HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C50

Chapter 50: Meeting the Parents, Madam Feng’s Uproar

“You’re something else, Lu Lizhi. What could there be that I’m not allowed to see?” Jiang Baiye swung a leg over the windowsill and held out his hand, his naturally low and magnetic voice instantly laced with a languid, coaxing note.

“Good Lizhi, let your husband have a look…”

The tips of Lu Lizhi’s snow-white fingers flushed faintly red at the sound, and he almost handed it over. Fortunately, he remembered his plan—just as Jiang Baiye thought he was about to succeed, he slowly pulled it back, unhurried, placing it with the other item he had set aside earlier.

“Chang Sui? Chang Sui, where have you run off to, hurry and come help!” Madam He’s anxious voice called from the other side. It seemed she had spotted him.

Jiang Baiye could only give up reluctantly, still yearning for that painting.

Lu Lizhi tidied up and followed him next door—he couldn’t exactly wait until the dishes were already on the table to appear.

He had meant to help, but Jiang Dazhu, sweating profusely from work, stopped him. “Let the women handle it. We should rest. Best not to dirty those fine clothes of yours…”

Even as he spoke, he noticed how Lizhi seemed to have dressed up specially today. A silk robe the color of green bamboo draped elegantly over his straight, jade-like frame. He looked incomparably refined, no less than the pampered young masters of the capital.

Though Lizhi was always neat and presentable, he usually wore washed-out old garments. Now, seeing him like this, Jiang Dazhu suddenly felt a faint sense of distance, as though he himself were mere dirt of the earth, while this man was the whitest cloud in the heavens.

What a disaster—his rascal son hadn’t even bothered to tidy himself, looking every bit like a servant in comparison!

Unaware of Jiang Dazhu’s instant surge of worry on his son’s behalf, Lu Lizhi, with matters on his mind, excused himself. Seizing a moment while Jiang Baiye was distracted, he slipped into Baiye’s room.

From his sleeve, he drew out a rolled painting—exactly the one Baiye had been desperate to see earlier. It was the birthday gift he had prepared beforehand. Embarrassed to present it directly, this way it could serve as a surprise.

He didn’t rummage around but went only to the bedside, intending to tuck it beneath the mat. Yet there he first spotted a dark blue-bound book.

The very book that had haunted him for so long—bitter and sour emotions stirred whenever he thought of it, making him doubt his own talent, dismiss his writing as worthless. And yet, Jiang Baiye treasured it immensely.

Lu Lizhi’s pale eyes narrowed slightly, his fingers brushing the frayed corner. How many times had this been turned? A pang of envy and dissatisfaction prickled at him. Just as he was about to open it, curious to see what it contained, Baiye’s voice rang out from outside, calling for him.

Startled, he hastily slid the painting under the mat and tucked the book into his robe.

But stepping out, he was immediately caught. “What’s that bulge in your chest? It’s printed right through the fabric,” Baiye said.

Lizhi looked down. Today’s clothes were slimmer cut, not as loose, and indeed the shape of a book showed plainly.

“…” Silence. Deep, awkward silence. He felt at a loss, his hands stiff, and then a spark of irritation—how sharp were this man’s eyes, to notice and blurt it out!

Before he could confess, Baiye pinched his cheek. “Don’t stress yourself, Lizhi. With your ability, topping the exam is a simple matter. Don’t ruin your health staying up late with books.”

Seeing how he carried books everywhere, Baiye resolved not to unsettle his focus again.

Lizhi blinked, letting him misunderstand, and, guilty, even nodded along.

“So obedient!”

“Ahem~”

Baiye turned, only to see his parents awkwardly avoiding their eyes, looking as though they’d stumbled upon something indecent.

He thought: this degree of intimacy was nothing—barely one percent of what he wanted.

Helping to carry dishes, Lizhi saw that Madam He had been busy since dawn. Together with Jiang Dazhu, she had prepared a full table’s worth of dishes.

In the center stood a sweet rice wine soup, with pumpkin, pear, corn, and a type of fungus called “silver ear” they had gathered from the mountain. It grew on rotten wood, much like mushrooms. They had harvested a fair amount.

It was said to fetch a good price, a delicacy reserved for palace consorts.

Just yesterday, Madam He had divided the surplus mushrooms, fruits, and silver ears among the villagers who had helped. Uncle Luo received the most, even enough to sell in town.

