HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C75

Chapter 75: Curing the Mute Affliction, Entering the Prefectural Academy

When Baiye arrived, Doctor Pang had already been taking Lizhi’s pulse for near the span of a tea.

Ordinarily, the longer a physician lingered over the wrist, the graver the condition proved to be…

Lizhi lowered his gaze and waited in silence, his face betraying nothing of his mind.

Yet through the thrum of his pulse, Pang perceived all too clearly the tension, the fear, the despair, and even the faint, violent urge to retreat that was slowly germinating within.

At that moment, a hand settled upon Lizhi’s shoulder, stroking lightly. “How fares it?”

Lizhi started; in an instant, the darkness in his heart lifted, and the chill that clung to him melted away beneath that voice of concern.

Ever proud, ever cold before others, in this instant he yielded the faintest trace of grievance.

Sensing it, Baiye pressed gently, letting his strength pass through the shoulder he held.

Do not be afraid.

Lizhi’s brows eased; his expression softened.

Doctor Pang could hardly bear the sight. “Hah! You brat, distracting me mid-examination—now you have spoiled it!”

“Master of such great skill as yours, disturbed by the likes of me? Surely not… unless, of course, your vaunted skill is not so great?” Baiye returned without a shred of fear, intent on quibbling.

“Hmph! Do not think to provoke me. Since I have taken his pulse, I will not refuse treatment.”

“Strange. Was that not contrary to what someone said earlier~?” Baiye drawled with mocking suspicion.

Pang turned crimson and concealed it with a harrumph, sipping tea before tapping his temple. “The affliction lies here.”

Baiye sighed inwardly. Indeed, traditional medicine was profound. In his own world, such a condition required instruments and tests to divine, and even then muteness was rarely curable.

“Perhaps… a thirty percent chance,” Pang said at last.

Lizhi’s eyes lit with sudden joy. Thirty percent!

In childhood his father had carried him to many physicians. Not one had discerned even his peculiar constitution, much less promised a cure. Now, to hear even such odds—!

But Baiye frowned. “A mere thirty percent? Not even half?”

The books had glossed lightly over such matters; he himself knew nothing certain. His family line had no secret prescriptions for muteness. Else, he might have recited one. But thirty percent… that was too low!

Pang did not trouble to contest his attitude. To him, thirty percent was hardly high, yet no honest doctor would boast too greatly; a measure of retreat must be kept.

“There will be medicines to take, along with acupuncture and herbal baths. How long it requires depends on his recovery. What is most troublesome—some herbs are rare upon the market.” His brow furrowed.

“As for medicines, that I can provide. Tell me what you require, and I will search it out. Only… the fee…” Baiye was already calculating whether he must sell prescriptions anew.

He had sworn not to part with ancestral secrets, yet time and again he had done so, reaping gain with unease, guilty before his forebears.

But Pang’s eyes flickered. “Fee? To treat him will demand no small labour and care. If I were to set a fee, I doubt you could pay it.”

Lizhi clenched his fists, thoughts whirling on how to earn, how to amass more silver.

“This, then: you shall cook for me each day. Each meal must differ, each must please me. Know this—I am choosy. I have eaten all manner of rare fare, and you shall not fob me off.”

The longer Pang spoke, the quieter he became. At last, even he knew it was too much. Likely even the Emperor himself enjoyed no such indulgence. Was he dreaming broad daylight?

But Baiye laughed. “Done! Once promised, not even four steeds may overtake it. Let us write a contract, lest someone repent and renege.”

“Renege—? Who would renege here? To accept such harsh terms without protest—!” Pang’s heart began to beat with eager curiosity.

Baiye did not fear conditions. What he feared was refusal. Since the door was ajar, he must seize it for greater ends.

To win Pang over—to bind him to their cause—that was worth any bargain.

Even as he resolved thus, Shanyi Hall grew restless.

Having just lost a general, they could ill afford to let Pang slip.

He was their living banner. Already his absence from the capital drew complaints; patients who trusted no other physician would rather wait than be seen by his colleagues. The hall wrote letters urging his return, recounting his family, his friends, his patients who longed for him.

