting down the piece of meat she’d picked up. Humiliated, she dared not speak again.

Madam Feng ignored the others entirely, muttering while helping herself, “Country folk, always unclean. Who knows what diseases they carry. Such expensive food wasted on them!”

The other women, furious, immediately abandoned the table, even willing to eat leftovers elsewhere rather than sit with her.

Seeing this, Madam Feng only grew smugger. Their dishes now nearly stripped bare, she preened, loud enough for all to hear: “Lan’er, try this one. No one’s touched it yet, surely it tastes even better!”

“No, I still think this tofu soup is the best.” That rich sweetness—Lan’er couldn’t place it, but she craved more. She finished one bowl and wanted another.

Madam Feng, too, sat down and picked out a large crab, delighted. What a delicacy. That Jiang boy spent money far too recklessly, throwing such silver on a flowing banquet. If he became her son-in-law, his money would need firm control!

He Shi’s friends had lost all appetite. “Who is that girl? Yujiao herself is a treasure, but this servant is unbearable—how dare she even insult the headman’s daughter!”

“Isn’t she related to the Wang family somehow? It’s been so long, I’m not sure…”

One had seen her the previous night but hadn’t been clear on details. Just then, Uncle Luo, carrying fresh dishes, noticed their table had been taken over. His mind grasped the truth immediately, and he hurried to report to Jiang Baiye.

At the time, Jiang Baiye was being dragged by the wine-loving Doctor Sun into drink after drink, tankard after tankard. He had even exchanged cups with He Lin a few times, warming to one another.

Just as He Lin leaned in to ask something important, Uncle Luo arrived. Baiye seized the chance, excused himself, and escaped gratefully.

“This boy can’t hold his liquor at all!” Doctor Sun huffed, face flushed, swaying slightly.

“I’ll go watch.” He Lin, seeing Baiye stumble in zigzags, followed with interest. Their conversation had intrigued him—he found this man more and more curious.

“What’s going on?” Baiye arrived at Madam Feng’s table. Before he could speak, she muttered, “Can’t we sit here? My Lan’er’s foot is injured, she can’t move easily. Shall we just leave?”

She made to help Lan’er rise. Lan’er, lips pursed in practiced pity, added, “Mother, it hurts so much…”

Nervously, she peeked at Baiye’s reaction.

He cast a glance at her slightly lifted foot, lips quirking. “Guests are guests. And you’re Headman Wang’s kin.”

At once, the other women bristled. If she was only kin to the headman, not Baiye’s own esteemed guest, then they had no cause to defer. “Ha! Two-faced. Not like that with us earlier!”

They feared Baiye might be deceived, especially as the girl was indeed pretty—many men at the banquet had already been caught staring. They couldn’t allow him to fall for her trick.

Baiye, however, simply waved over two cooks. Just as Madam Feng thought her scheme had succeeded, he said, “These two are leaving. Please pack up the food from their table and send it home with them.”

“After all, once eaten, it isn’t clean anymore.”

Madam Feng gaped, dumbfounded. Lan’er bit her lip, her cheeks burning crimson.

This man, this man treated her as nothing!

“No need, we…”

“Ladies, give me a moment. Once the table’s wiped, it’s yours again. You’ve worked so hard; I’ll add a few more dishes for you myself!” Baiye smiled warmly, courteous as ever.

The women blinked, then burst into laughter. “Haha! Interesting boy!”

“You two said you were leaving—so go on! It’s not that Changshui is driving you off. He’s even thoughtful enough to send food with you. How considerate!”

“Exactly. If you want to leave, leave. No one’s stopping you!”

Wang Yujiao, if not for supporting Lan’er, would have fled long ago. This was unbearable. She searched for her father, only to find him sprawled drunk, unconscious with many others.

Baiye was turning to cook fresh dishes when Lan’er’s sharp, girlish cry cut through behind him.

“You’ll regret this! I’ll make you regret it!”

He Lin chuckled aloud. Watching Baiye stride away without a glance, he hurried after. “You really have no sense of romance!”

But Baiye’s gaze had already drifted, sharp as a hawk, toward the Lu household. At some point, Lu Lizhi had come outside, standing with Granny Li, eyes turned this way. Thinking of the morning’s absurdity, Baiye’s heart twisted. He withdrew his eyes at once, afraid to linger.