Now, Madam He eagerly served Lizhi a bowl. “You like sweet flavors, don’t you? Try this. I learned from Chang Sui. The rice wine was brewed recently. If you like it, I’ll pack some for you to take home!”

Lizhi tasted it. Each ingredient had been stewed until tender, the sweetness gentle, touched with a faint aroma of wine. There was nothing at all amiss. Seeing Madam He watching him expectantly, he nodded earnestly—it was indeed delicious.

Her joy overflowed. She hurried to add more dishes to his bowl: honeyed chicken wings, chicken drumsticks stewed with taro, stir-fried cabbage in vinegar, shrimp with scrambled eggs, beef with yam, cold dressed mushrooms… Normally skilled only in frying and boiling, today she had gone to great lengths to win over her “future son-in-law.”

Every dish carried a hint of sweetness—crafted with Lizhi’s tastes in mind, wrung from her utmost effort.

Lizhi felt the depth of their sincerity. Beneath the table, instinctively, he clasped the large hand that had reached for his.

Thus, throughout the meal, the couple watched as the two young men ate with only one hand each.

At first, Baiye simply refused to let go, grinning mischievously. When he teased those slender, jade-like fingers until Lizhi tried to withdraw to pick up a drumstick, Lizhi instead locked his grip with a sly smile, keeping him from moving, watching him grow anxious.

Their hidden tug-of-war carried on, while the parents exchanged knowing glances, amused by the playful flirting. Until at last, Baiye, exasperated, snatched the chicken drumstick right from Lizhi’s chopsticks with his mouth.

Lizhi froze, like a cat caught by the scruff—spitting it out was impossible, yet swallowing was too embarrassing.

Madam He and Jiang Dazhu dropped their chopsticks, mouths agape. Were young couples always this wild?

By the meal’s end, Lizhi’s cheeks still burned—and worse, the drumstick was gone, wholly claimed by Baiye.

He presented gifts he had prepared, albeit in haste.

For Madam He, a sketchbook filled with floral designs. Granny Li had once mentioned how much she liked Lizhi’s drawings of plants, so he had created an entirely new book, filled with fresh, beautiful patterns.

Madam He leapt up with joy. “Heavens, this is stunning! It must have taken you ages!”

Lizhi shook his head. It hadn’t taken much effort at all. Before deciding on the imperial exams, he had scarcely studied formally, devoting himself instead to painting and calligraphy. These came as naturally as breathing.

When weary of reading, he would sketch flowers in his handmade books to refresh himself.

“This is wonderful! Now I’ll have so many more embroidery patterns. If my stitching improves, these could fetch a great price!” Madam He already longed to turn them into embroidered pieces, vivid and graceful.

For Jiang Dazhu, it was a set of furniture designs—Baiye had described them roughly, and Lizhi had sketched them into form. Having no other gift prepared, he offered them now.

Dazhu accepted eagerly, carefully wiping his hands before taking the papers. After only two glances, he rushed straight to his workshop next door.

Madam He scolded him for poor manners, but his woodworking brought in real silver, and both husband and wife felt their lives now had purpose—each day full and meaningful.

In their household, joy abounded. Two adjoining houses, one a humble earthen hut kept tidy and bright, chickens and dogs about; the other once dilapidated, now renovated during Baiye’s construction of the workshop, standing proud and imposing.

But over at Village Head Wang’s home, a heavy, awkward silence reigned.

The cause of it all seemed oblivious, busily serving dishes to the thin-faced Feng Lan’er, fussing over her with tender scolding of Wang’s failures.

“That Shanyi Hall clearly came for Jiang Baiye, and his cousin’s family—all of them enemies of his. And yet! They dragged our Lan’er into that dreadful mountain. Not only frightened half to death, but injured all over! And he has the gall not to offer a word, not even a token of apology!”

Madam Feng, though displeased with her daughter-in-law belittling her husband like a servant, still found reason in her words.

Perhaps, she thought, Wang’s excessive honesty and kindness could be corrected. “Indeed, Jiang Baiye ought to bring ginseng or a few lingzhi for Lan’er. After all, she truly suffered because of him!”

“Bang!”

Wang slammed his chopsticks down, ready to erupt, but his good nature restrained him. Seeing Lan’er flinch, trembling as though scarred by the mountain, his anger and questions lodged in his throat.

“I’ll check on Yujiao.”

