HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C68

Chapter 68: Another Fortune Earned, Land and Shops to be Bought

Within the carriage, a man robed in snow-white bent over his desk, sketching upon a booklet. His brows and eyes were as cold and clear as the moon, yet beneath the glow of the warm lamp, a rare gentleness softened his features.

The moment Jiang Baiye climbed into the carriage, the chill clinging to his body melted away, replaced by ease and delight.

The carriage was vast, newly purchased at his special insistence. The old one had been left at the workshop to haul goods; this one was solely for passengers. It required a pair of horses to draw it, furnished within with a small couch for rest, padded with soft cloth, a long desk set with a simple yet elegant tea service.

Beneath the couch were several drawers, filled with books and confections—all prepared for the gentleman at his side.

That Lu Lizhi might travel in comfort, Jiang Baiye had spared no thought nor effort, designing this conveyance into a veritable moving residence.

Yet it was but a temporary refuge. When they came upon a suitable town, Baiye would see that Lizhi lodged in an inn, for the wilderness was harsh and squalid. Worse, discontent among the labourers sometimes led to riots and violence.

Anxious for his safety, Baiye had engaged men to guard him, never daring to stray far. Yet not long ago, when strife had broken out over the division of food, it was Lizhi who stepped forth and quelled the tumult with ease.

He had even offered counsel—how to soothe men’s hearts, how to accord with the people’s temper. Already the bearing of a future statesman shone from him. Often, when the officers themselves could not decide, they sought his judgment. His standing here was no whit lower than Baiye’s own.

Thus the two, from different sides, worked in harmony, praised wherever they went.

“Will this not delay you too much?” Baiye nibbled two cakes, peering at him. “You have scarce stepped into the academy this past month.”

In truth, he had not been there at all, merely enrolled his name before Baiye spirited him away.

Lizhi bent low over his paper, sketching swiftly, paying him no heed. He had no notion what Baiye was so smug about.

Nor did he know that within that academy were several whom Baiye deemed rivals in love. Yet Baiye could not forever keep him hidden.

“How goes the drawing?”

This—this was the greatest weapon Baiye had spoken of for the building of the flood channel.

Lizhi pushed the half-finished drawing toward him. The page was covered in fine, precise lines and annotations; every measurement carefully noted.

These construction diagrams Baiye had taught him to draw. He learned at a glance, grasped at a touch, even producing on occasion perspective sketches of startling clarity.

Thus whatever Baiye envisioned was made plain upon the page, sparing him endless explanation and translation through Engineer Liu and Sanzi, who struggled to render his notions into local terms.

“Lizhi, you are indeed my good fortune!” Baiye embraced him, kissing his cheek. “We two are far the better matched. Every time I explain to Liu and the others, Sanzi swears he understands each word, yet strung together they make no sense at all.”

Lizhi sipped his tea, recalling Baiye’s description of their puzzled faces, question marks hovering above their heads, and smiled despite himself.

“They had not, at first, regarded the channel as aught but a ditch, to be dug by brute force. ‘Is it not but to dig a trench to drain the water?’ thought they.”

“But with design, much labour and material may be spared. Look—here, instead of detouring scores of li, one may blast through the hill and channel the water straight into this barren land. Backed by the mountains, lacking water, it shall become fertile ground, a place of habitation.”

He leaned closer, eyes bright. “What if we bought this tract? No one yet values it; it must be cheap. We might build an estate. With water, we could plant lotus and rear fish. Imagine—endless blossoms, boats drifting upon the lake. The roots for food, the seeds for medicine, the leaves for porridge. I shall make you lotus-leaf rice parcels, sweet lotus-root starch…”

Lizhi was caught by the vision; this man was ever contriving new wonders.

So talking, hunger overtook them. They cleared the dish of osmanthus cakes and water-chestnut pastries.

At that moment a boy hurried up with dishes of meat and vegetables sent post-haste.

They alighted, came to a murmuring brook, and began to prepare their meal. Already some had fetched a great iron pot and set up a fire.

Ah—it was the usual band come to cadge supper.

“Heh, we are here to lend a hand,” several men scratched their heads, sheepish yet thick-skinned.

