HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C40

Chapter 40: Clearing the Heart, Dousing the Fire, Possessiveness

Along the road, many villagers heading to town saw a carriage clip-clopping lazily along the path. The horse often stopped to munch on roadside weeds, while the middle-aged man sitting at the front sweated anxiously.
“Dahei, get moving, stop eating!”

The sleek, shiny-coated steed snorted twice, as if responding, before finally resuming with languid, mincing steps. Jiang Dazhu was beside himself, yet couldn’t bear to yank it forcefully.

Thus, they crawled along the entire way, repeatedly overtaken by pedestrians, who couldn’t help but stare curiously at them. Slowly, though, Jiang Dazhu began to grasp some of the tricks of driving.

Uncle Luo had already driven his donkey cart to and from town once and, seeing their carriage still inching along—sometimes even slipping backward—shook his head and followed behind, instructing Jiang Dazhu.

Soon, the carriage picked up speed. When Dahei finally received a lash of the whip, he neighed with resentment and bolted forward arrogantly in a wild gallop.

All the while, Jiang Baiye remained oblivious to the world outside, engrossed in the storybook in his hand. His lips curved unconsciously, a silly grin spreading wider and wider.

So this is how Lu Lizhi sees me? Practically flawless!

Handsome, carefree, kind, genuine, and domineering. In just a few short passages, he was shining in every moment.

Though Jiang Baiye hadn’t read Lu Lizhi’s other stories, the way he wrote “Qi Jiu” clearly revealed his fondness for the character. The tone was light, bright, and joyful, unlike his other works, which carried tragic grandeur that moved people to awe and tears.

Qi Jiu wasn’t like other protagonists who suffered trials and torment. He simply left the mountains to seek answers, resolving doubts with wisdom. Behind him, countless people supported and encouraged him. He was sunny, optimistic, fearless of hardship, moving with ease, caring for the world, learned and compassionate, brave and kindhearted.

Partiality. Barefaced, undisguised partiality. He couldn’t bear to let Qi Jiu endure a single misfortune. The whole text was dripping with indulgence.

No wonder He Lin, upon meeting him, had said the character resembled him. Even Jiang Baiye himself couldn’t believe he could ever be so perfect. Still, he couldn’t suppress the giddy laughter that bubbled out, carrying far across the road.

This is me in Lu Lizhi’s eyes—almost perfect!

What’s more, Lu Lizhi had broken his pattern of only writing short pieces under ten thousand words. He’d written a sequel. There might even be a third, a fourth…

“Lizhi, you’re truly adorable!” Jiang Baiye sighed with satisfaction, his whole being restless and overflowing. “Keeping it all hidden like this only makes me want to bully you more…”

At the county seat, Jiang Dazhu first delivered a folding recliner to Doctor Sun.

At first, Doctor Sun dismissed it. Only after some time, bored, did he try unfolding it as instructed.

The chair’s frame curved and straightened in all the right places, smooth and flowing, its lines pleasing to the eye. Unlike many chairs of the time, stiff and square, this one didn’t leave the waist aching and the backside numb after sitting.

Doctor Sun immediately brightened. Once he sat down, his dull old eyes flew open wide. He wriggled around, then sank deeper into the chair.

“Eh? Comfortable! How can it be this comfortable? It’s better than burrowing under quilts in midwinter!”

At the same time, at Huichun Hall, the same scene played out. Several apothecary masters queued to try the recliner. Each one, once seated, exclaimed in amazement—it was unlike any chair they’d ever used.

“So comfortable, so fitting! The armrest, the footrest—every part is just right!”

“Enough talking, get up, let me try!”

“Heavens, I want to tie myself to this chair and never leave!”

Jiang Dazhu chuckled. “My son said it’s what he calls ergonomic design. Look at the curves and lines—they follow the human body’s natural form, supporting the head, neck, and back so you don’t tire even after sitting long.”

“It’s true!” Doctor Meng hauled Master Qian up and plopped himself down, sticking fast to the chair.

