HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C73

Chapter 73: Choosing a Residence, Dining upon Hotpot

 

“Jiang Baiye, are you well? I am coming in!” Outside, He Jun’s voice rang with genuine concern, his stance betraying every intention of breaking in should aught seem amiss.

Baiye, ever one to seek peril for sport, was in that instant bitten sharply upon the tongue-tip. Yet he was quick, clasping half of his beloved’s face in his palm, stealing a fierce kiss.

“All is well.”

“Why, then, is your voice so hoarse?”

“…Mm, I had fallen asleep. Lu Lizhi could not answer you—have you forgotten he is without speech?”

Both He Jun and Lizhi himself started at that. Indeed—they had near forgotten that he was mute.

“But I called for half the night, and there was no sound from that chamber?” He Jun, cautious by nature, glanced again in suspicion.

“He sleeps deeply. And who would steal him away? A flower-thief, to prey upon a man?” So saying, the “flower-thief” grew all the more insolent, pressing and caressing without restraint.

Lizhi’s heart thundered violently, the tumult only swelling as the chamber door was flung wide with a crash, and a tall figure stood silhouetted in the moonlight—whilst Baiye continued his audacious ravishment.

In that instant, Lizhi’s very pulse lost all measure.

Yet Baiye had prepared for this, swiftly drawing up the quilt and feigning alarm. “He—He Jun!”

The latter cast a keen glance about, finding nothing amiss. With a discreet cough, he murmured, “Forgive me. I thought you held captive, and could not rest without seeing for myself.”

“Fortunate it is I. Had it been Lizhi, his temper on waking is dire. Had you disturbed him so, he would have cast you off in wrath!” Baiye huffed in feigned displeasure.

Lizhi: “…”

He Jun, poised to check Lizhi’s chamber as well: “…” Truly, he no longer dared.

He was, perhaps, over-fearful. The He estate, though once plagued by thieves, was now well-guarded. The night watch was alert, and peril seemed unlikely.

“My apologies for disturbing you!” He Jun bowed out, retreating with care.

Within the unlit chamber, the gloom had concealed the tell-tale swell upon the bed at Baiye’s side. When the door closed, and footsteps faded into distance, Lizhi exhaled a shuddering breath, mortified beyond bearing.

This man was growing ever more outrageous!

“Are you not stifled?” Baiye murmured, swiftly loosening the quilt about him, drawing him free of his cocoon.

Lizhi lashed out with a furious kick.

“Ugh!” Baiye groaned, collapsing flat upon the bed, sucking in breath. “Lizhi, do you mean to make me a widower?”

Lizhi eyed him askance. When he lay there long, seemingly stricken, he crept closer despite himself.

“Touch it.” Baiye’s eyes gleamed wickedly, words shameless. “Your hand alone may heal it.”

Lizhi drew a sharp breath, near ready to cripple him outright. Yet he knew his own resolve was fragile; in haste he turned to leave—only to be seized from behind, dragged back into his arms.

“Do you know the greatest distance in all the world?” Baiye asked, with rare gravity.

Lizhi stilled, ears pricked.

“It is that you lie beside me each day—yet I cannot…”

The last words he whispered at his ear, tender and lingering, heavy with meaning.

Lizhi, first uncomprehending, coloured deep as wine when he understood. His lashes fluttered, long and tremulous; his chest burned hot with wild tremor. Fear warred with joy, his body softening beneath the other’s touch.

A calloused palm slid over his slender waist, scorching where it passed. His delicate skin shivered like silken tofu, trembling and tightening beneath Baiye’s hand. The sensation brought unspeakable delight.

At last the hand toyed with the narrow sash at his waist.

Would he undo it? One tug was all it would take. The thought alone left Lizhi reeling, his breath unsteady, eyes glazed with damp confusion.

Long he braced himself, thinking nothing would come of it—when the knot suddenly fell loose, the sash slackening. Cool air rushed over his bared skin.

He gasped, voice breaking with a sob. His eyes glistened with red-tinged tears. At last, the man had won—forcing open the secret he had guarded for years. Should Baiye scorn him now, he swore he would ruin him without mercy!

Yet despair overwhelmed him. A hot tear slipped down his cheek. He felt sullied, wretched beyond bearing.

Why—why must he be so?

His shoulders trembled; his whole body soon followed, nose reddened, tears falling in a stream.

Silent anguish, the extremity of shame. Though unwilling, still he forced himself open, compelled to endure—like some lowly plaything.

The grief grew sharper.

“Mm…mm…” His broken sobs filled the air.

How could Baiye press further? “Lizhi, my Lizhi, what ails you?”