He Lin caught his glance, heart leaping. He straightened, “So that is the famed Lu Tongsheng. To think he lives right next door. Are you familiar with him?”

Baiye’s mind flashed to their connection in the book. He denied instantly, “Not familiar.”

Perhaps he was very drunk. Perhaps his conscience wavered. “Aren’t you going back? It’s getting late.”

“No worries. Your house has two floors, surely enough space for one more?”

“My house is a mess, no spare bedding or beds, and Doctors Meng are there too.”

“Then I’ll stay at Lu Tongsheng’s. Surely he won’t mind lending a quilt? If not, I’ll just share with him.” He Lin grinned guilelessly.

Baiye’s eyes chilled instantly. He nearly declared their friendship over.

“You see? You do know him. From the start, I suspected the protagonist of Asking About Romance resembled you. Just tell me, is Lord

 Qingyuan really Lu Lizhi? I’ve admired him for so long—I want to meet him!”

He Lin’s eyes shone, drunk and dreamy, his cheeks pink, smile dazed, like a foolish admirer.

Here it was—the plot unfurling again. The path bending back, despite changes: countless drawn to Lizhi’s brilliance, entranced, worshiping, unable to forget after a glimpse.

Once, Baiye would have been proud, exultant for his brother. He deserved this, it was his due. But now—dark, twisted jealousy churned inside.

“My servant spotted him near Yongyuan Bookshop more than once. And whenever you visit the prefectural city, you always appear at Huichun Hall. Surely you came together?”

Indeed, Doctor Meng had told He Lin of a white-robed scholar who always accompanied Baiye—elegant, striking. He Lin had guessed it was Lizhi, though uncertain if he was Qingyuan. He longed to know, and longed to know their relationship.

All signs pointed to yes. His eyes gleamed, fixed on Baiye.

Baiye’s answer was the sudden sizzle of oil, pork tossed into the pan with a violent crackle. He Lin startled, retreating, about to slip outside.

“Where are you going?” Baiye’s voice cut tight.

“To test him, since you don’t seem sure.”

“Wait! Didn’t you just ask how to make that pork stew? I’ll teach you. Only now do I have time.” Baiye raised his brows.

He Lin faltered. His grandmother adored rich, juicy pork belly. “…How is it made?”

Baiye’s lips curved faintly.

When Lu Lizhi entered, he saw Baiye and a handsome stranger bantering easily, sparring with words, surprisingly harmonious.

Worse—the man carefully picked a piece of meat, cooled it with his breath, and held it to Baiye’s lips. “Master, how is it?”

Baiye spat it out. “Disgusting.”

“No way!” He Lin hastily tasted one himself. “I-it’s fine—pah, pah!”

Baiye sensed the hidden gaze. He turned—but saw nothing.

A moment later, his mother’s startled voice outside: “Lizhi, what’s wrong?”

Lu Lizhi’s lips pressed tight. His face unreadable, he quickly retreated home. As he shut the door, he thought he glimpsed Baiye rushing after—but it no longer mattered.

He would have new friends, new brothers, ones who could talk and laugh, unlike a dull mute such as himself.

He let out a cold chuckle. Good. He didn’t need him either.

Back in his room, he dragged out several boxes from beneath the shelves. They held every sheet Baiye had practiced on. Each one he had carefully kept, stacked neatly inside.

Surely, Baiye would not come practice again.

Lizhi lit a fire striker. Paper curled, crackled, flames devoured every sheet. He watched, merciless, as ugly scrawls that had grown slowly steadier all turned to ash.

Until—

The paper scrawled “Jiang Baiye” and “Bastard.”

His breath seized. Desperate, he smothered the fire with his hands. But one small flame dropped into the box, flaring wildly, consuming all.

He thought of those scrawls: “Lu Lizhi, forgive me.” “I still want…” “Make it for me again, please.” “I want, want, want, don’t refuse.”

Lizhi’s eyes stung. He sat down hard, clutching the charred box, tears burning.

This was all he had left.

Though his arms were full, his chest felt hollow, fingers white and trembling. Outside, laughter still rang.

