HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C61

Chapter 61: Seizing Fortune, Fashioning a Token of Devotion

“You truly laid hands upon him,” Cheng Ping remarked in mingled astonishment and awe. “Well knowing he has patrons behind him, yet still you dared to offend him so utterly.”

Behind them, Doctor Hu was dragged away like a dying cur, his body broken, his breath shallow—pitiful beyond words.

“In any case, whether I offended him or not, his fate was already thus. And I spent no small amount of silver for the privilege. Were it not for your aid, Brother Cheng, I should never have had such an opportunity for vengeance.” Jiang Baiye let out a long sigh. The suffocating helplessness pent up within his chest had dissipated at last, replaced with a heady sense of release.

It was blissful, through and through.

“Hah! As for this matter, we would never dare to claim credit…” Cheng Ping gave a low chuckle. “After all, it was the tacit consent—even the deliberate push—of the highest seated figure within the yamen. Should Doctor Hu have been spirited away, it would have been a blow to that man’s face, and perhaps even earned him censure. Better, then, to seize the moment and give him a thorough chastening.”

“Indeed. But I must say, to make an enemy of you is no small peril.” Though Cheng Ping sighed, the admiration in his gaze deepened. “You, lad—there is steel in you. You suit my taste well!”

“I thank you kindly for your regard, but I already have a beloved.”

“…What nonsense?”

“A wife—no, a husband,” Jiang Baiye replied with a grin.

“???” Cheng Ping turned in disbelief to Yuan Erhu. “Are my ears playing tricks on me?”

“My ears seem to be failing me as well,” Yuan muttered, even pretending to dig at them.

The other two men looked equally shaken, expressions tangled with shock. “It seems our ears are perfectly sound after all.”

“Heavens… does he mean to say—‘husband’? A man? A man!”

Jiang Baiye merely waved a hand, smiling with delight. “I shall treat you all to the finest wine another day.”

“Wait, wait! We have long wished to hear the storytelling at Hanmo Pavilion. Could you perhaps secure seats for us? We shall pool our coin!” They could not explain why, but they felt instinctively he might manage it, and could not restrain themselves from asking.

These days, they had done him no small service, whispering poison into Jiang Yueming’s ear until the man seemed neither ghost nor human.

“Hanmo Pavilion, is it?” Jiang Baiye mused.

“Forget it—it is too much to ask…” They knew well how impossible it was, and were about to withdraw the request.

But Jiang Baiye only smiled with greater pride. “That is simple enough. I shall secure for you the best of seats!”

“Eh?” Before they could press further, Jiang Baiye leapt into his carriage. “Wait for my good news.”

“This fellow—his boasting reaches the heavens,” Cheng Ping said with a laugh, yet expectation flickered in his eyes.

Of late, the new tales told by Master Yi had swept the prefectural city like wildfire. Men such as they, who loved hearing of the rivers and lakes, were tortured by longing; but no matter how they clawed, they could not squeeze through the doors of Hanmo Pavilion.

Within the prison, Jiang Baiye swept his sleeves and departed. Jiang Yueming, however, was far from the calm he outwardly displayed.

In truth, he was not calm at all—he was stunned into silence.

“To think, had you merely rotted here a few years, you might still have left alive. Yet now they mean to make you the scapegoat. I almost pity you—you still imagine them your saviors…”

“With the smallest thought, you should know—if Doctor Hu is to be freed, what must they contrive to pass him off, without leaving a trace of evidence? Resistance? They would sooner stage your suicide from shame. You would never even have the chance to struggle.”

Every word was like a blade in Jiang Yueming’s heart. Desperate for rescue, he forgot old grievances and spilled everything in a rush.

In the carriage, Jiang Baiye sat within rather than driving, his fingers tapping idly.

The matter of conscription for corvée was not the prefect’s to oversee. With the prefect occupied by the academy examinations, the burden had fallen to Vice Prefect Chen. It was likely that the men of the Benevolent Hall had already greased every palm required.

“So, they forbid commutation by silver…”

In his former life, it had been much the same. Unless one possessed vast sums—no less than twenty taels per head—it was impossible. And even then, officials often abused their power, raising the price on a whim, or else dragging people off by force.

Many sought to flee; those caught were punished most cruelly, even executed before the crowd as a warning.

Commutation by silver meant paying others to serve in one’s stead, but heads must still be counted. And this flood-diversion canal was no small work—last life, over a hundred thousand conscripts had been summoned; half perished. None wished to go. Thus, in truth, it was impossible.

This wretch Jiang Yueming had allowed Qin Chunquan to extort them—either to strip Qing Shui Village of all its wealth, especially the prosperous workshop Jiang Baiye now ran, squeezing the “rich households” for even greater tax…

Or else to send them all to dig canals and dam floods, leaving ample chance to murder him along the way.