Since returning yesterday and recounting the magistrate’s judgments, he had sensed something wrong with Yujiao. She was like a lost soul.

But his mind had been on Lan’er’s concealment of the truth, so he hadn’t paid attention.

“Yujiao, are you unwell? Father will call a doctor.” He knocked, worried.

Inside, Wang Yujiao’s eyes were swollen red from crying, barely able to open. Burrowed in her quilt, she mumbled, “I…I’m fine. I just want to sleep.”

Time passed. Her tears would not cease. Suddenly, her quilt was yanked away. She jolted, only to see not her father, but Feng Lan’er.

“Cousin, what’s wrong?” Lan’er bent close, dabbing her tears with a kerchief. “Were you crying secretly all last night?”

Yujiao wept harder, stammering, “I-I’m fine. I just… don’t feel well.”

“Cousin, do you… like Jiang Baiye—that cousin?” Lan’er had thought it over. Only he, among the young men, had suffered punishment. Why else would she react so strongly?

Yujiao shook her head furiously. She did not like him. How could she like such a vile man? Yet why did her heart ache so terribly, as if carved by knives?

She pounded her chest, trying to pull the quilt back up, but Lan’er seized it, refusing to let her hide.

“Cousin, what’s the use of crying? He isn’t dead. When he’s released in three years, if you still like him, be with him. Or… are you like Auntie, wanting to marry into scholarly rank, scorning him for being barred from the exams?”

Yujiao shook her head again, whether denying the first or the second unclear. She wanted to say she would never be with such a man, but her sobs swallowed the words, tears flowing all the more.

Lan’er gazed thoughtfully. To weep foolishly over a man—how weak. She herself had nearly been that foolish. No—she, Feng Lan’er, would find other ways to get what she wanted.

The ordeal in the mountains had changed her. She feared her uncle meant to drive them out, and that terrified her.

Before, she would have stormed out in pride. Now, she would scheme to stay. If she could even take her cousin’s place… all the better.

Leaving, Lan’er saw Yujiao had cried herself into sleep, unaware of the eyes watching her from the shadows.

From Wang’s house, the sound of quarrel burst forth. Lan’er clenched her nails into her palm, creeping beneath the window to listen.

“I won’t allow it! They’re widowed and orphaned—staying here a few days, and you’d drive them out? Years ago, Father told me as the eldest I should take in a husband for the family. You refused. My younger sister bore the duty instead. She’s blamed me ever since. And now you’d wrong her too?”

“That’s another matter. Haven’t I endured enough from Madam Feng all these years? Haven’t I doted enough on Lan’er? And yet, that day—knowing what happened—she kept silent. Why? Just to avoid being sent to search! She feared for herself!”

Lan’er froze. He had seen through her. What to do? She would not leave—certainly not in such disgrace!

Wang was chilled by the truth of his niece’s heart. He could not act against her, but he could send them home. Better not to see, better fewer troubles. Madam Feng was always restless.

But his words enraged her. She snapped bitterly: “So, in the end, your arm bends outward. You look down on my family! You despise me!”

He was shoved, temper flaring, but he restrained himself.

“Lan’er was half-crazed with fright that day, unable to speak. How could she answer you? And why should she? It was Jiang Baiye’s fault she suffered. You’d still have her risk herself for him?”

“Is Jiang Baiye your bastard son, that you guard him so? Others didn’t even press the matter, yet you hound her. You don’t want me anymore, is that it?”

“All for your precious name as a just village head! Everyone praises you, and you’d sacrifice our family for it! Refuse all gifts, risk your life to help outsiders. For the sake of a lowborn, you discard even our village’s scholar. If you hadn’t punished the Jiang family so harshly, would they have done what they did?”

Years of resentment erupted. Madam Feng collapsed, sobbing wretchedly. Soon, Madam Xiao Feng ran in, clutching her, weeping louder still—as though Wang had committed some unforgivable crime.

Head pounding, Wang fumed. Groundless accusations became monumental crimes in Madam Feng’s mouth. When had he neglected his family? He had only ever sought fairness. Yet to her, fairness meant bias against her kin.

“Utterly unreasonable!” He shook his sleeves and left, resolved to send Lan’er away.

The uproar was too loud to contain. Neighbors overheard, and the tale quickly reached Baiye’s ears.

He had long ceased paying attention to Lan’er or Xuanzi. Since Xuanzi had spilled his secrets to her, Baiye had resolved never to use him again. If not for his bit of courage, Baiye would have dismissed him already.