“To weep so bitterly—what sorrow pierces you?” Baiye’s heart nearly shattered at the sight. He fumbled to wipe away the tears, yet they only fell the more, Lizhi biting his lip, whimpering low, like a beast cornered and bereft.

Choked with pain, Baiye could scarce form words. With trembling lips, he kissed him softly, reverently, while hastening to draw his clothes together once more.

“I am sorry, forgive me…”

His Lizhi bore still a shadow of dread. Then let time mend it. He could wait—a lifetime, if need be.

Lizhi, sunk in his own darkness, felt vile, unworthy.

Why must such a one as he exist?

His sobbing continued long into the night. Baiye, when at last he slept, fetched a basin of hot water to wash his face and hands, that he might wake uncreased.

He smoothed on the balm they had bought for the winter’s dryness, whispering with a faint smile, “My fragrant little pear.”

The man in sleep sobbed faintly once more, and Baiye sighed, brushing tenderly back the strands at his brow.

At dawn, He Lin leapt from bed with a start. “Quick, quick, prepare my wash!”

“Second Young Master, what urgent matter arises?” asked his boy.

“Hotpot! We must have hotpot for breakfast!” He Lin exclaimed. He had dreamt of it, feasting to his heart’s content.

Unable to endure another hour, he strode swiftly to Baiye’s courtyard, calling out before pushing open the door with a grin.

“Jiang—” His voice cut short, strangled.

Before him, Baiye and Lizhi looked up in unison from their bed.

“Well, well! To think you are so close as to share a pillow!” he blurted, half-jealous, half-dazed, before stumbling back out, his mind in chaos.

“What is this? The two of them—?”

Memories long buried surfaced; every odd sign now seemed an omen.

He Lin clutched the wall, struck dumb with disbelief. This is still a dream… must be a dream…

Within, Baiye spoke calmly, “Best that he know. Then he will cease his blundering blindness.”

He draped a robe about his shoulders, went openly into Lizhi’s chamber to fetch his outer garment, returning with ease, indifferent to He Lin’s gaping stare.

He Lin swallowed hard. Could it truly be so?

Lizhi, recalling the night before, burned with shame. Baiye might have seen him weep so wretchedly.

A grown man, undone with tears…

Next time, he vowed, he would take the lead—restore his pride, his dignity. The sooner the better.

With that resolve, his heart grew lighter. He even helped Baiye dress.

Baiye, surprised and moved, saw his faint blush and downcast lashes, and knew the cause of his awkwardness.

Ah, but he liked him best as a little cry-baby—so pitiable, so endearing.

That morning, Jiang Dazhu and Madam He arrived at the estate.

They had been detained the day before, proving that Baiye was no longer the sole centre of their lives. They now had pursuits of their own, no longer revolving entirely about him.

This gladdened him. In this life or the last, he had wished his parents to live for themselves, with their own joys, not forever fretting over him.

Yet he had not thought—when they came, it was Lizhi whom they coddled and fussed over, as though Baiye were invisible.

Baiye: “?”

He Jun almost understood—it seemed Lizhi was their true-born son, and Baiye the adopted one.

He Lin, meanwhile, felt a strange disquiet. Was this not how in-laws treated a son-in-law? And not with shallow courtesy either, but with genuine affection, as though Lizhi were another son of their own.

Their bond must indeed run deep.

Recalling the tender scene he had witnessed that morn, He Lin shivered. No wonder Baiye was ever so possessive; no wonder Lizhi sometimes looked displeased when he lingered too long in their company.

The Hes had brought gifts—country produce that Baiye himself had once prepared.

There were sausages, dried and cured, whole bundles of them. There were candied fruits from autumn’s harvest, tea leaves, even flower teas he had crafted for his mother. Some were borne by hand, others packed in fine boxes of his father’s carpentry.

All were novelties the He household had never seen.

“You are too courteous!”

“Not at all—mere trifles. If you like them, our family’s Chang Sui can make more. The taste is quite fine.” Dazhu was all ease, speaking with confidence even before the whole He clan.

Baiye marvelled at his father’s composure.

The He ladies, too, were surprised. They had heard Baiye’s parents were rustic folk. Yet in person, though plainly dressed, they were poised and spirited, no whit inferior to themselves who had known wealth all their lives.

No wonder such a son had been born to them. Their looks too were comely, their bearing full, and life had treated them well. They seemed anything but common villagers.

He Lin recalled the Dazhu of that humble wedding-feast, and the man now before him. He remembered Baiye’s words from before, and rejoiced for their family from the heart.