“How fanciful.” Jiang Baiye could not help but laugh. He was no longer a man with nothing, to be toyed with at will.

And so, knowing their plot, he waited calmly for their move.

Just then, the carriage halted before the finest jade emporium. Jiang Baiye touched the five-hundred-tael note tucked at his chest and cleared his throat.

This, earned from another round of selling tremella fungus, still echoed with Doctor Meng’s condemning gaze—as though to say, You should be practicing medicine, not peddling trifles.

Yet the lure of swift coin was irresistible. Ofttimes he even dreamt of abandoning all else, selling his prescriptions, and whiling away his days in his beloved’s arms.

But dreams of his father chasing him with a broom soon banished such thoughts.

Meanwhile, his parents fretted endlessly that he would prove worthless, that his bride would take flight.

So Jiang Baiye too felt uneasy. These days, while refraining from disturbing Lizhi during his studies, he had hurled himself into tasks with remarkable efficiency.

Had Lizhi thought of him amidst his books?

He entered the jade house, dressed finely enough to avoid disdain. Mistaking him for a man of standing, they brought forth their most exquisite wares.

Discs, rings, pendants, crescents—each form displayed in turn. None pleased him.

Too vulgar, or poor in color, or flawed.

“Honored guest, without grain there is no jade. See these bird and beast patterns—are they not fine? This carving—no one but our Hongyi Pavilion could produce such!”

The workmanship was indeed good. Yet nothing leapt to his eye as the perfect token of betrothal.

What he sought was something that, at first glance, shone with fate itself. Jade of affinity, perhaps even spirit, that might bless their bond with endurance.

Once, Jiang Baiye had scoffed at such “superstition.” Now, he cared.

This city’s best jade shop had many elegant ornaments, well-suited to Lizhi. Those, he could buy another time.

For now, with funds limited, he longed for the perfect piece to gift when Lizhi triumphed in the examinations.

Having found none, he turned to leave.

“Make way, make way!” A youth staggered in, burden across his shoulders.

The shopkeeper, enraged, cuffed him. “You fool! Were you not told to use the back door?”

“The back door was closed, no one there,” the boy stammered, nearly toppling, the load sliding.

“Then you should have asked!” The scolding went on, while unnoticed, several stones tumbled from the baskets.

One rolled to rest at Jiang Baiye’s feet, blocking his path.

His eyes lit.

He stooped and lifted it—a rough jadeite boulder, nearly twenty centimeters across.

“Shopkeeper, what price for this?”

“You want that?” The man looked askance. “It is useless. We sell artistry, not rocks. Without carving, it is but a lump. Buy it, and what use have you?”

Hoping to drive him toward finished goods, he revealed the flaw. Jiang Baiye seized upon it. “So, the cost lies chiefly in workmanship?”

“Of course!” the man said proudly.

“Then the material is not dear?”

The shopkeeper glared, yet indeed their stones came from the mines, untested. Few masters could read their hearts. Two such were at work even now, cutting in the back.

No one bought raw stones. Fifty taels would suffice.

Still wary, the shopkeeper summoned the two masters to judge it, lest they let treasure slip away.

They turned it over, baffled, and found nothing. “Why this one?” they asked.

“It chose me,” Jiang Baiye said simply.

He knew little of jade, save that jadeite was among the most prized, alongside Hetian. But even jadeite varied in quality.

At length, Hongyi Pavilion sold it to him for fifty taels.

He bought two more besides, and bargained for a set of carving tools, spending two hundred taels in all—well within his five-hundred-tael purse.

Three stones, enough for much work, if only his skill proved equal.

“May I craft something worthy…”

With three days before Lizhi’s results, Jiang Baiye commandeered a He family courtyard, and day and night he labored.

He Lun, yawning at dawn, found him lantern-lit, chiseling through the night.

“You are mad—how long will this take?”

“Even an iron rod may be ground to a needle. Why not stone?” Jiang Baiye, with great strength, had already gleaned some knowledge from the masters. With simple tools, the work was not so arduous.

In a single night, he had stripped the stones of their skins. And from one—green shone forth, bright and fine.

“By heaven, such color! You paid fifty taels—it might fetch a thousand!” He Lun gasped.

“Two thousand, perhaps,” Baiye smiled. But sell it? Never. This was fate, meant for him and Lizhi.

“Lizhi, Lizhi… it seems you and I are bound for three lives, three worlds.”

He planned to fashion from it pendants, fan pendants, thumb rings, seals, hairpins—thumb rings in pairs, as lovers’ rings.

The other stones were lesser, good for practice.

And so, in days that followed, He Lun saw him lost to obsession, scarcely pausing to eat.

