HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C63

Chapter 63: Feeding One Another, and the Secret Mark

“Mmm… Lizhi…”

Through a haze, Jiang Baiye discerned a figure swaying before him, long sable hair falling like a waterfall, brushing now and again against his skin—soft, tickling, and unbearably pleasant.

He strove to open his eyes, and through the mist that seemed gilded with holy light, that peerlessly handsome visage leaned closer, exhaling softly upon his face.

Jiang Baiye all at once felt himself afloat.

And no wonder—for three days and nights he had not slept. He walked as though upon clouds, his very steps unreal; once he lay down, he sank easily into a dream dark and fathomless.

Lu Lizhi, thinking he was waking, gave a quiet laugh tinged with exasperation. He bade the inn boy keep warm dishes ever ready, so that whenever Baiye awoke, he might eat something hot and not suffer an empty stomach.

Yet before he could rise from the bedside, his wrist was caught and he was pulled down upon the bed, drawn unceremoniously into that embrace.

A long, taut leg hooked over him, holding him fast, while the other pressed close behind, arms tight about him, lips pressing soft, heated kisses against his neck. The damp warmth made him shiver and tingle.

“Do not go… do not leave me again…”

Lu Lizhi shrank his neck, but those kisses were strangely sweet. Yielding to the restless nudges of the other, he gradually relaxed against him.

This man—even half-dreaming—knew well how to unravel him.

In the aimless nuzzling, a trail of hot marks was left upon his skin, heedless, unrestrained, claiming him at will…

Lu Lizhi’s eyes grew languid, his whole frame suffused with an indolent tenderness, a signal of surrender.

Still heavy with sleep, Jiang Baiye thought himself dreaming, for his hand had already slipped with ease into Lizhi’s loose robe.

Perhaps it truly was a dream.

His touch grew rough in his yearning, until a soft murmur of protest reached him. His consciousness, caught in darkness, struggled to surface. His movements gentled, slipping deeper, brushing that silken skin.

Both trembled faintly.

Lu Lizhi seized his hand, felt upon it the faint tackiness of medicine not yet dry, and his heart melted.

Yet this time, though he waited, there came no further advance.

He turned—and found Baiye had once again fallen into slumber.

With a sigh, half relief, half regret, he composed himself and quietly applied another layer of salve.

The ointment was wondrous indeed; in but half an hour, the bruising had lightened, the swelling receded.

Lu Lizhi gazed upon his hand, fingers long, knuckles fine—so elegant, and yet used to wear themselves raw.

Rough in his own ways, yet to him, always unexpectedly tender.

“Do not tease… stay with me awhile longer…”

The unconscious murmur brushed his ear. Lu Lizhi stilled, then softly answered, “Mn.”

This time, without hesitation, he pressed himself to that broad, heated chest, hearing the steady, powerful beat of his heart.

Warmth unfurled within him, safe and sure.

Beyond the chamber, the daylight yet shone bright. Scholars departed the inn, speaking of their fortunes—some sighing in despair, others aflame with hope for the future.

“My family dwells here in the prefectural city. Though I failed the stipendary rank, I may yet gain a place in the prefectural school through certain ties.”

“Fortunate indeed. The prefectural school takes only the best few. I am a stipendary, yet must likely return to the county school.”

“I belong to my county school still, and the teaching is but mediocre. I can only study alone at home.”

“Better a private school than solitary toil. Without guidance, the next trials shall be hopeless. At worst, Qingsong Academy is still a fine choice.”

“My desire was for Mingli Academy, but the fees are too steep, and they accept only stipendaries.”

So they talked as they passed. Inns charged dearly during examinations, and many students had shared rooms; some lingered in the city for leisure. Thus, the place remained lively.

Lu Lizhi frowned, lest the noise disturb Baiye’s rest. Then, faint whispers drifted in.

“I had thought the First would surely be Lu Qinghong—who could have guessed…”

“Lu Lizhi, the First? Not so strange. He is said to be lodging nearby. Hush, do not speak ill of him behind his back!”

“Haoxing, which school do you suppose he shall enter?”

“The Imperial Academy, perhaps?”

