HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C79

Chapter 79: Maddened with Longing, Studying the Art

“Surely not, brother?” He Lin, hurrying back from outside, beheld Jiang Baiye harnessing his carriage, his countenance taut. “Where are you bound?”

Jiang Baiye, in no cheerful mood, had no wish to answer.

“You need not speak—I know. You mean to go to the Academy, do you not?” He Lin gasped again. “Brother, you parted from him but yesterday!”

“It has been but a single day!” His tone was that of one who had seen a spectre.

Jiang Baiye paused to correct him. “To be precise—it has been a day and a half.”

Already a day and a half since last he beheld Lizhi. Small wonder the hours seemed as years, each moment drawn out into torment.

He Lin could not comprehend it. Even when his own parents were at their most inseparable, the whole household cried out in weariness—yet never so!

“Have you aught urgent to tell him? Now is ill-timed. Better wait until the fur cloaks and down garments are finished, then deliver them together?”

Jiang Baiye froze mid-step. “Did the tailor say they would be ready in two days?”

He Lin rubbed his nose. “About that. Surely another day or two you can endure?”

Endure he could not. Jiang Baiye climbed into the carriage again.

“Wait! Let me speak truth. From years of observation I’ve learnt—distance gives birth to beauty. If you press too close, with Lizhi’s cold and quiet nature, he may not delight in it. Worse, you might hinder his studies.”

One foot already upon the step, Jiang Baiye struck a noble pose.

He Lin sighed, “Ah, long legs are a blessing indeed.”

Jiang Baiye gave him a doubtful once-over. “Whence comes your experience?”

“Years of watching. Have you not seen how my parents, uncles, aunts—all dwell in harmony? None have ever taken concubines.”

“Explain further.” Jiang Baiye was struck to the heart. Ever had he acted upon instinct, never with calculation.

Here He Lin faltered. “Well, not as you do. You must give each other space. If Lizhi learns you think of naught but him, doing nothing else, he may feel pressed beneath it.”

Jiang Baiye pondered. Though He Lin himself was muddled, the truth that an onlooker sees clear is eternal.

Clutching his whip with a sigh of anguish, he said, “Then I shall go to him tomorrow.”

He Lin nearly staggered with dismay. So long a speech, and this was all he gleaned?

The following day dragged on like years.

Within the Academy, the affair of the rolling trunk had spread to the classrooms. Students from other classes, curious, came seeking. The numbers grew, chaos with them. Tutor Yi drove them out and punished each with copying a hundred verses.

As for Lu Lizhi, the culprit, he was confined, his request for a separate chamber refused. He had even sought to bribe the gatekeeper to pass a message to Jiang Baiye about the trunks.

The porter, miserable, said, “Scholar Lu, best return to your books. Should Tutor Yi learn of this, I am undone!”

Professor Huang meddled not, authority lying in Tutor Yi’s hands. Stern and rigid, he was feared by all.

Lu Lizhi fretted. He recalled the elder Master Yi, famed for filial devotion. Yet his leave lay more than a month away, not until year’s end.

Already, by the second day, he found it unbearable.

That night, Song Haocheng discovered Yu Zhijie had again tampered with Lu Lizhi’s bedding. Though Lizhi had not touched the bed the previous night, still—this could not continue.

“Brother Yu, where mercy may be shown, show it.” He tapped lightly on Yu Zhijie’s desk.

Yu Zhijie’s face darkened. He? Song Haocheng? Was he the one thwarting his schemes? For what reason—when he and Lu Lizhi were naught to one another?

Yet the second night, Lizhi did not return to the dormitory. Song Haocheng grew uneasy.

Outside, the storm raged. He waited long, saw even Yu Zhijie perplexed. Had he not done it?

By the third watch, Lizhi had not come. Song Haocheng rose from his warm bed, hastily donned his robes, and went in search.

At last, in the library he found him, poring over volumes. Astonished, he said, “Can one truly study here at such an hour?”

Of course not. Lizhi had paid dearly to bribe the keepers. Yet why had Song Haocheng come?

“I feared for you…” He told him of the soaked bedding, the serpent skin.

Lizhi had not known who shielded him. He pointed to a word upon the page: “Thanks.”

Song Haocheng’s heart leapt. Lord Qingyuan spoke to me!

He would have answered “a trifling matter,” yet held back. Instead, he lifted another book, indicating words therein.

—No need to thank.

A few pages on—

—Not worth the mention.

Clearly he knew the volume well, finding passages with ease. Lizhi’s eyes lit. For this was the very book he meant to read.