“Clothes make the man, as gold adorns the Buddha. Sister-in-law, you must have gowns made for yourself. So arrayed, you would pass for the wife of an official!” Second Madam He exclaimed warmly.

Though usually hard to approach, she favoured Madam He’s forthright nature, and came forward to chat.

Baiye had summoned his parents chiefly to see them fitted for winter wear.

In a separate chamber, the tailor was called, and while measuring, Second Madam could not help but ask of the two young men’s prospects.

“They are of an age. Should you not consider their marriages?”

Madam He near cursed them both in her heart, but outwardly laughed. “Why, they are close as brothers, and have sworn to wed at the same time…”

Indeed, together they would wed. She dabbed at the sweat upon her brow.

“That is splendid! A double wedding—joy upon joy!”

But neither desired a bride. Madam He fretted how to make it plain, when a maiden entered with a smile. “Mother, do not play matchmaker blindly. They may already have their chosen ones.”

“Yes, yes—they already have sweethearts!” Madam He seized the chance.

Second Madam sighed in regret. She had given up hopes of her own daughters, but there remained those of the third branch…

“Then they must be truly worthy.”

“Indeed—worthy beyond compare!”

When Jiang Dazhu had concluded his errands, he excused himself with word of important business yet to be discussed, leaving after brief courtesies with the He family.

Baiye merely bade his father return at noon to share the meal, for his parents had never once tasted hotpot. To gather both families round the same table would surely be a lively occasion.

Yet to dwell long within another’s house was never fitting. Baiye and Lu Lizhi had many matters to attend to here in the city, and to journey back to the village each day would prove most inconvenient.

Thus, that very morning, Baiye took his mother and Lizhi to view several idle estates offered for sale. They were accompanied by He Lin, He Jun, the household steward, and a certain broker.

The residences varied in size and condition. Baiye’s intent was to purchase one of greater scale—for this was to be the very first home he and Lizhi would call their own.

Madam He, ever prudent, had carried with her all the savings she and Dazhu had set aside—some three hundred taels—in case of sudden need.

But when she learnt the object of the outing was to purchase a house, her heart sank. Three hundred taels would scarcely suffice.

Nevertheless, whether much or little, she would give it all. Such was a parent’s duty.

The first residence stood but half a street distant from the He estate.

At first sight, Madam He was enchanted. But for the company present, she might have laid hands upon the stone lions guarding its gate, for such ornaments bespoke a household of stature.

Could it be that their family might truly live in such a place?

The broker gave earnest introduction. He Jun, seasoned in such dealings, offered counsel concerning the house’s aspect and the flow of its grounds—matters of geomancy, which Baiye had not thought him one to heed.

Yet even from the standpoint of architecture, aspect and arrangement did indeed shape a dwelling’s spirit, and with it, the mood and temper of those within.

A home should above all be spacious and filled with light.

He turned to Lizhi. “What think you?”

Lizhi nodded, which Baiye knew to mean neither delight nor distaste, but that he was not yet satisfied.

Baiye himself found it somewhat aged, bearing still the traces of a family that had lived a full generation within.

“The former owners have removed their entire household and will not return,” the broker urged. “The timbers and furnishings are still in fine repair.”

“Indeed,” Madam He agreed, “a place with such life is most auspicious. Tell me of the family?”

He Jun, who knew of them, explained they had prospered greatly—four generations hale, with many sons distinguished. They had moved on to a grander dwelling, leaving this one behind.

This only pleased Madam He the more. Yet she restrained herself, lest her eagerness weaken their hand in bargaining. So they turned to view another.

The second estate lay near the fish market.

The grounds were broad—twice the size of the first—but the air hung heavy with fish-stench. The damp from the river clung everywhere, and cries of trade never ceased.

For so large a compound to stand amid such crowded stalls, its price was naturally high.

None of Baiye’s family were taken with it, though He Lin’s eyes lingered until he heard the price—five thousand taels.

Though his household counted wealth in the tens of thousands, all was pledged to maintain their standing in the capital. The old master himself had ordered frugality in all things. Unlike Baiye, who spent freely, He Lin longed for ventures of his own, to earn coin unencumbered for his pleasures.

The third house was situated amidst the residences of officials. Small, but every step beyond the gate brought one into the path of dignitaries. Baiye was near persuaded, until Lizhi quietly tugged his sleeve.

He knew at once his beloved felt stifled. Already the Prefect’s shadow weighed upon him; to dwell among such men would be to live forever under their gaze.

Baiye, too, had no wish for his home to be filled with endless obligations. He made friends when he wished it, and for his own purposes. To live thus hemmed in would weary him beyond measure.