“You overrate him! Come, let us go to hear the storytellers. Next month they begin The Scattered Blossoms Severed—my favorite. Haoxing, what say you?”

“On Passion’s Wind.”

“Pfft! You, too? So common.”

“That tale, they say, Lord Qingyuan invested with much of his own feeling…”

Their voices were low, yet Lizhi’s keen hearing caught each word. Were it not for Baiye’s arm a chain about him, he would have flung the door wide to silence them.

Soon enough, they moved on.

Peace returned.

He recalled what had passed in Prefect Yan’s residence—how both the prefect and Scholar Tai vied to claim him as student, granting him three days to choose.

Almost like rivals in a contest, Tai even promised him the rare privilege of entering the Imperial Academy.

For each province, but a scant few were ever chosen—only the brightest among countless scholars. The right belonged more often to those of power and wealth, who could seize such chances with ease.

It was a temptation near impossible to refuse.

Were he not bound to the vow of uncovering his father’s death, destined to tread his father’s path—
Were he not tied here, to one he could not forsake…

His thoughts grew tangled, but lulled by the steady breath beside him, he drifted into sleep.

By nightfall, Baiye, too warm in their embrace, sprawled wide, releasing him. Lizhi slipped free, went out, and ordered food.

The innkeeper bustled forth. “Ah! Truly, Scholar Lu, the First of the Lists!”

Lizhi looked up, questioning silently.

“No charge! No charge for your meals or lodging these days. Here—our house’s special shredded pork in sauce. Quickly, fetch soup!” he cried to his lads.

Lizhi took no offense at their eager courtesy.

Of late, as “Lord Qingyuan,” he had endured much attention. Beside Baiye, he had grown accustomed to respect. His nature was always calm before honor or disgrace.

Indeed, this composure was one reason Tai had been willing to bestow upon him so precious a recommendation.

He ate slowly—sauced pork, tofu with greens, fragrant eight-treasure rice, a broth rich with seafood. Then, with a dampened finger upon the table, ordered two more dishes kept in readiness.

At last, he drew forth silver enough to pay all his board and meals.

“Why, the Scholar is wealthy indeed,” whispered patrons.

“He even overpaid!”

“Likely some county gentry already fund him,” one mused.

“Nonsense. He has not yet returned home. A First Scholar, though impressive, is nothing without advancing further. The wealthy here will not cast coin so lightly. Look at his attire, his lodging—all new, all of the finest. That is no poor scholar’s bearing.”

Back in his chamber, Jiang Baiye had woken. At Lizhi’s return, he hastily hid something behind him.

“Ahem. You are back.”

Lizhi: “…”

Could he say he had long known?

With a sheepish grin, Baiye produced a gift box wrapped in green silk, bamboo stitched upon it in silver thread—the very bamboo Lizhi had once painted for his mother. The box itself was fashioned from rare agarwood, fragrant and fine, his father’s handiwork.

It was the family’s devotion, bound into one.

But when Baiye looked up, Lizhi was gone.

“Hm? Where…?”

He had gone to fetch food. In moments, he returned with steaming dishes.

Before Baiye could present his gift, he was pressed down to eat.

Lizhi’s face was stern. He would not allow him to grow lax again—already he neglected meals too often.

Baiye soon discovered his hands bore ointment’s scent; the wounds were healing fast. His lips curved in secret delight.

Lizhi, seeing him flex his hand, thought it must still hurt. He lifted a spoon of golden custard and fed it to his lips.

Baiye: “…” A wound had its blessings, it seemed.

Staring at him, he opened his mouth and ate. “Better, when fed by you.”

Lizhi lowered his lashes and fed him again, this time braised pork. Baiye savored it and pushed a leaner piece toward him.

Though full, Lizhi ate what was offered. Watching Baiye eat with such relish, he, too, was drawn along.

Until, at last, Baiye caught the spoon gently in his teeth, eyes smouldering. Lizhi, flustered, let go at once.

Baiye laughed low and caught him up, seating him upon the table, pressing close.

Though it was not the first time, Lizhi’s cheeks flamed under the candlelight, his cold beauty softened by blush.

Baiye’s hunger nearly broke loose.

Lizhi turned his face away, glaring—was he to kiss or not? Why toy with him?

