HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C70

Chapter 70: Purchasing a Residence, Preparing Winter Garments

Swift as a falling star, scarce had Physician Pang seated himself in the only vacant place when he set forth a vivid display of what it means for “a tempest to sweep away the clouds.”

Each time He Lin reached forth his chopsticks, Pang’s hand proved the quicker, snatching away the dish so that He Lin was left with no chance to offer Lu Lizhi the smallest courtesy. He could do naught but seethe inwardly.

“Physician Pang, did you not dine but at noon?”

Indeed, they had earlier prepared a lavish repast to sate him, fearful that such a scene might arise. Yet now—not even two hours had passed!

“What I ate at noon concerns noon. What has that to do with now?” Pang replied in lofty tones, as though bent on crossing He Lin at every turn, devouring first the very dish his host desired.

Gnashing his teeth, He Lin carried his bowl with indignation to sit among the womenfolk. “Mother, I am hungry.”

“Tch.” Pang, never pausing in his feasting, yet found leisure to jeer at him. Any ordinary man would have flown into a rage, but He Lin endured, unwilling to quarrel with so curmudgeonly an elder.

Indeed, he could scarce keep from suspecting that this old fellow had once been a beggar, so ravenous did he seem, as though reborn from starvation.

Within less than half a quarter-hour, five dishes had vanished down his gullet. True, the He household prized refinement of color and presentation, not the heaping of portions.

Still Pang declared himself ill-content. “Too little, far too little! Scarcely enough to fill one belly!”

Lu Lizhi, astonished, realized that this man was no ordinary physician but a great eater besides. Yet at his first glance, Pang’s keen eyes caught him instantly, narrowing with appraisal.

Lizhi’s back grew taut. He Lin had called this stranger “Physician,” and here was one never before seen, yet treated with such honor in the He household that even the masters and eldest son yielded their place, letting him feast at leisure.

Recalling Jiang Baiye’s hidden excitement along their journey, and his promised “surprise,” Lizhi guessed the man’s identity at once.

“So, you are the one they would have me cure?” Pang’s voice rang like sudden thunder as he fixed Lizhi with his gaze.

All were taken aback. “We have spoken no word of any cure, have we?”

Pang snorted, declining to explain. They had welcomed the young men with such pomp, and he himself was famed for treating dumbness. It needed little wit to surmise.

Indeed, he had seen from Lizhi’s countenance alone the nature of his affliction.

“This one’s heart-fire burns too fiercely, the ministerial fire runs rampant—he needs no aid of mine.” Then, casting his eyes toward Jiang Baiye: “It must be the other.”

Heart-fire blazing—Jiang: “?” Had his neglect of medicine left his condition so plain that it might be discerned at a glance?

At least the physician spared him open humiliation, though his easy words betrayed the depth of his skill. Few indeed could diagnose by visage alone; even Huichun Hall’s famed Master Meng required a careful pulse. Shengyitang did indeed conceal true talent.

Baiye rose in haste. “Might Physician Pang examine my… friend?”

Before so many eyes, he softened his address. Lizhi’s heart grew strangely warm and chilled at once—moved by Baiye’s selfless concern, yet trembling with hope and fear alike. Could this illness truly be cured? Would treatment reveal more than he dared to show? Was this man to be trusted?

Whilst he wavered, Pang answered curtly, “No!” And seized a braised chicken leg, devouring it with relish ere he reached for a stewed pig’s trotter.

In the brief space of a glance or two, the table before him lay bare, and still he sipped wine as though in his own hall.

Baiye suddenly understood the temper of that aged official of the Waterworks—before one whose talent is essential, a man may forgive much insolence, as though gripped by the throat.

He Lin could endure no longer. “We spent His Majesty’s precious boon to entreat you, solely that you might heal one of great importance. Physician Pang, I beg you, do not defy the Imperial will. This is—”

“Then I cannot cure him.” The old man’s tone was stubborn, imperious.

Lizhi’s heart was shaken. Such a boon, granted by the Emperor himself, and Baiye had spent it upon him! That the He household agreed as well… he scarce knew what to feel.

Seeing Baiye’s anxious mien, Lizhi calmly pressed his hand, pushing toward him the dishes others had set before them. A silent urging—eat, before it grows cold.

Indeed, on the road they had fared poorly, often eating only to fill their bellies. Here, the He household’s fare was a revelation, distinct from Baiye’s cooking, yet no less delicious.

Baiye sat once more. To press too hard might prove unwise, especially when this man yet bore Shengyitang’s name. Still, one thing was clear: Physician Pang had true medical virtue; he was no mere accomplice of Shengyitang’s darker dealings.

Even Shengyitang treated him with trembling respect, lest he take offense and depart.

And as Lizhi and Baiye ate with composure, Pang’s own voracity began to falter. He noted with curiosity that the patient himself showed the greatest calm. How unlike those who clung to him as to a savior, ready to curse him should the cure fail.