He had read much: not only the Four Books and Five Classics, but countless volumes his teachers called frivolous, yet to him most useful—broadening his sight, equipping him to write vivid tales.

Else, how could a cloistered scholar depict the world, its landscapes, its peoples, its myriad fates?

Thus did many scholars travel—
to see mountains and rivers, broaden vision, win renown, forge bonds, laying foundations for office.

So the two conversed through their books, the exchange flowing ever smoother, as if they truly spoke. In each text, apt words were found, expressing all they wished.

More wondrous still, they discovered how many volumes they had both read.

Their tastes so alike, their discussion grew rapt and unrestrained.

At first, Song Haocheng was nervous. But in those pages, he glimpsed another Lizhi—another Lord Qingyuan.

Not as others saw him.

Lively, endearing.

Eager to express, full of singular insight, not cold at all.

Yet as the hour grew late, Song Haocheng worried. Lizhi had not slept the previous night; if he continued, his body would fail.

“Will you not rest?”

Lizhi shook his head. He meant to read till dawn, then seek Professor Huang to plead for a chamber of his own.

With Song Haocheng here, it was less convenient.

The library’s braziers kept off the chill, yet weariness overcame him. His thoughts strayed to Jiang Baiye’s warmth—realising that without him, even the cosiest place brought no rest.

“I shall stay with you. The tutor says, after so much schooling, still we cannot surpass you. Surely the fault lies with him, hence his severity. Yet he is kind.”

Lizhi said nothing. So, because he excelled, Yi punished him more harshly?

In silence, they read. Snow drifted, night deepened.

At last Lizhi slumped upon the desk.

Song Haocheng, startled from his doze, thought to cover him. There were no blankets; he reached to take off his own robe, recalling a tale from Questions of Romance.

But that tale recalled to him Qi Jiu, and the inn that day—

Lizhi fancied men. He had one he loved. A man like Qi Jiu.

Song Haocheng’s hand froze. What was he doing? Such an act might be misunderstood…

In the end, he asked the keeper to fetch a cover, then, exhausted, returned to the dormitory.

Yu Zhijie had watched their movements keenly. Seeing him return so late, his eyes glimmered in the dark.

He remembered: Lizhi had a powerful protector—the one who had once kicked him down…

The next day, whispers began to stir in the Academy.

Lu Lizhi fancies men. Last night, he and Song Haocheng were gone together. And Fei Hongyu had once spoken of it. Plainly he accepted it well. He and Song Haocheng were inseparable…

An unsettling truth seemed about to surface.

Unaware, Lizhi woke feeling strangely desolate, a faint grievance lodged in his throat, leaving him chilled.

It was but the third day. Yet without Jiang Baiye’s voice, his smile, his embrace, his breath, his cooking—without his presence in every detail—he felt bereft.

Never had he thought, after enduring such hardship, such solitude, he would grow so spoiled and fragile.

Yet so it was.

Before dawn, Jiang Baiye rose, ill-rested, his dreams tormented, his temper dark. He longed to seize Lizhi away, hide him from all eyes.

As he set out, he met He Yun. Recalling, he asked, “What of that plot in Chongzhou? What have you learnt?”

But for his search for herbs, he would already have secured it.

He Yun had come for this very thing. “There is trouble. To take it cheaply will be hard.”

“How so?” Jiang Baiye halted. He valued this land, tied to his plans.

“Another has set his sights upon it. A man long dealing in estates—whatever he touches multiplies in value. Thus the sellers are reluctant, seeking to raise the price.

“And as outsiders, we cannot easily buy—unless we register household there. Such is their rule.”

Clearly he had another means, else he would not have come.

“We may need to bribe the officials.” He Yun had not cared for commerce, but Jiang Baiye’s vision of “farmhouse leisure” seemed so profitable he wished to partner with him.

So he must act. For if Jiang Baiye himself, who had proposed it, now neglected it out of yearning for Lizhi, what partner would not doubt him?

For the first time, Jiang Baiye curbed his impulses.

It felt bitter.

But this was man’s duty. Lizhi would not wish to see him weak.

Drawing breath, he said, “I am ready. Let us go.”

He Yun was surprised. “No need for such haste.”

“Better swiftly.” He could not bear delay.

Yet the swift path led them to a brothel.

Both felt their stomachs turn. More galling still was the sight of Xu Biao opposite. Again this wretch!

And the Hes too, now meddling in trade. Why not confine themselves to medicine?

The prefectural men had summoned them together, hoping for rivalry. Both loathed each other, but neither would pay dearly.