Qian’s son, Young Master Qian, noticed something more. “What’s this?”

Jiang Dazhu clicked a latch behind the chairback. With a ka-dunk, an arched rocking mechanism dropped into place, and the recliner became a rocking chair, swaying gently, making one long for tea and a nap.

Again the crowd clamored to take turns. None wanted to give up their spot.

“What a clever design! The footrest extends—you can lie down like a bed!”

“Or use it as a cradle. Put the baby on, rock it gently, they’ll fall asleep—no fussing at all.”

Jiang Dazhu added, “Once I figure it out, I’ll make the armrests adjustable too. Then it’ll be even more comfortable with every posture.”

Ordinarily, the more functions a thing had, the easier it broke. But with Jiang Dazhu applying mortise-and-tenon craftsmanship[¹] to the utmost, and using solid hardwood, this chair could last more than a decade without breaking.

Young Master Qian clapped his hands. “How much for one? I want it at home, so my wife can use it while caring for the baby.”

The others quickly wanted one too. Even before they earned money with Jiang Baiye, they were already paying out of pocket. Watching others buy, they couldn’t stand to be left without.

“Two taels each,” Jiang Dazhu said nervously. “They take a lot of work. But since you’re helping my son, I’ll halve the price for you—just one tael.”

He looked at them anxiously, worried they’d balk at the price. He already had excuses ready.

Instead, Master Qian roared, “That cheap? I’d pay two taels gladly!”

As men who had worked all their lives with medicinal herbs, their incomes were stable.

Master Wang had even expected the price to be five or ten taels. Hearing one tael, he sighed in relief, feeling like he’d struck a bargain. Once the recliner became popular, surely the price would rise.

Even ordinary chairs cost several hundred copper coins. For one tael to buy such finely made furniture—cheap!

Among the four masters, aside from father-and-son Qians, even Doctor Meng ordered one. At such a price, they’d be fools to miss out.

Jiang Dazhu promised to deliver four finished chairs soon. They paid on the spot—four taels, heavy in his hand. Excited, Jiang Dazhu turned to Jiang Baiye, who had stood back, leaving the stage to him.

Jiang Baiye nodded approvingly. He hadn’t interfered much, only guided the bigger picture. Watching his father succeed brought him joy.

But then he cleared his throat. “Father, wait a moment.”

“What is it?” Doctor Meng asked as Jiang Baiye pulled him up, reluctant to leave the chair.

“Can you prescribe me some medicine to clear the heart and drain fire[²]? Whatever it is—lotus plumule, coptis, anything. Twenty doses.”

Doctor Meng chuckled in disbelief. “What do you think medicine is, food? Even mild decoctions can’t be drunk in such quantity. Stretch out your hand, let me check your pulse.”

Jiang Baiye reluctantly obeyed. He knew the depth of Chinese medicine’s skill—he had felt it from his grandfather. But letting his pulse be taken meant baring his secret.

Doctor Meng didn’t know whether the person troubling him was man or woman, but even so, Jiang Baiye flushed with shame.

“Mm—” Doctor Meng sucked in a breath. Jiang Baiye’s heart lurched. “What is it, Doctor Meng?”

“Don’t speak.” After a moment, Doctor Meng muttered, “This isn’t a mild problem. Better take fifty doses.”

“…” Jiang Baiye thought, didn’t you just say medicine isn’t food?

“Young man, at your age, you should marry already. Others aren’t like you, this severe. Find a way to release it, but don’t be too frequent. You’ll drain your essence.”

At the words “release” and “frequent,” Jiang Baiye’s whole body burned.

So sensitive—he couldn’t handle the slightest provocation.

If not for it all stemming from one person, he would think himself addicted.

“When will I…” He cut himself off quickly, afraid he’d disgrace himself on the street.

After arranging to pick the masters up later, Jiang Baiye took his father to Yongyuan Bookshop. It was crowded, though no new stories had come out. These people were clearly there not for the books, but the author.