Baiye chuckled. “Lizhi, did you wish it?”

Before he could finish, he was kissed—bitten lightly at the throat.

He arched back, veins straining, as if seized by the very pulse of life. Each lick, each kiss, strung him tighter.

“Lizhi…” His breath grew ragged. “Do not drive me mad…”

Lizhi started—had he pressed him too far?

Yet Baiye, keen, sensed his falter. Perhaps Lizhi feared only one thing: to be beneath. If so, it could be unraveled, slowly, surely. One day, he would bare himself wholly.

“Lizhi, I am undone. Others grow dulled with time, but with you, I burn ever brighter.”

Lizhi dared not glance lower. He remembered the bathhouse, and Doctor Meng’s warning. With hesitation, he reached out—only for Baiye to seize his hand.

“No. Let me still myself first.”

Lizhi: “…” What now?

To distract them both, Baiye drew forth the gift he had made.

Inside, gleaming jade, translucent green.

Each piece was simple, unadorned, polished smooth. No wonder his hands were ruined—he had labored so. They were plain, yet imbued with quiet elegance, subtle grace.

“I wished to carve more elaborate things,” he confessed, “but my hand lacked skill. Better plain, than marred.”

Yet he had not gained nothing. Lifting a jade hairpin, he pointed to the end. “See here—our secret sign.”

At that time, Arabic numerals were unknown. “This stroke is your Lu—six. And this, for my Jiǔ—nine.”

Lizhi peered curiously at the strange marks.

Baiye’s eyes lit. “!”

What have I carved?

Are both my hands and my wits alike crippled?

The amber light within Lu Lizhi’s eyes shimmered as he lifted a little gourd adorned with a tassel of golden silk, seeking once more those two entwined numerals.

“Ahem—this gourd bears the meaning of fu lu—blessings and prosperity. The tassel I learned from one of the maids in the He estate; it may serve as a fan ornament. Later, I shall fashion a fan for you as well.”

Upon the rounded belly of the gourd, Lu Lizhi discovered the secret mark, and the corners of his eyes curved with a faint smile.

Jiang Baiye: “…”

Next he found a square seal, exquisitely small, paired with a fine ink paste. At once he took up a blank sheet, carefully pressed it to the ink, and stamped it down.

At first glance, there in the corner, lay the two numerals.

Jiang Baiye: “…”

Thereafter came a jade pendant, upon which Baiye had boldly carved a bamboo stalk—yet bare of leaves, nothing but a solitary shaft.

Lizhi, however, found it curious and rare; in the eyes of one in love, it seemed most endearing. At the root of the bamboo he spied once more those two numerals, as though uncovering treasure.

“Ah—my head aches,” Jiang Baiye groaned, pressing his brow.

Lizhi turned swiftly, his concern plain.

Baiye looked at him, words unsaid.

A grave thought struck him: what if, in some far future, when they had adopted children, and these tokens were handed down, and descendants of another age beheld these numerals—what would they think?

Would some grey-haired grandsire tell a little child, “These are ancient runes of that time”?

Jiang Baiye: “…”

Lizhi then lifted the pair of thumb-rings, one for each. The “secret mark” had cost him much toil to carve within.

Baiye pushed aside his chaotic fancies, took Lizhi’s ring with solemnity, and, beneath his puzzled gaze, drew his hand over, placing it gently upon his finger.

“Though a couple’s rings wrought as archers’ guards are somewhat unusual, they are stately and discreet. They may be turned in one’s hand for fortune, shield the thumb in archery, or even be worn as pendants.”

The reason Baiye had carved no further was simple: the jade itself was of the finest quality, lustrous and pure. To cut it further would mar its brilliance. As it stood, save for the hidden mark, it was perfection.

Lizhi understood. He took up the other ring.

But Baiye shrank back his hand, warning, “This is your last chance. Should you place it upon me, I am yours, and you must bear responsibility for me all your life!”

Lizhi’s lips curved faintly. He seized his hand, slid the ring upon his left thumb.

Whatever else could be said, Baiye had judged the sizes flawlessly; both fit perfectly.