Strangely, Xuanzi had not appeared all day, nor even sent word.

“Fang Li, go check on him.”

Fang Li, already anxious, obeyed immediately. He felt bound to Xuanzi’s fate—if Xuanzi fell, he would too.

Meanwhile, Ronghua and Fugui returned from town with supplies. They bought mostly second-hand bedding, cheap rice and flour, enough to fill bellies but nothing fancy. They explained: they did heavy labor and needed bulk food, not delicacies.

But for the masters, they bought good-quality staples. Even then, two taels remained, which they respectfully handed back.

Baiye marveled—the He family trained their servants well. He must recruit more from them.

Once they accepted his proposal, Jichun Pharmacy and Huichun Hall would share one fate—prosper or perish together.

He refused the two taels. “No need to scrimp. Eat properly. Your work is hard. Don’t ruin your bodies.”

Relieved, the four rejoiced—grateful not to have been sold into the wrong hands. Most masters squeezed men dry, leaving nothing.

Baiye instructed them on mountain work: identifying herbs, collecting safely, navigating terrain, surviving in the wild, knowing beasts and their haunts.

They listened avidly, eyes wide. Now they saw—others went in blind, but their master knew the mountains well. With such knowledge, how could they not profit?

Then Fang Li returned, panting, terrified to be late, fearing dismissal. The wages here were good, too many envied his post.

“Well?” Baiye asked, not even lifting his head, too busy.

“Xuanzi… he’s burning with fever. His mother said he fell ill last night, delirious. Perhaps from the mountain fright, or the court ordeal. She said he’ll return once he recovers.”

Baiye frowned slightly. He could only wait. He wouldn’t chase him down just to say “You’re dismissed.”

No. He was far too busy.

Yet he did not know Xuanzi was not truly sick, but paralyzed with fear. Hearing that he had crippled Wang Zhi and Jiang Dashan, he collapsed in terror.

Guilt gnawed him. He knew if he returned, Baiye would discover the truth. At best, he’d lose his job. At worst, his life.

Terrified, he could not leave either. Not for money—life was worth more, even with his bedridden mother depending on him.

But when he thought of that fair silhouette, his heart ached. He had risked everything to save Miss Feng, yet the village never whispered of them. On the way to court, she hadn’t spared him a glance.

Xuanzi thought: If I lose this job, she’ll never even speak to me again.

Sometimes, he obsessed—if only Brother Ye could marry her, then he could bask in her shadow, closer to her.

Baiye worked late into the night, yearning to slip into Lizhi’s arms. Without a kiss for days, he felt like an addict, restless and shocked at himself. Had years of bachelorhood left him this starved?

One more kiss, and Lizhi might grow weary of him.

Sigh.

Dejected, he dutifully went to the kitchen and drank the medicine his mother had prepared earlier. Lukewarm, perfectly timed.

Neither parent knew what concoction it was—they assumed some tonic.

After bathing, he collapsed into sleep. Tomorrow he would rise early to take his new men into the

mountains, gathering herbs while they learned the terrain.

This season, many plants ripened. Later, with larger scale, he would need land, farms, estates—to grow more.

Thinking thus, his hand drifted under his pillow, searching. His reason warred, but as he began to pull back, he touched not a book—but a scroll!

He shot upright, lighting a candle in haste.

It was the painting from earlier!

Thrilled, he unfurled it eagerly, unaware that elsewhere, freshly bathed, Lizhi too recalled the book.

Not that he had forgotten, but he feared opening it would unsettle him. So he had waited—until his studies were complete.

Drying his hair with a cloth, he eyed the book hungrily. That man had left it on his bed, reading it constantly.

Had he discovered the painting yet?

Casually, Lizhi flipped it open, for a sheet of paper was tucked inside.

The image before his eyes struck him like a blow. His ears rang, mind blank. Instinctively, he slammed it shut.

He dared not look again.

But the more he resisted, the clearer that image burned in his mind, flooding him with heat and shame.

How could such a book exist? How could people… in such ways…

Scoundrel!

What did he truly know!?

Lizhi sucked in a breath, then hastily opened it again.

Page after page of stark, naked illustrations, laying bare primal desires.

But none like that first figure…

Meanwhile, Baiye, aroused and intent on indulging himself, searched for the book in vain.

“Damn it!”