He suspected they toyed with him, yet still he huffed and continued. But after a while, their serenity, their laughter, their very disregard, left the food on his tongue strangely tasteless.

Physician Pang: “…”

If the patient himself showed no urgency, how could the hosts clamor? Even the He household, though fretful, could only restrain themselves, hastening instead to salvage what dishes remained.

The household cooks were few; for delicacy’s sake they worked slowly. At noon they had sacrificed their own meal to feed Pang. Now, seeing him devour as though never sated, their hearts sank.

Yet the Hes bore it with grace. Not only did this man hold Lizhi’s fate, and so Baiye’s heart, but they themselves longed to draw Lizhi nearer.

Most of all, if they might coax Pang to their side—what fortune!

But the physician, long accustomed to flattery, gave their courtesy little weight.

Rather it was Lizhi’s restraint, his calm acceptance, that left him vaguely dissatisfied.

Lizhi had no wish to trouble others further. This was his burden to bear, not theirs. Their devotion he already treasured.

Baiye, keener of eye, saw the stout physician’s discomfiture, and laughed to himself. Ah, human nature—what is too easily won is cheap, but what is withheld is dear.

Better a man with flaws, than one so perfect as to brook no approach.

As the Hes maintained their courtesy, Baiye suddenly stretched forth and snatched the wine flask Pang had guarded by his side, as though idly.

“Cold night—best to take a cup to warm oneself.”

Pang glared, his beard bristling. Warmth! With such fiery humors, what warmth did he need!

He Lin exulted inwardly. As expected of Jiang Baiye—of Qijiu!

And he was not the only one to relish the sight.

Pang, though blustering, dared not show too much in another’s hall. He drew forth instead a lesser flask, holding it close as though to ward against theft.

All saw plainly—Physician Pang guarded his food and drink like a miser.

Old Master He, unwilling to offend, bade the servants bring forth several more flasks of the fine bamboo-leaf wine Baiye had seized.

“Well, well! So you had more hidden away!” Pang crowed, casting a sidelong glance at Baiye.

But Baiye paid him no mind, raising his cup with the rest to celebrate Huichun Hall’s triumph in the capital, the curing of the noble consort, the honors bestowed, and the success of their labors at the flood canal.

Thereafter, Pang’s appetite slowed, and at last all present ate their fill.

When the feast was done, Old Master He drew Baiye aside for private counsel. Naturally, Baiye pulled Lizhi with him, joined also by the second and third masters and the eldest son.

The womenfolk departed in groups, until only He Lin remained, grinning as he watched Physician Pang, for once, discomfited.

Physician Pang himself knew not why he should mind the reactions of those two. Truly, he had seen others who paid him no heed. Yet perchance, these days of being flattered within the He household had made him soft; thus, to encounter one who regarded him so lightly—

Heh. Novel indeed!

When they entered the He family’s council hall, Second Master He at once produced several deeds. “These are the properties you requested: three shops and three dwellings in all.”

In his letters, Jiang Baiye had made his desires clear: the houses need not be vast, but the location must be fine. Property in the capital was dear, and for the sake of locale, one must sacrifice size.

One dwelling was chosen by the tranquil shores of Jingxin Lake, where the view of water and mist broadened the spirit like a scene from fairy realms. The house bore a small courtyard, fit for planting flowers and vegetables—ideal for his parents’ comfort and retirement.

Another was set in the bustling marketplace, to serve as a place of respite amidst his labors.

The third, near the Imperial Academy, where scholars thronged and bookshops filled the lanes with fragrance of ink. This was the most coveted quarter; to secure it now was to prepare for the future.

Baiye had never set foot in the capital, yet by recalling descriptions from books, he pieced together the finest choices.

In modern terms: a holiday villa, a city-center dwelling, and a school-district home.

Later, should fortune permit, he might purchase more; but for now, these three would be his bulwark and his confidence.

“To sign a white deed is recognition among the people,” explained Second Master He, “but once you are in the capital, you must, with your tokens of identity and household registry, enter into red deeds at the yamen. Only then will the government acknowledge them.”

Baiye nodded in assent, and with joy received them.

The three shops, too, varied in size—some with courtyards and several rooms, some mere single façades. One he meant for his mother, not far from Jingxin Lake, that she might sell her embroidery, not for profit but for pleasure.

Another he set aside for his father. The last he had yet to determine, but for now, all three shops and houses would be let, earning rent until such time as they themselves moved to the capital.

That Second Master He could secure so much in so short a span bespoke great effort indeed.

Remembering the He family’s constant generosity, Baiye, full of gratitude, requested brush and paper, and wrote them a new prescription.

“This is a gift to you. Do not offer silver. It is a cure for a rare affliction, and may help Huichun Hall gain firm footing in the capital, so that even if Shengyitang should strike, we need not be caught unprepared.”

By adding such weight to the balance, Huichun Hall would not rely on Imperial favor alone. Others too would guard it, for they would need it, and there would be none other in all the realm who could provide such remedies.