“Madness… he must be in love,” He Lun whispered, curious—who could inspire such fervor?

Meanwhile, on the day of the second examination, Lu Lizhi discovered Jiang Baiye had not come to see him off.

He felt no disappointment—only the regret of “a bond not yet openly named.” Though slanders still shadowed his heart, he feared more that Baiye might be dragged down by him.

Better to remain discreet, unseen by idle eyes. Baiye had never pressed, but silently supported.

It felt like being a cherished treasure, hidden away.

Lizhi resolved to treat him all the better.

Before entering, he glanced back—only to see He-shi and Jiang Dazhu waving. He smiled faintly. This time, too, he would not let them down.

Turning forward, he met the gaze of Lu Qinghong. And smiled as he walked past.

No longer was he the withdrawn, restrained youth.

It was provocation—bold, naked provocation! Qinghong’s fists clenched.

Every Mingli candidate strained for their best. If they faltered, they must return to obscurity; if they rose, they would ascend to the Lu family’s higher academies.

Those halls, where great masters lectured, where countless juren and jinshi were made—even zhuangyuan had taught there. Who would not yearn for such a path?

Their networks were the quickest road to mentorship, to future success.

Thus even the provincial examiner Tai Song, so lofty as to rival a modern minister, grew earnest.

The first round he had not marked, but the rankings were his decision. And this number Eighty-three—his essay had struck like lightning.

Each phrase hit true; he had near lost his dignity as imperial inspector, pounding the table in delight.

If this was but a short piece—what of a full essay?

Such genius, in such a small prefecture!

He longed to step down, to look upon Number Eighty-three with his own eyes.

But he calmed himself. One essay proved nothing. Many shone once, then faltered.

Still, his mind was tangled—did he wish the youth to shine, or to prove his own caution right?

Then, ere the allotted time, as others still scratched with fevered pens, a figure in white rose.

Others wore the same garb; yet he alone seemed different.

Tai Song, seeing clearly, near mistook him for an old friend—yet younger, more extraordinary.

The youth bowed, silent, offering his scroll.

“You…” The examiner almost asked why he spoke not—then remembered.

Mute. Lu Lizhi. Slandered before the throne. Said to indulge in forbidden affections.

But as he gazed—such poise, such distant grace. No flattery, no fawning.

Calumny. Utter calumny!

A man of such bearing—how could he be the one to harbor shameful tastes? If anything, such would be inclined toward him!

Jealous tongues, no doubt. Tai Song felt a pang of envy himself, recalling his own plain looks, which had near cost him the title of zhuangyuan…

At last, he accepted the scroll.

Lizhi left with the guards, not yet free, but seated aside.

He did not know—his calm departure had shocked the hall.

“Heavens, I’ve only written half!”

“Do not panic—wait, where was I?”

Soon, others followed. Lu Qinghong, ever cautious, waited till the end.

There he saw Lizhi, standing first.

The drums beat—the exam was done. The gates opened. Lizhi strode out, confidence and grace personified.

Qinghong stared, lost.

Yu Zhijie too was dazed. That back—how fine it looked.

Even as men, they could not deny it. How many maidens would fall?

Lizhi knew nothing of this. He only knew—once again, Jiang Baiye had not appeared.

Had he hurried so to finish, hoping to see him?

Both were restraining themselves; both longed.

But still—he did not come.

“Too cautious,” Lizhi thought, fingers curling. Then worry—was something amiss? The Benevolent Hall’s master clearly bore him ill will.

Jiang Dazhu approached. “Chang Sui was called away, but we have come to fetch you. Will you remain here until the results, or return home?”

Lizhi chose to stay. Not for the result’s sake, but for the friends he had made, and the greetings owed to Ning the shopkeeper and Master Yi.

Thanks to Baiye, he was stepping beyond the bars of his own cage, into the world.

It was not unpleasant. But still, two days passed, and Baiye did not come.

At last, the results day arrived, and Lizhi was again drawn to the board.

Yu Zhijie lay in wait. The sting of that stomp had festered for days—now, at last, his chance!

He wore shoes hard as iron, eager to crush him in return.

In the press, chaos reigned. Despite Ding Lihui’s vigilance, he was knocked sprawling.

“Ah!”

The crowd surged; a trampling loomed. Lizhi turned, intent only to lift him.

A foot swept toward him—aiming to grind him down.

Lizhi’s eyes chilled, recognizing malice. Yet he ignored it, intent on saving his friend.

He braced for pain.

But then—the world hushed.

A broad, strong frame pressed against his back, shielding him. And with one merciless kick, sent the attacker flying into the mob.

“Ahhh!”

Cries and screams erupted. The conspirators tumbled together in a heap, unable to rise.