Xu Biao sought only profit. Yet with past grievances, though he had thought to yield, now he must contend. At the least, he would force Jiang Baiye into loss.

He clapped his hands. From behind curtains came courtesans, clad in gauze, fragrant.

He Yun stiffened, eyes downcast, ill at ease.

Beside him, Jiang Baiye still smiled, even casting curious glances.

Xu Biao would not squander costly beauties on him, so pointed at He Yun. “Attend the young master—he seems in need.”

He Yun: “…” Had he not shown his refusal?

The magistrates had already seized courtesans, seating them upon their laps, feeding them mouth to mouth.

This was the moment when deals were struck—if one could endure the cries and giggles.

He Yun, choking on perfume, sneezed. Laughter rose, but before mockery came, Jiang Baiye lifted his cup and told a jest.

At once, all turned to him.

When he finished, the hall roared with laughter. Some wept with mirth.

“Well said! Hilarious!” cried the magistrate, pounding the table until cups rattled.

Xu Biao forced a grin, though his heart curdled.

Jiang Baiye himself did not laugh, reclining, calm. As the teller, it was proper. They begged him for more.

Instead he said, “Let us speak of the land.”

Unwittingly, he held the floor. They still longed for his words, eager for more.

An hour later, he and He Yun departed, leaving the officials behind in revelry.

They had not secured the land, but they had won the right to purchase without moving household.

“These gluttons and drunkards—yet still they handle affairs!” He Yun cursed, swallowing an antidote pill. The wine had been laced, heating the blood.

“Take one.”

“I drank none.” For all his seeming to drink deeply, Jiang Baiye had touched none, using tricks and talk to distract.

How could he risk it, when his wife’s safety was at stake?

He Yun marvelled. “You are well suited to such dealings. I would have faltered without you.”

Each had his strengths. Jiang Baiye knew his presence had been needful—especially for what came next.

“I shall prepare a scheme for that land, to add weight.”

A bidding plan. Not for the local officials, but to approach higher men—such as the senior of the Waterworks Commission.

Else, even with the land cheap, future dealings would be bitter.

“You go back to the inn. I shall walk and think.”

“The road is short—I’ll join you.”

“No. With you near, I cannot think.”

Perceiving his intent, He Yun left, curious at his secrecy.

Jiang Baiye returned to the brothel.

The courtesans came flitting.

But he had donned Lizhi’s aloof air—though but a shadow of it, enough to terrify them.

Only the madam approached. “Master Jiang, why return? Surely not to ruin us?”

“You keep men as well?” he asked cautiously.

She understood, smiling slyly. “Ah—you fancy our young boys? We have many. Our courtesan Meng’er—slender waist, enchanting—”

He cut her off, embarrassed. “I only wish to know… how two men… do such things.”

Many came for just this curiosity. The madam, unruffled, offered, “Shall I send our most skilled to show you?”

Jiang Baiye’s face darkened. “You must have books, diagrams, tools?”

She blinked. “We teach by demonstration, hands-on—”

He cursed himself for a fool, seeking knowledge here.

He had never thought beyond vague notions. But now Lizhi seemed ready. Should he not prepare, lest he blunder and leave a poor memory?

At last the madam understood, sold him trinkets, and brought forth painted manuals. “These show every step. One glance, and you shall master it.”

He snatched them and fled, unwilling to linger.

Behind him, some whispered, wistful, watching his tall back—wondering for whom he prepared.

In the street, he opened one volume. His ears reddened.

Compared to these, the book seized by Lizhi before was child’s play.

Here, each detail painted, each expression vivid, lifelike.

He snapped it shut, heat surging in his veins.

To imagine himself and Lizhi therein—he could not endure.

All else went smoothly. The “farmhouse leisure” scheme caught high attention. The senior official of the Waterworks recognised his hand.

Thus he bought three hundred acres with ease—cheaply, for his merit in flood works.

Xu Biao had thought one thousand taels a bargain.

Jiang Baiye paid but five hundred—against the five thousand others had demanded.

Now, knowing he had backing, they dared not cross him, only kept their distance.

After seven or eight days, returning to the city, his heart raced homeward. Even the carriage seemed a burden; he abandoned it for horseback.

So too was He Yun left behind, intending to speak of their estate, where he had invested a share.

But he found only the abandoned carriage, empty, horse gone.

He Yun stood stunned, with a sudden sense of kinship in misery.

Author’s Note:

Ah, chilled to the bone. Hold fast—finish it all, tie every thread. ≥﹏≤