But none of it touched Pang’s heart.

He sighed. “They know not what truly delights me. Ah, such disappointment! What have their needs to do with me?”

At his age, why should he still carry others’ burdens? Now he would live for himself.

Before treatment began in earnest, Lizhi wished to share the good news with Granny Li.

On the day they returned to the village, he purchased warm clothes, sugared fruits, and special treats she had once mentioned longing for.

Baiye’s family too returned, many matters pressing upon them.

The first was to report to the village head, Wang Lizheng, of the flood diversion canal.

“…So it stands. Rewards must wait until the canal is complete, likely by the third month of spring.”

“Good, good, good!” Wang Lizheng’s eyes brimmed with tears. “You two have done a deed of greatness! Your uncle was misled by villains, but I hear that elsewhere the work goes poorly—only our Baishi prospers…”

Baiye smiled faintly. “Lizhi has become Prefect Yan’s pupil.”

Lizheng started, then rejoiced. “What fortune! Our Qingshui shall have a future zhuangyuan!”

“Indeed, it is said the Prefect himself reduced Baishi’s burden. Surely it was Lizhi’s merit that swayed him!”

Thus the tale spread swiftly.

Villagers came with gifts of food, with thanks spoken from the heart, with tears and kneeling.

“Old woman knew it! Only by following you could we live!”

“You have shielded our people. Else, none could have survived such toil!”

Even those who had once whispered against Lizhi now bowed to him.

He asked no glory. Yet this—this was a triumph nonetheless.

Grandfather, Father, Lizhi too can accomplish it. In time, he shall accomplish more.

Beneath the bare locust tree, Granny Li stood in her new clothes, eyes moist, sorrow hidden deep in their weary depths. She wondered—should she tell him of that matter…?

The second task was the workshop.

Thanks to He Jun’s management, all was orderly, perhaps even more so than before. Steward Yuan himself now handled affairs well.

“From henceforth, I must rely upon Steward Yuan, Master Ding, Master Qian, and you all,” said Baiye. “I shall dwell in the prefectural city, not here each day. I cannot labour like a drudge. I earn silver to live well, not to toil unending.”

Thus he raised wages: fifty taels for masters, eighty for Yuan, five for skilled workers, three for helpers—ten times the common rate.

The men were inflamed with zeal, ready to forsake even New Year to work on.

He summoned the “Four Blossoming Wealths,” who now seldom bore injuries, and greeted him with grave respect.

“Anhua, how fares your sister?”

Anhua, heavy of heart, was near prostrate with gratitude. “Master, you were right. I brought her to Huichun Hall. They said there was no grave harm. With a new midwife, both she and the babe are well!”

“That is good.”

Anhua could not help but kneel. “Thank you, Master!”

“Mistakes matter not, if one learns. But if the heart itself is impure, here there is no second chance.”

Thus gently admonished, Anhua bowed again.

Then Baiye’s voice softened. “Come, prepare. We must into the mountains for herbs.”

For Pang had named several, and Baiye dimly recalled them in the wild. He must seek them out.

At dawn, the world lay hushed beneath a fall of snow.

Learning that Baiye meant to enter the mountains in such weather, Lizhi, Madam He, and the rest opposed him vehemently.

“In this cold and on such treacherous paths? It is far too perilous! Wait till clear skies—Lizhi’s cure cannot be so urgent!”

Lizhi inclined his head with solemn resolve.

Yet Baiye was somewhat anxious, for he knew that in the days to come Lizhi’s rivals in the imperial examinations would only grow ever more formidable. At equal standing, the loss of speech would prove a grievous hindrance.

And Doctor Pang himself had confessed that none could predict how long the treatment might endure.

“The snows will only grow heavier henceforth. Wait much longer, and the herbs shall be buried beneath deep drifts, nigh impossible to find.”

Baiye’s mind was set; none could dissuade him.

But Lizhi insisted on accompanying him, and Baiye dared not gainsay him.

Thus the two donned their warmest garments, laden with furs, fire-stones, and a host of tools, and went forth to meet with the four stout fellows known as Glory and Fortune, who already stood prepared.