The Hes were deeply moved, their eyes moist as they held the formula.

Every apothecary had its special strength: Master Sun’s plasters at Sun’s Pharmacy were unmatched; Shengyitang’s Physician Pang excelled in dumbness. Though most physicians treated broadly, each bore his mastery—and therein lay the unique character of every hall.

To cure rare diseases, however, was the sole province of one house. Here, Huichun Hall would reign unrivalled.

“This must not be without recompense!” cried Old Master He, waving for the steward.

“No need,” Baiye rose from his chair. “Do not forget, Huichun Hall grants me half a share in profit. Its prosperity is mine as well. Better—let us go see that batch of silks.”

He was near to bubbling with excitement.

The elder men exchanged looks—this fondness for matters of cloth and color was more oft the realm of women.

Lu Lizhi: “…” The wardrobe would scarcely hold more.

Of the hundred bolts of fine silk, most were for ladies’ wear. Baiye chose five for his mother: brocades of rain-thread, gold-woven patterns, fragrant satins, jade-bright silks—dignified, elegant, radiant, hearty—all suited her well.

For Lizhi, he chose ten, departing from the former austere style: camellia red, tea white, apricot yellow, deep black, dark blue. Subdued tones to fashion winter robes.

For himself, but three—forest green, gleaming black, and indigo, dyed from the bluegrass to a profound hue.

“One must admit, what issues from the Palace is indeed extraordinary. Colors unseen in the markets, and weaving beyond compare!”

The eldest He son, standing by, watched helplessly as the very bolts he had marked for aunts and sisters were taken away.

Lizhi cared little for such things. He possessed several scholar’s robes of the same style, changing daily so that others thought he wore but one. In this, he was far more unadorned than Baiye.

Baiye, however, delighted in finery—not for himself, but for his future spouse.

Alas, there was no bright scarlet for wedding robes. Else he would have claimed them all at once!

When at last they left, he paused, sensing something amiss. “Have I forgotten aught?”

Lizhi tugged his sleeve. He had neglected his father.

Baiye, abashed, returned to select two bolts, with far less care than before.

The eldest He son half wondered if Jiang Dazhu were truly a stepfather, so lightly was he treated. Yet in the village, the cheerful middle-aged man was already the envy of all: a skilled craftsman with a son of promise. Even He Jun intended to order a full set of furniture from his hand.

When the silks were chosen, Baiye asked the Hes to find him a tailor, and to summon Jiang Dazhu and Lady He, that they might take measurements for warm garments. This winter promised to be bitter.

By his reminder, the Hes also prepared heavier clothing. Yet their wealth inclined them to furs—long robes and cloaks of beast hide.

Baiye spent silver to see that his family, too, would have cloaks and robes, the rest made into jackets and padded coats.

“Padded coats?”

“They are filled with down of duck or goose, light yet warm. You should try them,” Baiye explained.

“A clever notion!” He Jun’s eyes lit with interest.

The Hes had long-employed tailors and knew the finest shops. With these matters set in order, Baiye became once more a carefree master, leaving all to them.

Lizhi understood why he had gifted that priceless prescription. With the He family’s strength behind them, their way would be far smoother.

Later, when they were led to their appointed quarters in the He estate, both remembered their intent to purchase a house in the prefectural city. For all the comfort here, nothing equaled a home of one’s own.

They had been in and out of the city so oft it was half their dwelling already. Soon, Lizhi must return to the Academy. The county examinations came once every three years, in years of Zi, Mao, Wu, and You. Yet this was the year of Yin—thus next August, the trial would be held.

Lizhi longed for swiftness, but he must first earn his tutors’ approval, and much time had already slipped by.

The Hes arranged rooms side by side. Baiye, unwilling to part, longed to offer his warmth. Yet ere he entered, Lizhi shut him out.

He would study.

The chambers, well-appointed, bore new braziers and thick quilts.

Baiye sighed, opening a crack of the window. “Mind the charcoal, lest you suffer poisoning. Keep the air in motion.”

Seeing him bent wholly to his books, Baiye muttered a few more cautions ere departing, forlorn.

Lizhi set aside his volume, pondering Physician Pang. Whether or not he might heal, Baiye and the Hes had placed their hopes upon him. That he could not disregard.

Yet Pang was of Shengyitang. He must prove the man’s character ere trusting him. Best of all would be to win him over, to draw him truly into Huichun Hall. Only then would Lizhi’s heart be at peace.

Never would he entrust his secret to any save Baiye.

Meanwhile, Baiye, back in his chamber, wrestled with how to sway this corpulent physician. Lizhi must harbor secrets yet untold. That much was certain.

If Pang stood not with them, then even should he cure Lizhi’s dumbness, he might bring graver peril.

Baiye raked his hair in frustration.

At midnight, He Jun, weary from toil, suddenly recalled a matter of great import. Hastening, he rapped upon Baiye’s door.