Since Baiye and Lizhi had joined them, all labour had grown easier. With a rare midday rest, what could they think of but his cooking?

Baiye was generous. How else had he so many friends? And friends, when numerous, eased all future dealings.

With their help the cooking was soon apace. Into the great iron pot he cast two fowls chopped in pieces, a slab of pork fat, garlic, leeks, dried red peppers, and water.

Meanwhile Lizhi kneaded dough. Baiye rolled it into strips, pressed them flat, and stuck them around the pot’s rim, half submerged in the bubbling broth.

The fragrance of braised chicken rose rich and heavy, steam thick with spice. Those tending the fire swallowed convulsively.

“Brother Jiang, what delicacy is this?”

“Earth-pot chicken. I shall bake enough cakes for all to taste.”

“Nay, nay,” one said, face burning. “Give me only broth; I shall dip my bun. That is more than enough!”

Baiye laughed, plastering the cakes thick around the pot. Where others boiled gruel, he conjured dishes fit for a tavern feast.

In two smaller pots, one held rice, the other stir-fries—braised pork with potatoes, carrots with egg, fungus, and pepper, and cabbage sweetened with sugar, Lizhi’s favourite.

Within the rice steamed his homemade sausages, savoury with a hint of wine, perfect with plain grain.

Had Qin Chunquan beheld this scene, he would have sunk into deeper despair.

As ever, Baiye first set aside portions for the overseers of the works. Though they had their own cooks, they lit up at his dishes, awaiting them as if for festival.

“This day’s meal may at last begin! We were waiting on him.”

Their cook glowered—had they not sworn never to touch strange food? Yet now they ate with greater relish than ever.

Baiye himself ate heartily. Yet he would not have Lizhi share a meal with rough, mud-stained men. For him he carefully picked out every sprig of scallion, every clove of garlic, even the chicken skin, setting before him only the tenderest. Cabbage leaves for Lizhi, stalks for himself.

But under so many eyes he could not make it too plain.

Those eyes thought otherwise. Not too plain? They had seen enough.

Once they had thought Baiye’s love one-sided; who could imagine so luminous a gentleman as Master Lu reciprocating? Yet they saw with their own eyes—feeding him, even taking a grain of rice from his lips.

It was natural, unstudied, like an old married couple. Yet in their glances was a heat that made the watchers’ skin prickle.

“This…” They were dumbstruck. In past times, poor men had sworn brotherhood for life; nobles had kept favourites for sport. But now, before them, two men, equals, were together.

And strangely, it seemed not odd, but fitting. Both were extraordinary. Together, they seemed destined, heaven-matched.

“Heh, give me a Master Lu, and I too would not refuse.”

“In your dreams! Our Brother Ye would flatten you first.”

That afternoon, Baiye presented the half-finished plans. “Here, we shall blast through, set bends to slow the flood’s force. Build the diversion dam here, split part of the waters to aid the parched lands of Chongzhou. Thus irrigation is solved.”

The overseers nodded, gave orders. Thousands of labourers swarmed over the slopes, digging, building, the plans copied and distributed.

Engineer Liu waved his set of drawings. “These stepped slopes! I should never have thought of it. Yet they will clear silt with ease. And this—centrifugal whirlpools to fling out the sand!”

The men shook their heads, half comprehending, half not. But they trusted him, and in practice found his theories sound. Experience and reason together bore fruit.

Three days later, half a mountain was blasted, a wide channel carved. Baiye gazed upon the plain beyond, already scheming to buy the land, to plant, to prosper.

Others thought only of supper.

And fortune, when sought, soon arrived. Letters from the capital and Xuānhe piled upon him like snow.

Climbing into the carriage, he shared the tidings with Lizhi. “The noble’s malady is nearly cured. Guess what Huichun was rewarded?”

Lizhi reclined upon the couch with a book. In leisure he wrote his tales—not only Wen Fengliu, but new short pieces. He knew Baiye would continue without answer.

Baiye rattled off the list. “Gold, five thousand taels. Silver, five thousand. Jewels worth a thousand. A hundred bolts of brocade. Master He says two shares are mine.”