“In truth, winter is not without its merits,” Baiye remarked. “The beasts of prey lie in dens, the serpents, rodents, and insects are gone to ground. One need not fear their menace.”

Yet the lush green mountains of summer now lay cloaked in gloom, hues of grey and withered yellow, dreary and desolate to the eye.

Lizhi fretted for Baiye’s workshop and its revenues.

As though discerning his thoughts, Baiye said, “Fear not. Though the leaves wither above, many roots beneath the soil are at this very time maturing. This season yields hardy herbs of no small value. Less abundant, they fetch dearer price. What is lost in quantity is gained in worth.”

For though Baiye sold his medicines cheaply, he did not violate the laws of the market. In winter, gathering herbs was perilous, preparation arduous, and so their price must rise. Moreover, he had foreseen such a season; in autumn he had already stored raw herbs in readiness for winter’s use.

Their words wreathed the air in clouds of white breath. The deeper they went into the mountains, the colder it grew. Even the four strong men, accustomed to toil, struggled to endure.

Lizhi felt his lashes rimmed with frost, each blink heavy and chill.

“So fair…” murmured Baiye, brushing the mist from his eyes, before drawing forth a waterskin swaddled in layers of blankets. “Hold this close for warmth.”

It was filled with boiling water; the heat spread comfort through his chilled frame, and Lizhi’s features softened in relief.

Though they trod the icy wilderness, by Baiye’s side, feeling at times the strength of his solid frame against his own, Lizhi’s heart was untroubled, at peace.

At moments he could even pause to behold the quiet loveliness of snow drifting through the forest.

Snow fell into his eyes, merging silence with serenity.

To Baiye, he seemed like some immortal of ice and frost, only now touched by his own warmth. Gone was the figure the books had described: solitary, proud, aloof as an eagle beyond reach, high and desolate, forever alone.

That Lizhi would never be again.

After long search, Baiye unearthed one of the required herbs, clawing through the frozen soil till he raised up tubers as large as potatoes—more than twenty in number, heavy in his basket.

“This root is of worth. Mark the place, and you may return here to seek it. But in snow such as this, avoid venturing forth.” He thrust a branch into the ground as signpost.

The four were eager to dig, recalling their childhood days of unearthing sweet potatoes and yams, and finding therein a joy that even herb gathering lacked.

Winter too had its offerings: hardy mushrooms—enoki and oyster—still grew slowly, and most prized of all, winter bamboo shoots in season.

Upon a mountain crowned with bamboo, Baiye set the four men to digging, and soon a sack was full. He and Lizhi cooked a dish of winter shoots and mushrooms, sprinkled with a pinch of spice they had carried, so that the flavour was as rich as pork stewed with bamboo.

That night, they lodged again in the mountain cave.

They dragged a stone slab before the entrance to ward off the wind, leaving a chink for air, built the fire high, spread blankets thick, and clasped each other close. Warmer thus than even in their own house, vast and drafty.

For days they traversed Mount Daheng, venturing even where few had trod, till at last they had gathered the greater part of the herbs.

One they substituted with another, ripening in winter’s stead; one they found only in seedlings, which Baiye meant to rear in a hotbed, praying it might grow in time.

The four men endured with less vigour than Baiye and Lizhi, whose faces glowed, their steps still firm. They whispered that surely it was love’s sweetness that gave them strength.

And indeed, they were as men on a honeymoon. One night they even stole away to bathe in a steaming mountain spring, and returned twined together like tree and vine, clasping ever closer.

Lizhi, recalling Doctor Pang’s counsel, drew Baiye’s hand from his waist to the crook of his knee, trembling between dread of discovery and delight in peril.

But Baiye cherished him too deeply, refraining from even the lightest trespass, a gentleman in that hour, making Lizhi feel himself the one aflame with desire.

Thus his face bloomed scarlet, his porcelain skin aglow.

By noon they hastened back to the village, where snow now lay thick upon the ground, the cold piercing. Not a soul lingered outdoors; even children who once played beneath the trees were shut within.

Thanks to the new kang-hearths, each household lived upon the warm brick beds, eating, working, and sleeping without leaving their warmth.

