HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C56

Chapter 56: Secretly Keeping Herbs, Corvée Labor Begins

“Chunquan!” Doctor Hu, who had been in a daze, suddenly lunged forward, shackled with heavy irons. “Why have you only just come? I’ve waited so long!”

These past days, he had nearly gone mad, his entire being steeped in hatred, exuding such a stifling aura of resentment that he wished to burn everyone into ashes!

Qin Chunquan, standing on someone else’s turf, naturally could not slander Prefect Yan, so he merely lowered his voice. “Uncle Hu, rest assured. Arrangements have nearly been made. Soon you’ll be out.”

“Heh, heh… I want that brat—”

“Uncle Hu, mind your words!” Qin hurriedly covered his mouth, though he could not help a pang of emotion.

This haggard, stubble-covered prisoner, hair streaked with white—was this really the same Hu Yaowei who once rampaged through the capital?

Something seemed amiss. Even if the He family had intervened, they were merely a moderately large clan here, and that Jiang fellow had no influence at all.

How had Prefect Yan gone so far?

To have Hu beaten and locked up was one thing. But this—this state showed he had suffered plenty within the prison as well!

“How much longer must I wait?” Hu Yaowei clutched at him in near despair. “I can’t endure this. I must leave this hell!”

He still could not fathom it. He had shared several meals with Prefect Yan, who had treated him with courtesy. His family had even called upon him for medical care. He had thought he understood the prefect’s temper—so how had he ended up like this?

Qin could not give him a definite answer. It depended on when that noble in the palace fell ill. When Master Hu’s teacher “collapsed,” then even if Doctor Hu were fighting on the frontier, he would be summoned back!

The visitation time was short. Qin Chunquan only hastily explained a few points before preparing to leave.

“Save me…” Not far off, Jiang Yueming strained his ears, listening desperately. Though he caught no words, he knew—this was his last chance!

“Save me! I can help you! I can help you! Please, save me…”

—

Meanwhile, Clear Water Village was unusually peaceful.

At Jichun Medical Workshop, dozens of helpers bustled about. With autumn, medicinal herbs were ripening in abundance. Ronghua and Fugui’s group brought them in batch after batch. No sooner had one load been processed and laid out to dry than another cartful arrived.

No wonder Shanyi Hall coveted Mount Daheng. At first, Ronghua and Fugui thought fields of herbs meant endless money. Now, they had grown numb.

Beside the workshop stretched a vast open ground. Racks and trays covered with herbs stood everywhere, yielding a sight of abundance, heavy with fragrance.

All these drying racks had been crafted by Jiang Dazhu. What began as casual handiwork had grown skilled. He had even sold many folding deck chairs, five taels each, earning several dozen taels already.

Traveling merchants passing through Xuanhe Prefecture noticed, sensing profit, and wanted to order in bulk for resale elsewhere.

The price wasn’t low either—four taels apiece. With finer timber, sold to nobility, the price could soar.

Baiye approved and let his father take the order. Now, while Dazhu built chairs, he experimented with new furniture as well. Sometimes Baiye himself selected precious wood for him to cut.

This time, Baiye had brought Lizhi to tour the workshop—both to see the labor and to hand him the thousand taels earned. “Keep it for me. I can’t control my spending.”

In truth, he had kept a little aside, intending to buy a token of betrothal. Lizhi had already given him a family heirloom jade pendant. Once the exams were over, he would present his gift in return.

And then, perhaps a night of tenderness… Just the thought set his blood ablaze.

With no book in hand, he lived off memories of that night at the inn—far more intoxicating than any tale.

Lizhi did not refuse. The man indeed spent recklessly. The clothes he bought him were proof enough. He always seized the chance to beg him into new garments, as if afraid his finery might languish in a chest.

If Lizhi did not manage the money, Baiye would only spend it all on him. Better to keep it, then return it later.

As he calmly folded the banknotes away, Ronghua and Fugui’s group exchanged knowing glances.

“Healed up yet?” Baiye asked. Immediately, they straightened. Injuries from Daheng had become routine. Thankfully, they were only scrapes, their hides thick, their training now enough to fight bears or outrun wolves.

“Nothing serious, just scratches. Thank you for asking, Master!” they boomed cheerfully.

“Next month, another ten taels each,” Baiye said. They plundered Mount Daheng so hard it was nearly bald. Working so diligently, risking their lives—his conscience would not let him pay less.

“N-no need! We already earn so much…”

From thirty taels at first to thirty-five now. Unthinkable before. When luck spared them danger, gathering herbs was light work.

Now, their pay far exceeded that of seasoned craftsmen. They felt guilty, so they worked harder.

So Baiye dropped the raise, but handed them ten taels apiece as reward.

Anhua felt uneasy, scratching his head, guilty as if caught. The reward in his hand burned like fire.

At last, he gritted his teeth, returned to their quarters, and drew out a bundle wrapped layer upon layer of cloth…

—

Baiye led Lizhi deeper inside. Some blanched herbs, some roasted, each room connected by wide corridors and small doors.