Lizhi calculated silently. A thousand in gold, a thousand in silver, jewels worth two hundred, twenty bolts of silk.

“But he was most generous. I cannot be churlish. After all, Huichun bore the burden, while I gave but a formula, a few suggestions. The greater merit is theirs. Yet—they granted me a share of the profits besides.”

Lu Lizhi thought that with all his talk, he surely intended to refuse.

Yet the man declared, beaming with delight, “Then I shall claim a mere tenth!” And with that, he cheerfully penned his reply, even adding that he wished first pick of the silks and brocades.

He wished to fashion many garments for Lizhi—winter was nearly upon them, after all, and would it not be fitting to prepare warm robes, fine cloaks, and handsome mantles?

For his father and mother too: now that fortune smiled upon them, they must also be clad in attire of dignity.

“And let them use this sum to look into shops and residences for me,” he continued, “especially in the capital. Such a fine place must be seized early, and if we buy much, in time the rents alone will yield us a handsome income.”

Lizhi wondered in silence: would the money suffice?

But Jiang Baiye reassured him, “Huichun Hall has now been established in the capital. Its future will surely be bright. My half-share of the profits shall be more than enough.”

Old Master He was indeed a man of honor. At first he had given Baiye five thousand taels, and later even half a share of profits. Yet, Baiye reflected, had the He family and Huichun not prospered, had they not proven themselves worthy, he would not have lent them his hand. Who opened the branch in the capital was by no means certain.

Thus he deemed their partnership one of mutual benefit—no party cheated, no cause for resentment. For when accounts are measured too finely, even brothers may fall to quarrel.

Turning to the next letter, Baiye fell suddenly silent. It bore tidings that the noble patient was near recovery, and that His Majesty would soon grant them a boon of their choosing.

The He family felt the weight of such a gift, uncertain if it were blessing or snare. To raise a request rashly might incur imperial displeasure. After much deliberation, they resolved to yield the choice to Jiang Baiye, declaring it his rightful due.

The He family, perhaps overcautious, yet in such caution lay the comfort of trust.

Baiye, however, did not hesitate in the least. He wrote back at once: the request was that the renowned physician of Shanyi Hall be commanded to treat an illness.

He wished to cure Lizhi’s muteness. That was, above all, his deepest desire.

Huichun alone could never secure this—for they and Shanyi were bitterly opposed.

Sensing his silence, Lizhi raised his eyes keenly. Baiye only smiled. “Doctor Hu will not be coming forth again. Were it not for Huichun, he might yet have had a chance. Now, with his master likewise fallen, their usefulness is spent.” He chuckled darkly. “But they should rejoice—after all, to be moved from that wretched gaol in Xuānhe to the Heavenly Prison is an elevation of some grandeur.”

Lizhi: “…”

Other letters bore reports from He Lin’s elder brother, He Jun—matters of the workshop, how difficulties were solved, what medicines were produced, even who had taken leave and for how many days.

Baiye: “…” For the first time, he sympathized with the emperors of history, poring through the night over endless memorials, half of them filled with trifles.

Thereafter, he waited for news that Huichun had fully restored the noble in the palace, and that the physician he sought would soon arrive.

He longed that Lizhi might be healed before his entrance to the prefectural academy, and spared some measure of hardship.

Meanwhile, his own contributions to the flood channel were faithfully recorded and carried upward. Without his daily banquets for the officials, they might easily have seized every credit for themselves—for he was but a commoner.

Yet now the name of Jiang Baiye spread higher and higher, until he was no longer but a craftsman skilled in hydraulics, but a marvel of the people—possessed of ingenious art, master of the mathematical arts.

His feelings were mixed indeed.

As the stars wheeled and the works spread across many prefectures, Baiye and his fellows led from the front with their designs, while thousands toiled behind, building as directed.

By the eleventh month, he was near spent. Yet the plans were all but complete. He handed them to Engineer Liu and prepared to depart at once.

For word had come that the physician—who in the tale had cured Lizhi—had now been summoned from the capital to Xuānhe.

