HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C33

Chapter 33: Indirect Kiss, Sprained Ankle

Ding Yue followed Jiang Baiye, traveling from the bustling county to the market town, and then farther still, into increasingly remote villages. Watching the youth driving the horse ahead—muscles taut beneath the sun, sweat glistening across his form—Ding Yue felt a sudden unease.

Could he really not be a swindler?

Jiang Baiye had no idea of the man’s apprehensions, nor would he have cared even if he did. He was in a rush to get home and cook lunch. He couldn’t let that little crybaby who obediently waited for his feeding go hungry. So, tugging on the reins, his speed only increased.

Ding Yue, driving behind, called out anxiously, watching the distance between them stretch farther and farther, until the cart ahead was nearly out of sight. He was nearly in tears.

Hmph, treating him so dismissively—clearly he didn’t truly intend to hire him. Once they arrived, he would find some excuse to be rid of him. At least the Shanyi Hall, meager as the wages were, felt more reliable.

Meanwhile, on the road to Qingshui Village, a brightly dressed mother and daughter hurried along with bundles in hand, stumbling with every step.

“Mother, aren’t we there yet? Why is it so far?” the young, delicate girl pouted. “If I’d known, I would have called for a carriage.”

Before she could finish, the rumble of wheels and pounding of hooves reached them. Delighted, she spun around to wave one down—only to see the man driving. Tall and broad, features stern and commanding, one sleeve rolled to reveal a corded, powerful arm.

The coarse reins bent easily beneath his grip as he skillfully controlled the gleaming black stallion. She had never seen such a striking, imposing sight.

Especially with his chest half-bared, broad and relaxed, the wind itself seemed enamored of him, tossing his robe about as though he were a god of war charging into battle with ten thousand troops at his back.

The young woman was struck dumb, frozen in place.

Jiang Baiye frowned and quickly pulled back on the reins, shouting: “Up ahead—move aside!”

The girl did not stir, only flushed scarlet when his deep, stern gaze swept over her.

“Hyah—!”

“Lan’er, move!” At the last instant, the older woman yanked her daughter away. The cart rattled past, brushing so close they tumbled to the roadside in a flurry of dust.

Jiang Baiye hesitated, but did not stop. He suspected a scam—ever since word of his workshop had spread, strangers kept trying to attach themselves to him. He could not afford to be careless.

“What manner of man is that! Runs someone down and flees!” Madam Feng fumed, hastily helping her daughter up.

But Feng Lan’er still gazed dazedly after the retreating cart. Rising, she winced, her brow knotting in pain. “Mother, I think I’ve sprained my ankle.”

“Heavens, this is awful! That brute must be from Li Family Village. I’ll have his head for this! Stay here, I’ll fetch your aunt and uncle!” Madam Feng fretted, ready to run into Qingshui for help, when Ding Yue’s cart happened by.

Ding Yue thought miserably, What next? Now I’ve picked up two more? The mother and daughter peppered him with questions about the man who had nearly run them down. How could he dare admit he knew him? He resolved to drop them at the village and leave at once.

At the gates of Qingshui, two figures came to meet them. One was Uncle Luo, driving his donkey cart—sent by Jiang Baiye to check on the pair, promising to cover any medical expenses.

The other was Jiang Dazhu, who, upon spotting Ding Yue, warmly latched onto him like a brother, insisting he come home for a meal.

Timid by nature, Ding Yue could not withstand Jiang Dazhu’s awkward yet relentless hospitality, and soon found himself being dragged along.

Inside, Jiang Baiye had just finished frying a dish. From across the room, he called: “Apologies, Uncle Ding—was hurrying home to cook.”

Ding Yue was dumbstruck. He could understand hurrying home to eat—but to cook? What sort of reasoning was that?

Noticing his sidelong glance, Hesh’s face stiffened, as though he suspected her of shirking her duties as a woman. She immediately declared solemnly, “My Changshui must cook for his teacher. That is not something that can be taken lightly!”

Inwardly, though, she scoffed. After tasting her son’s heavenly cooking, who could stomach her pig-swill any longer? So now, she and Jiang Dazhu diligently prepped the ingredients, leaving only the stir-frying to him.

And so, in no time at all, Jiang Baiye set five dishes and a soup upon the table. His culinary skill had been drilled into him by his mother from childhood—to help him win a wife someday. Yet now, not a wife in sight, he had instead captured everyone’s stomachs.

Summer offered an abundance of fresh produce. The seeds planted in spring had flourished. From them came shredded pork with green peppers, duck gizzards stir-fried with edamame, scrambled eggs with chives, vinegar-dressed bean sprouts, chicken baked with scallion oil and salt, and a mushroom broth richer than any chicken soup.

Seated awkwardly under Jiang Dazhu’s enthusiastic urging, Ding Yue sipped wine, sampling each fragrant dish until he felt near divine bliss.