Masters like Ding Yue supervised the processes, often lending their own skilled hands with rare or difficult herbs.

Baiye carefully explained. Lizhi listened, fascinated. These were things he had never touched before—fruits of labor, now laid before him, shared. His fingers twitched—he wanted to hold his hand…

“Hey, look—it’s Scholar Lu!” a woman nudged her friend. “Don’t you think those two lads look strange together?”

“Strange? They’re just handsome! One in red, one in white—tall and sturdy. Which family’s daughter will be so lucky?”

“It sounds odd, but I think they suit each other. That gaze—tsk, tsk. Look, look, their eyes meet again…”

Had she known the term “sparks flying,” she would have used it perfectly.

“Master, these are today’s finished herbs. As you instructed, random samples.” Steward Ge brought a small basket of slices and roots.

Baiye inspected them carefully, found no fault, and ordered the work to continue.

But Lizhi sensed the faint tension under his relaxed air.

Baiye reassured him. “It’s nothing. With medicine, one can’t risk errors—patients’ lives are at stake.”

Lizhi lifted his hand, traced one character in his palm—

“Shan.”

Indeed. Shanyi Hall. Their second proprietor lingered here still, perhaps seeking to rescue Doctor Hu. If they tripped them up, all this labor might be wasted.

Baiye had to be vigilant. Sending him to study while Baiye guarded the workshop—that was how it must be.

Lizhi squeezed his hand, offering comfort. Too slow—he had to grow stronger, to protect him!

Yet, seeing the workshop thrive, herbs flowing in, buyers queuing, both men felt pleased.

Just then, Anhua came forward, stammering. “M-Master, I found this ginseng… there’s plenty there, so I… I wanted to keep one root…”

Baiye’s eyes flicked over it. “Call Anrong and the others here.”

Anhua panicked, legs weak as he went. He would be dismissed—if the Hes learned of it…

When the four arrived, he was drenched in cold sweat, the others trembling.

“You call this ginseng? Why keep it?” Baiye lifted the plump root, curious how the least likely of them had hidden anything.

Anhua dropped to his knees. “Forgive me, Master! I betrayed your trust… My second sister is with child. The midwife said the birth will be hard. If we have ginseng, mother and child may survive!

“I spent all my savings but could not buy any. Two days ago, when I dug herbs… I found a patch. I… I stole one root…”

Baiye now knew the patch he meant.

So many roots—and he had taken only one. A conscience, perhaps, not fully gone?

But the other three cursed him silently. Mount Daheng brimmed with riches. More than once, they too had been tempted to steal for food or coin, yet resisted.

And he had taken one already—wild mountain ginseng, priceless! One glance showed its worth. How dare he? Now the Master would suspect them too!

Baiye laughed faintly. “Be glad you repented and turned it in, instead of feeding it to your sister.”

They did not understand. He said coolly, “Else, you might have caused two deaths.”

“Ah!” Anhua collapsed in fright. “Wh-why?”

“This is no ginseng. It’s shanglu, a harsh purgative. Forbidden for pregnant women. Even real ginseng cannot be used lightly in childbirth—it may cause bleeding.”

He paused. “To mistake this for ginseng—were you tired of living?”

Anhua blanched, horrified at how close he had come to killing his sister and unborn nephew through folly and greed.

Baiye, seeing his panic sincere, guessed he truly faced hardship. But punishment was still due. He reclaimed the reward he had just given.

“As it’s your first offense, and you confessed, I won’t dismiss you. But never again.”

Anhua kowtowed in relief.

“If needed, consult Huichun Hall. Perhaps it is not as dire as you fear.” Using ginseng at birth was but a folk remedy. He said no more.

Then, turning to Lizhi, his cold face softened. “Come, are you hungry? Let’s eat.”

He had meant for this visit to ease Lizhi’s mind, not sour it. But just outside, they met Xuanzhi’s mother kneeling in the dust, kowtowing desperately.

“Master Jiang, have mercy! Don’t cast our Xuanzhi out! He’ll serve you twice as hard, bear any suffering—he cannot lose this work!”

By now, all the villagers saw it. To work here meant sudden fortune. In just two months, workers had made wealth, bringing meat home regularly.

Without it, what would become of Xuanzhi?

Baiye looked at her crippled form. She could not have come alone. His eyes turned to Fang Li. “See her home.”

Xuanzhi—he had thought him merely lustful. But to exploit even his crippled mother? Such venom deserved only to be cast out further.

—

That night, after supper, Lizhi began packing. Tomorrow, they would set out for the prefectural city.

The prefectural exam was the true first step of the imperial examinations. A child student was no real scholar. Only as a licentiate could one meet officials without kneeling, only then earn the recognition of peers and respect at large.

Not a step could be taken lightly.

Yet that evening, Village Chief Wang rushed back from town with grim news.

The corvée labor for the flood-control canal spanning several prefectures—was truly about to begin.

Before, everyone had thought it mere rumor, far-off, clinging to luck.

But now, it was real. Men would be taken.