Even Madam He, bold as she was, held her breath in the presence of so many officials. It was fear deep-buried in the bone.

Seeing their dissatisfaction, the broker faltered. “There remains one more, somewhat distant. If it too displeases, perhaps you will wait, and I shall find you another in due course?”

“Let us see it in the afternoon, then,” Baiye said, tossing him a piece of silver. “Take some wine for your trouble.”

The broker beamed, bowed, and departed.

The steward of the He family spoke then. “Near our own house stands another residence. The owners depart in haste; perhaps the price may be pressed.”

He Jun shot him a glance—was he seeking to fleece their neighbours? Yet his loyalty was plain: he wished Baiye settled near at hand, that business between them might be more convenient.

Baiye only laughed. “Very well. That one tempts me.”

“Come, let us return. I am famished for hotpot!”

At once, weariness fell away, and all quickened their steps with eager anticipation.

Meanwhile, in his own courtyard, Doctor Pang sulked.

Two days had passed. No hotpot had reached his lips. Worse still, neither Baiye nor Lizhi had come to seek his aid. Was their illness no longer urgent?

Who now was the more desperate?

When would the hotpot be served?

At the He residence, all was bustle, servants hurrying as if for a festival. Their faces shone with excitement and curiosity.

“Young Master Jiang, the pots you ordered are here.”

Baiye inspected the dozen small iron pots. Though makeshift, he was satisfied. Each stood upon a brazier of glowing coals, an iron frame supporting the vessel so the flames might breathe.

Had there been time, he would have devised a stove with heat adjustable at will. For now, this must suffice.

All gazed in wonder.

“Let us prepare the base.”

Baiye washed his hands, cut into even cubes the frozen blocks of broth he had prepared. Within lay red chilies, peppercorns, ginger, and other spices. His parents sniffed at it, mouths watering, tempted to bite it raw.

One cube to each pot. Half remained, which he gifted to the Hes, instructing their servants to wrap them in oiled paper—enough to last the winter.

The servants swallowed their envy and worked with care.

Soon the great hall was set: tables arrayed with bowls and chopsticks, three pots to each—two of fiery broth, one of tomato base. Platters of meat and vegetables filled the tables.

Baiye added marrow broth and rich milk to the simmering pots, the latter an exotic luxury from distant lands. As the bases boiled, the red of chilies met the pale gold of milk, mingling into a fragrance both numbing and intoxicating.

“Delicious!”

“Spicy—yet so enticing!” Saliva flowed freely.

“Is it to be boiled all together?”

“No,” Baiye instructed. “Dip and swish. Some require but a moment, others longer, according to your taste.”

He gestured to the tomato broth. “Those who cannot abide spice, try this. And should it not please, I shall devise other bases anon.”

The fragrance alone conquered all doubts.

“Never have I seen such a manner of dining!” exclaimed Third Master He. He slid a slice of mutton into the boiling pot; moments later it curled and glistened.

At first some feared it undercooked, but once tasted—it was tender, springy, steeped in broth, hot and delightful. He nodded furiously, dipping more.

At once all followed—beef, bamboo shoots, meatballs, shrimp paste, duck’s blood, crab, liver, tripe, marinated ribs, skewered gizzards, duck intestines, quail eggs—along with vegetables beyond counting.

The long tables groaned beneath the feast, a riot of colour and flavour.

Baiye, with Lizhi and his parents, shared one pot; the men of the Hes another; the women yet another. At first hesitant, all soon fell to competing lest they miss their morsel.

Those who tried the tomato broth all but swooned.

“Exquisite!”

“Sour and sweet—divine!”

“I must taste this as well—ah, so tender!”

Even those who seldom ate meat could not stop once begun.

Laughter rang, warmth filled the hall. In the depths of winter, surrounded by kinsmen and companions, contentment overflowed.

Even Lizhi pushed Baiye’s hand aside, eager to dip for himself; to be fed was less joyful than to cook one’s own. He delighted, too, in offering morsels to Baiye’s parents.

The company was in perfect harmony—save one.

Doctor Pang, drawn by the scent, stood without, watching them feast, unbidden. For once, he felt himself alone, out of place.

He might once have barged in without hesitation. But now, confronted by their laughter, he turned away, lonely and unsettled. Perhaps, when next he returned to the capital, he would forget this slight.

Yet as he reached his door, there stood a servant who had vanished days before, sturdy and earnest.

“Doctor Pang! Here is the fiery pot you desired!”

On his table appeared three pots, with meats and vegetables in abundance—each dish chosen for his very appetite.

Bowl upon bowl, filling the whole table…