Jiang Baiye’s gaze dimmed. All the more reason he’d stopped Lu Lizhi from coming. Not only to protect him, but—yes, he admitted—to keep others from glimpsing his brilliance, coveting him, longing for him, falling hopelessly in love with him.

Only he alone was allowed.

Taking a deep breath, Jiang Baiye knew rivals would only multiply. He had to act faster.

Carrying the last recliners and brush holders inside, Jiang Baiye followed his father into the shop. The watchers lurking outside paid him no mind, assuming he was only delivering goods.

Shopkeeper Ning looked troubled. When he saw Jiang Baiye, his eyes lit up. He led them to the back courtyard.

“Where’s Scholar Lu today? Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?” Jiang Baiye pulled out Lu Lizhi’s manuscript. As Ning reached for it eagerly, he lifted it out of reach. “I have a favor to ask, Shopkeeper Ning.”

Seeing that smile, Ning had a bad feeling. This boy always seemed like he’d swindle him, though in truth Lu the scholar was his ancestor now—how could he dare mistreat him?

“It’s like this. Lately, many people have been seeking Lord Qingyuan[³]. Most are admirers. I’ve conveyed Scholar Lu’s words—that fated meetings need not be forced—so some left.

“But others insist on meeting him, refusing to give up. For instance, the magistrate’s daughter. And students from Mingli Academy, some crazed with admiration, others jealous, itching for a literary duel. I fear someone may harm him.”

Jiang Baiye agreed—Lu Lizhi shouldn’t be exposed so soon. Not until after the county exam, when he’d have the standing to withstand pressure. Otherwise, he might be caught up and dragged down.

Be it Qingsong Academy, Mingli Academy, Jiang Yueming, or the petty rivals—or even the Lu clan’s branches.

“Shopkeeper Ning, hold out a little longer. Don’t act suspicious, just say you don’t know. The more mysterious he seems, the greater the shock when the truth emerges.” Jiang Baiye already pictured certain faces.

Then he smiled. “I want to buy all his manuscripts. Every last page. Surely you’ve kept them safe. Name your price.”

“What?”

“I want all his drafts. Every single one. You must have preserved them. Just set a price.” Jiang Baiye couldn’t wait to finish Tales of Romance. Not only to read, but to see every page in Lu Lizhi’s hand.

“I was planning to hold them until their value rose,” Ning protested. With Lord Qingyuan’s fame growing, his manuscripts would fetch a fortune.

In the end, Jiang Baiye traded new stories to wrest them from him. Ning sold with tears in his eyes. “Swindler!”

Yet he couldn’t fathom—if Jiang Baiye was so close to Lu Lizhi, why not just ask him to write more, instead of demanding the old drafts?

“From now on, copy them out. The originals go to me,” Jiang Baiye said.

Grumbling, Ning watched him leave, only to melt into his new recliner a moment later. “This chair—hmph, the brat knows how to curry favor.”

Jiang Dazhu sold several brush holders and book boxes, earning five hundred coins. Overjoyed, he even bought candied fruit for Madam He.

“Should we bring Lizhi some candied hawthorns too? It’s getting dark, quick, let’s find some.”

Father, do you even know what your son likes to eat? Jiang Baiye thought. Yet he searched harder than anyone, and when they picked up the masters later, he held a bunch of candied hawthorns, grinning like a fool.

The masters exchanged looks. Is this really the man who’ll run a grand workshop and innovate apothecary methods?

Not contempt—just pure disbelief.

Still smiling brightly, Jiang Baiye climbed into the cart.

Not far away, Jiang Yueming, once again leaving Yongyuan Bookshop empty-handed, narrowed his eyes. This time, he would not mistake it.

“Hmph. Let’s see how long you can stay proud.” From Wang Yujiao, he’d learned of the Jiang family’s recent prosperity. His jealousy swelled again.

Fortunately, Tales of Romance (Part II) would soon release. At least he could comfort himself with that.

Though the county exam loomed, reason urging him to study, every day he longed for Lord Qingyuan’s next book, rereading the old one dozens of times without weariness, always finding fresh insight.