When Baiye returned, even his parents scarce wished to stir from the heated couch.

So much for their fears for his safety!

“In such bitter cold, I fear the conscripts shall die in number once again.”

Lizhi took his hand. He had already saved many lives; that was enough.

“Let us hope Master Liu has spread the use of these fire-kang hearths. Perhaps fewer shall freeze.” Baiye sighed, but let it pass. He was no saviour of the world, only a man who gave aid when he could.

Then swiftly he set to preparing the herbs, readying them for Doctor Pang’s hand.

At the Lu household, Lizhi gathered his books to depart for the prefectural academy.

After days of indulgence in Baiye’s company, he knew he must school his mind once more.

A knock came upon the door. Thinking it Baiye, Lizhi’s eyes warmed with light. But it was Granny Li, grave of face.

“Lizhi, I have a matter of weight. Let us speak within.”

Unease stirred in him.

“It may touch upon your father’s death. It is but conjecture, yet your mother’s words hinted as much.”

Vengeance and retreat—contradiction in one breath.

Lizhi leapt to his feet, knocking over a cup.

“Do not be agitated. If true, my own heart would ache no less. But you must hear it.” She clenched her teeth, then at last spoke under his urgent gaze.

“The Lu clan of Jiangyi—you must have heard of them. A house of lofty standing. Your grandsire belonged to them. He and the present patriarch are brothers, your grandsire the elder.”

In but a few words, countless truths unfolded.

If the patriarch was of the direct line, and his grandsire was the eldest…

“Yet your grandsire left them, for his heart was set against their ways. The Lu clan are famed for letters, but he was not fond of books.”

Not that he despised learning, but rather sought to serve in practical deeds—like founding Qingshui Village, as Baiye himself now did.

Lizhi’s thoughts were aflame. That hallowed house of scholars… was his own blood?

As a child, he had dreamed of studying at their academy.

“Your father may have provoked envy, or stood in another’s path. He was gifted, prodigiously so. Your grandsire hesitated long ere setting him upon the path of the examinations, his heart full of dread.”

“I fear lest you meet the same fate. Not only for your health, but for this reason. Should that house conspire, they could crush you as an ant.”

But Lizhi thought not all so simple. Perhaps there was misunderstanding. The Lu clan was famed for prodigies; his father was not singular among them. With their wealth, their tutors, their heritage, was it strange that they produced brilliance?

He himself, and his father too, proved their bloodline’s gift.

All the more, Lizhi longed to know the truth.

“Be wary of them. If you meet their kin, trust not too easily,” Granny Li urged. She only wished to shield the last spark of her beloved.

Lizhi’s eyes softened with gratitude. Once he had felt distance toward her, but now he thought to consult Baiye…

“You would have Granny Li live with us? Good! My mother will rejoice. She loves her already, has learned much from her. She will be overjoyed.”

But Lizhi felt it burdensome, unwilling to trouble Baiye, so he promised to bear the cost himself.

“Child, what talk is this? If you can soften that old woman’s pride, it is I who should thank you!” Madam He laughed.

Indeed, Granny Li was proud, unwilling to leave her soil.

“This is my root,” she declared.

Lizhi wondered if his grandsire had wronged such a woman. Would she have cherished his memory all these years if his virtue had failed?

What man must he have been, to hold a noble woman’s heart forever?

Lizhi could only ready her home against the cold, pay a neighbour’s wife with silver to watch over her.

Though Granny Li scowled, the neighbour persisted, warmed by gratitude and coin, sending even her son to cut wood and draw water.

Lizhi felt unease still, but it was all he could do.

At last, with herbs prepared and treatment soon to begin, Lizhi made his way to the academy in the prefectural city.

His friends Ding Lihui and the rest had already transferred from Mingli Academy at his urging, entering in autumn. They brought him word—

Yu Zhijie too had found means to join.

And others—Song Haocheng, Fei Hongyu, who had scored well in the last exam—wondered why he had delayed. Some whispered he had been cheated of his place, that Yu Zhijie had usurped it.

Curiosity abounded. For how could the foremost scholar of the prefecture, and a mute at that, not draw every tongue to wag?