Lizhi had never before adorned himself with so many trinkets, yet now he replaced the cord in his hair with the jade pin, hung the pendant upon his breast, the gourd at his waist, the seal ready at hand. From henceforth, every work of calligraphy or painting would bear his seal.

Seal of Qian’an.

Qian’an was his courtesy name.

He had long intended to commission such a seal; now, Baiye had furnished all in advance.

Discovering, too, the embroidery upon the green silk and the workmanship of the wooden box, recalling from Jiang Dazhu how rare this wood was—treasured, never used—Lizhi inhaled the rare fragrance it exuded, and for a moment his heart grew still.

An impulse rose within him—

To tell him.

His secret.

Whether met with disdain or strangeness, he wished, in this moment, to lay himself bare before Baiye.

He took up brush and ink, though his hand trembled as if confronting a scar long buried.

He had seldom thought of his mother—not from want of love, but from complexity.

She had looked upon him as a monster, fearful lest his secret be exposed, lest he be seized as a demon and burned before the crowd. She bade him guard his secret unto death, and even rejoiced that he was mute…

Though now he knew such fears were exaggerated, in childhood he had shrunk within her terror, bound together in dread. Not even his father, closest to him, ever knew his unusual nature.

His mother had feared, too, that if he could not continue the Lu line, his father would take another wife. Her love was fierce for husband and child alike.

But love, tainted by fear, had planted within him an instinctive obsession to guard his secret.

Now, to unearth it was to stir a field of pain.

When he came back to himself, the paper was marred with a blot of ink.

“Lizhi, what would you write?” Baiye asked softly, dazed by the sight of him, so moved by this rare vulnerability. “It grows late. Let us rest early.”

The word “rest” was drawn out with myriad shades of meaning.

But Lizhi’s gaze grew firm. He must reveal the truth. He wrote: My body is not as other men’s.

At once—a knocking at the door, sharp and sudden, broke his resolve.

“Scholar Lu, pardon me—I have come to clear the dishes.”

Baiye’s first instinct was to hide. Though few scholars now lingered at the inn, there was still risk to his reputation.

Yet truly, few would think twice to see two men within one chamber. It was Baiye’s guilty conscience that made him so.

Lizhi could not bear to see him thus. He crumpled the page, seated him at the table, and allowed the servant to enter.

The boy, seeing another within, gave not even a blink. Only did he glance curiously at Lizhi burning a paper in the flame.

Baiye knew not what he was about. Lizhi had turned solemn, tense.

Paper seemed too perilous—if discovered, it would ruin his examinations.

So he ordered hot water brought for a bath. Later… he would let Baiye see for himself.

The thought stiffened every limb, left him ill at ease.

“Lizhi, what ails you?” Baiye, amused at his distracted bearing, teased, “Have we yet even kissed?”

Ever restless, he thought not of relief but of dissatisfaction—that the servant had not even suspected! Was their intimacy now so faded?

Lizhi, lost in thought, was pulled into Baiye’s lap, seized with kisses both urgent and insistent.

Startled by the door left ajar, Lizhi’s scalp tingled. He pushed twice in vain, then thought only to finish quickly lest anyone come upon them.

He wound his arms about Baiye’s shoulders, answering kiss with kiss, yielding and resisting by turns.

Yet before the servant returned with water, voices were heard outside—the same two they had heard that afternoon.

“Hahaha, Brother Haocheng! They say the Hanmo Pavilion not only steals business from taverns but even from brothels. Master Yi is so overrun he means to take disciples. Think I should apply?”

The voices drew nearer, with footsteps. Cold sweat beaded upon Lizhi’s back. Even if no suspicion of forbidden love, to be glimpsed thus by strangers—he could not endure it.

Baiye, bitten by him in anxious reproach, only grew more inflamed…

Author’s Note:

Haha—they shall be classmates anon.

I never dare write too far; ever must I break the scene with interruption. Ah, bitter tears.

As for the scholar’s rank: I have taken some liberties. In truth, after the yuan examination, one merely attained the status of shengyuan (licentiate). Distinctions of stipendary, contributory, and attached students were decided later, within the academies through further examinations. A licentiate’s degree might even be revoked for poor performance. By passing successive tests, one might rise from attached to contributory, thence to stipendary. Only those of proven merit could proceed to the provincial examinations.