But all of it was no longer his.

Much later, He Shi’s friends finally tasted Baiye’s freshly cooked dishes. Though they had already eaten elsewhere in their hunger, they had awaited this eagerly.

But the moment they lifted a bite—faces twisted.

“Ugh, so sour!”

“Salty, far too salty.”

“Is it raw? This brat fooled me—what a waste!”

“Completely different level! Did someone else cook?”

He Lin, the culprit behind the botched dish, looked wounded. It truly wasn’t his doing! He had seen Baiye cook so masterfully—how did it turn out like this? He even began doubting Baiye’s skills.

Before long, the man himself emerged. The unwelcome guests gone, he raised jars of wine, calling boldly:

“To celebrate my workshop’s opening, tonight no one leaves sober!”

“Oh, drunk—that explains the terrible food. What a waste,” Pot’s mother murmured softly. But when Baiye came to toast their table, she still gave him face, sipping tea in place of wine.

The Jiang family’s flowing banquet lasted from dawn to night. Villagers returning from the fields joined in, others came back for seconds, even happy with leftovers—because even scraps here outshone their festival meals.

This was a feast unmatched in their lifetimes.

Nearly all of Qingshui Village had tasted it.

Even the leftovers were claimed, with He Shi’s permission, to take home. None refused. Joy brimmed everywhere, save for a few unpleasant incidents.

Baiye, as promised, drank till dizzy, staggering until his feet carried him unconsciously to Lizhi’s door.

He slumped at the threshold. At some point, he roused in the midnight silence, knocking hard.

“Lizhi, Lizhi, open up! Why won’t you answer? Ugh, it hurts—come out or I’ll kick the door!”

Lizhi jolted from a nightmare, hearing the drunken cries. Instinct almost carried him up, but he fell back.

He was only remembered when Baiye was drunk, only sought from habit.

When that habit faded, he would vanish cleanly, his gaze cold, indifferent.

Again and again. Lizhi could endure no more.

Better not to have him than to lose him.

“Lizhi Lizhi Lizhi, good Lizhi, sweet Lizhi, pretty Lizhi, open up for me—” Baiye hiccupped mid-sentence, dazed. What had he just wanted to say?

Lizhi’s eyes iced over. He would not believe such sweet words. He buried himself in his blanket, determined not to hear.

But then—

Silence.

The chill seeped deep into his chest.

Until worry gnawed. Had he fallen asleep outside? Even in summer, it was not impossible to catch cold.

Ha. That body of his—what could possibly harm it? Lizhi shut his eyes again.

Then—a sudden thud outside the wall. A sharp hiss of pain.

“Fell,” a low, hoarse voice groaned.

Lizhi’s heart jolted violently. Not from fear of injury, but from a panic he could not name—loud, surging.

He hurried up, half-dressed, striding to lock the door—

Only for it to burst open with a single kick.

In the darkness, Baiye’s tall figure, reeking of wine, stumbled straight toward him.

Lizhi retreated, fumbling to pull his robe on, exposed and vulnerable.

But the loose sash was suddenly caught, fingers winding it around, tugging with teasing force.

“Hiding? Do you think I’ll eat you?”

Lizhi’s face darkened. He chopped his hand away, trying to snatch it back. But his collar was already loosened, reminding him of earlier, when he’d bared it for air in his tight-chested restlessness.

Before he could reclaim it, his hand was seized again, firmly, thumb stroking gently.

Lizhi’s heart raced wildly. The atmosphere was utterly different, suffocating.

What madness now?

The man only chuckled, lowering his head, closing step by step, until he whispered a request that struck like lightning.

“Kiss me.”

Author’s Note:

He Lin: A brotherhood group? Oh ho, count me in!
Jiang Baiye: G~e~t lost!
Lu Lizhi: A world for two—three is too crowded.

—

Fun fact: Drunk people are actually clear-headed—they know what they want or don’t want. But the brain dulls, fear disappears, reaction slows. So they dare things they normally wouldn’t. If truly blacked out, though, the body is beyond control—so no chaos then. Otherwise, “being drunk” is just an excuse.

(Was told it’s sweeter than romance—thank you, angels~)