Lizhi could feel Baiye’s suppressed excitement, though he did not yet know why. Weary from his reading, he lay down by habit upon Baiye’s lap.

“I am filthy,” Baiye murmured, shrinking away, glancing at Lizhi’s immaculate white robes. He had not bathed for three days; his body was caked with mud.

But Lizhi insisted, resting upon him still.

They had not met in three days. Though the drawings had been finished earlier, Baiye had lingered half a month more to remain with him.

In that half-month, driven by haste, Baiye had scarcely visited the carriage, had not even shared a meal with him, sending messages by others.

Had he not known of Baiye’s devotion to the works, Lizhi might have thought he kept a new companion elsewhere.

When he went to see with whom Baiye kept company, he found him more anxious than any, hurrying him away, lest his spotless steps be sullied by mud.

Lizhi recalled the winks and nods of the men. Surely none dared intrude between them.

Baiye, seeing his pensive brow, brushed it smooth with his hand. “What are you thinking?”

The touch reassured him; he nuzzled into Baiye’s palm.

Baiye: “…” His heart all but burst.

Before he could master his joy, Lizhi pressed into his arms, clinging, heedless of dirt.

Moments before he had been so reserved. Baiye’s eyes darkened—he longed to defile him.

But Lizhi, steadying himself upon his chest, rose with grave dignity, as if all that tender intimacy had been but Baiye’s dream.

Driven half-mad, Baiye, who knew all too well his beloved’s little stratagems, seized him and bore him down.

“Lizhi, who taught you to tease me so?”

You, and you alone, Lizhi thought, savoring the petty vengeance for his neglect.

But then he caught himself. How had he come to resemble those heroines of idle tales, fretful and jealous?

The warmth of Baiye’s caress recalled him. Somewhere along the way, he had grown ever more hungry for his nearness.

“Wife…” Baiye’s lips brushed him, breath hot. “I long to hear you call me husband.”

Would he not, in that moment, claim him outright?

Lizhi lowered his lashes. Was he despised for his silence?

They had no time even for a kiss before Baiye was called away. He had learnt much of hydraulics now, and with his other knowledge could resolve most matters.

When he was gone, Lizhi brooded upon his muteness. It had ever been his father’s sorrow. How could he not wish to be as other men?

But such wishes were naught but dreams. He smiled bitterly, lifting the curtain. A chill wind struck his face.

Winter had come.

He wondered how matters fared in Xuānhe. Baiye had spoken of buying houses and shops in the capital, but Lizhi cared little for such things. What he longed for was the house Baiye had promised in the prefectural city—a home of their own.

He considered his tales and storybooks. Might he use his share of earnings to purchase a fine residence with him? Baiye would never be content with the ordinary.

That night, Baiye returned, weary but radiant, climbing softly into the carriage.

Lizhi roused drowsily, and when Baiye gathered him close, he found his beloved’s body hot as a furnace, not cold with the night air.

Baiye was startled. “Lizhi, you lack fire. You have slept half the day, yet the bed is chill.”

Lizhi: “…” In summer he is scolded for being too warm, in winter for too cold. What next—ascend to heaven itself?

“Tomorrow we return. Then, I have a surprise for you.”

Baiye could not contain his excitement, blurting the secret lest another steal the telling.

Lizhi sighed inwardly. Another surprise? Heaven forbid he had already bought the house. He longed to join him in such a purchase. First, he must settle accounts with Steward Ning in the prefectural city, to see if he might gather enough silver.

Thus the night passed, each of them full of hope.

Meanwhile, in the capital, unease seized the men of Shanyi Hall. The noble’s illness was indeed cured; Doctor Hu’s worth was ended, and he would not emerge again.

Worse, another of their famed physicians had been borrowed outright by Huichun Hall. Cloaked as an exchange of medicine, even sanctioned by the Emperor himself, they had no power to refuse.

Shanyi Hall had never known such peril, nor such affront.

“I shall not let Huichun prosper, nor Jichun either,” vowed Qin Chunquan. “Shall we set our plan in motion?”

“Not yet,” replied the Grand Master calmly. “We shall watch and wait. To lose composure over trifling gnats would be unworthy of Shanyi’s name.”