“And the teacher?” he asked, out of habit respectful toward scholars for his son’s sake. “Should we wait for him before eating?”

Hesh sized him up carefully. In her household, there was no rule that women could not sit at table, nor need they avoid outsiders. This let her observe him up close on her son’s behalf.

Jiang Dazhu, by contrast, was already tipsy, lost in the food and drink.

“The teacher won’t come. Changshui brought his portion over—he may stay there to eat as well,” Hesh explained. She was used to it now, though she worried her son would weigh too heavily on Lizhi, who had his examinations in two months.

And indeed, Jiang Baiye had carried his food to Lu Lizhi’s side, where they ate together.

There he noticed a curious habit: Lu Lizhi carefully peeled the chicken skin, stacking it into a neat little mound, pretending it did not exist.

“It’s delicious. Try some,” Jiang Baiye urged, returning it to his bowl.

Lizhi silently pushed it aside again, unwilling to waste, yet unwilling to eat.

Laughing, Jiang Baiye declared, “If you won’t eat it, I will.” Casually, he plucked up the skin Lizhi had discarded and ate it, then peeled the skin and bones from his own chicken, setting the tender meat into Lizhi’s bowl.

Lizhi stiffened. Those chopsticks had touched his mouth. Not even his parents had ever shared with him so.

“What, do you find me repulsive?” Jiang Baiye bristled at his hesitation. “Then give it back!”

Lizhi quickly shook his head, cradling his bowl protectively. He would eat.

“Then eat.” Jiang Baiye lounged, one brow raised, watching intently. “But if it’s too much, don’t force yourself.”

He meant it sincerely. Everyone had their habits; he himself disliked when strangers used his utensils. With Lizhi’s slow, reserved nature, it was only natural he might not accept such closeness yet.

But understanding did not soothe his sulk.

Under his burning gaze, Lu Lizhi stiffly lifted the piece of chicken, slowly bringing it to his lips.

By the time he parted them and chewed, his ears burned scarlet. It felt as though he were being forced into some mortifying act.

The moment he recalled Jiang Baiye’s chopsticks touching it, damp with his saliva, heat surged through him, flooding his mind until even the taste of the chicken was lost.

Watching those translucent ears redden beautifully, Jiang Baiye felt a heat rise in his chest. He murmured softly, “Lu Lizhi, what are you ashamed of? Haven’t you heard of—an indirect kiss?”

K-kiss? Lizhi dropped his bowl with a clatter, face aflame, glaring furiously. What nonsense was this man spouting now!

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—don’t be angry. I won’t tease you. Eat properly. Here, I’ll fetch you new chopsticks.” Rising, Jiang Baiye went to the kitchen. But when he returned, Lizhi’s cheeks were puffed, chewing diligently, his bowl already emptied of chicken.

He had eaten it all.

“Lizhi, you’re amazing!” Jiang Baiye praised as though to a child, nearly reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Lizhi coldly turned away, hiding the pounding of his heart. Only he knew the weight of what he had just overcome.

“Once you grow used to it, it won’t trouble you so,” Jiang Baiye chuckled, warmth softening even his eyes.

But that only stoked Lizhi’s ire. He refused another bite, thinking to reheat it later after Baiye left. Yet before he could, Baiye polished off his own bowl, then seized Lizhi’s too, eating with the excuse: “I wasn’t full.”

Lizhi clenched his fist faintly. Was this truly how friends behaved? Or was it only what brothers did?

Baiye ate half a bowl more than usual, stuffed yet oddly content. Quickly tidying the dishes, he prepared to take Ding Yue to the workshop. Just then, his father’s voice rang outside: “Changshui, Uncle Luo is looking for you!”

Uncle Luo had come with news. As Baiye stepped out, he said anxiously: “That girl sprained her ankle.”

“Oh? How much for medicine?” Baiye asked, sheepish. He was certain he hadn’t touched them, had even called out a warning. Yet he had left them behind to cook, and assumed they were frauds.

“What’s the situation?”

“The barefoot doctor said only a sprain, but she cried miserably, said her ankle was so swollen she couldn’t walk.”

Uncle Luo gave him a look. “She’s clearly a pampered girl, and more importantly, kin to the village head’s family—Madam Feng’s niece. They dote on her, and the headman’s already angry. He’ll likely demand an account from you. Best be cautious!”

Jiang Baiye rubbed his nose. In that case, he would simply pay more compensation.

Inside, Lu Lizhi heard only fragments—something about a “girl.” He was startled. Aside from his mother, he had never seen Jiang Baiye with any women.

Could it be… was he arranging a match?

In Lizhi’s clear, quiet eyes, a sudden confusion flickered. The thought of Baiye with another—laughing, jesting, no longer finding time for him, perhaps vanishing for days on end—his chest seized painfully.

At once, his hand pressed against it.

No…

Startled by his own thought, Lizhi froze. If his brother were to wed, should he not be glad?