A wondrous man indeed. To meet him once would make this life complete.

By nightfall, Jiang Baiye delivered the masters to the workshop. Ding Yue, who had already been staying there with his bundle for days, was eager to share what he’d practiced with common herbs.

“I’ll come tomorrow morning to teach you how to use some things,” Jiang Baiye promised.

But once home, he couldn’t resist opening the manuscript. He read through the night without stopping.

The next morning, Xiao Hong crowed proudly on the wall between the two houses, waking both Jiang Baiye and Lu Lizhi at once.

Lu Lizhi prepared to review his studies—only for a knock at the gate to stir ripples in his calm heart. He quickly smoothed them away, cold-faced as he opened the door.

He hadn’t even unfolded the prepared paper that said “Please don’t disturb me in the future” when bright red candied hawthorns filled his vision.

“They melted a little. I got back late last night, saw your light was out, so I didn’t disturb you. What are you holding?” Jiang Baiye noticed the paper.

Lu Lizhi quickly crumpled it, shook his head, and took the hawthorns, even glancing worriedly at the dark circles under Jiang Baiye’s eyes.

Jiang Baiye didn’t answer, but after walking a few steps, suddenly turned back with a grin. “From now on, don’t call me Jiang Baiye.”

Lu Lizhi frowned, baffled by this out-of-the-blue remark.

“Call me Qi Jiu. Qi Jiu. Long… lasting.” Jiang Baiye’s smile brimmed with meaning. He left, tossing back words that left Lu Lizhi completely unsettled.

The candied hawthorn slipped from Lu Lizhi’s hand to the ground, unnoticed. His mind was full of—he read it. He knows. He said he is Qi Jiu. Long… lasting.

At the workshop, the masters had bathed and dressed neatly, tea set out, ready to bow and take him as master. Jiang Baiye nearly jumped out of his skin.

“You’re helping my family’s workshop. This is what I should do. If you work wholeheartedly, keep our secrets safe, and the workshop thrives, you’ll surely share the profits!”

But his mercantile tone didn’t move them.

“Why talk of money? If more and better medicines can be made, what’s silver to us old fellows? What matters is the poor who can’t afford treatment. If this helps them, even a little, that is enough.”

Jiang Baiye felt suddenly shallow. “I, too, wish to help as many as I can. But the methods of processing truly can’t be spread indiscriminately. Otherwise, it may not be the poor who benefit.”

He respected men with hearts for the people, but he opposed empty self-sacrifice.

The masters glared, beards bristling. “Do you think we don’t know that? In the wrong hands, such techniques could harm, not help.”

Old Master Qian shook his head, heavy with meaning.

Just like the heated beds Jiang Baiye had once described—technology had to be in the right hands to benefit the suffering. In the wrong hands, it became disaster.

Jiang Baiye relaxed. “Then we are aligned. Rest assured, as long as my workshop thrives, the common folk will benefit in some way.”

At the very least, if he harvested and processed Zhuwei Grass, it could already help many.

He cupped his hands, bowing. “From here on, I entrust myself to you. Please guide and lead Jichun Apothecary to grow strong!”

In that moment, all five masters felt their hearts surge. Hope filled the workshop.

They could not yet know just how great Jichun Apothecary would one day become.

Author’s Note:
Speaking of medicine, I can’t help but think of the film Dying to Survive. It’s moving—so many even today still can’t afford lifesaving medicine.

Footnotes:
[¹] Mortise-and-tenon (榫卯) craftsmanship: a traditional Chinese woodworking technique that joins pieces of wood without nails or screws, highly durable.
[²] Clear the heart and drain fire (清心瀉火): a traditional Chinese medicine concept, meaning to reduce inner heat or agitation, often prescribed with herbs like lotus plumule or coptis to calm restlessness.
[³] Lord Qingyuan (清远君): Lu Lizhi’s pseudonym or literary title, under which he publishes his stories. It carries a refined, lofty tone.