After The Coquettish Fake Master Was Driven Away - Chapter 11

The boy smiled with his brows arched, like a crescent moon hanging on a tree branch—mischievous and full of life.

Turns out, he still wanted more meat.

What a sly little raccoon.

“There isn’t any left,” Yan Yi said. “Just this one bowl.”

In truth, he still had half a portion of unprocessed ingredients, which he was planning to keep for Xie Nong.

Yan Yi wasn’t from Hetian Village.

A few months ago, it was Xie Nong who had rescued him from the riverside and brought him back to the Xie household.

He had lost his memory. All he remembered was the pronunciation of his name—he didn’t even know how to write it, nor his family background or place of origin. Xie Zhu, seeing that his wounds weren’t from ordinary weapons and that his origins were unclear, feared he might bring trouble to Hetian Village, and urged him to leave as soon as possible.

But Xie Nong was kind. Seeing he didn’t seem like a villain and was seriously injured, he insisted that Yan Yi stay temporarily, arranging for him to live in the broken-down hut next to the Xie home, and even paid for a doctor to bandage him up.

Yan Yi didn’t know where else to go, so he simply stayed. Xie Nong often looked after him, and once he recovered, Yan Yi helped out with the household chores to repay the life-saving grace.

He was agile, strong, and before long had made a place for himself in Hetian Village with his own skills.

The Xie family was only father and son. When Xie Zhu was home, farmwork was at least shared. But now, with this delicate young master around—whose ten slender fingers clearly weren’t meant for work—there wasn’t much hope of relying on him. It seemed Yan Yi would have to help the Xies even more in the future.

“Really, just this one bowl?” Xie Jinning had never dealt with such things before and didn’t know how much meat a chicken should yield. He pouted in disappointment, touching his stomach.

He had already cleaned out his bowl of rice and eaten a third of the chestnut-braised chicken. His stomach was tight and full—he couldn’t manage another bite even if he wanted to. Reluctantly, he said, “Fine then.”

Yan Yi tried to persuade him: “It’s not guaranteed we’ll have meat every day. You should eat a little more.”

“But I’m already full.” Seeing Yan Yi had barely eaten, Xie Jinning asked, “Why do you eat so slowly? I’ve already finished.”

He wrinkled his nose and muttered under his breath, “It’s not like I stopped you from eating. Why do you make it seem like I made you eat leftovers?”

Was he waiting to complain to Xie Zhu and his wife later?

Xie Jinning curled his fingers uneasily.

He didn’t want to see his biological parents just yet.

First, he didn’t know how to face them. Second, the environment here was so harsh that he couldn’t possibly stay forever—once he healed, he’d still have to find a way to leave.

When Xie Jinning set down his chopsticks, Yan Yi began to eat.

As though ingrained in his bones, Yan Yi ate quickly—like a strong wind sweeping away clouds. In just a few bites, he demolished two coarse buns and half a plate of wild greens. Bold, swift, yet not at all crude.

Just moments earlier, Xie Jinning had been complaining about how slow he was. But when he looked up again, he saw Yan Yi bite off half a bun and swallow it down after only a few chews.

He clicked his tongue inwardly: if they ever ate at the same time, at this speed, he wouldn’t be able to snatch a thing from this hungry wolf.

“Why aren’t you eating the meat?” Xie Jinning asked suspiciously. “You’re not saving it for me, are you?”

“Mm.”

Yan Yi said, “Even if you’re full, you should eat more. You’re too thin. You should put some flesh on. Once you eat more, your appetite will naturally grow.”

Thin?

Xie Jinning looked at himself, then at Yan Yi. Compared side by side, he really was much thinner.

His thighs might not even be as thick as Yan Yi’s arms.

But he didn’t like the feeling of being stuffed—his stomach would get bloated and he’d burp endlessly.

And getting fat was out of the question.

That Zhu fellow, the third son of a winehouse in the southern city, grew up indulging in food and drink, ending up with greasy layers of fat. When he walked, his whole body jiggled in three ripples. Hideous.

Imagining his own head on that body, Xie Jinning instantly broke out in goosebumps. He waved his hand hurriedly: “Forget it, forget it, I think I’m fine as I am.”

Yan Yi didn’t press the matter.

When he saw that Xie Jinning had finished his third bun without touching the meat, the boy propped his cheek with one hand and began drifting into thought again.

When he told him not to fight, he wouldn’t stop. But now, how come he was so obedient—say he won’t eat, and he really won’t?

But that chicken was caught by him, the meal cooked by him. After all that effort, he didn’t get a single bite. Wouldn’t he feel resentful? Wouldn’t he think I’m selfish?

Yes, he hurt me and caused my injury, so he should make it up to me. But I was the one who threw the bowl first… Ugh, never mind. If he thinks I’m too much, what if he stops listening to me later?

What if he gets angry and hits me again? I can’t beat him! Feels like he could knock me flying with one punch…

The pampered young master never learned to hide his feelings—his delicate little face shifted through colors: biting his lip, furrowing brows, sneaking glances at Yan Yi, then hanging his head in dejection.

Yan Yi quietly slowed down his chewing.

Frightened by his last imagination, Xie Jinning shivered again, his long lashes fluttering quickly. The soft skin on his cheeks smoothed out as he moved his hand away, leaving faint red marks.

He looked at Yan Yi seriously, his clear amber eyes carrying both respect for strength and a subtle plea for favor:

“Yan… Yan Yi, you eat. Tomorrow… I’ll eat something else.”

Then he quickly pressed his lips together.

“Mm?” Yan Yi’s brow moved slightly. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll really eat it?”

“Go ahead.”

Suddenly struck with the urge to tease, Yan Yi’s lips curved faintly: “I eat a lot. Once I’m done, there won’t be a single bite left.”

“You’re so annoying!”

Xie Jinning’s brows shot up as he glared, “So what if you eat? It’s not like this stuff is anything precious. Back in the Xie household, this kind of food couldn’t even…” be placed on his table.

Before he finished, he froze. His expression crumbled, lashes falling low to hide the emotion in his eyes. “Just eat it if you want.”

His voice trembled faintly—low, aggrieved—like a drizzle of rain.

The atmosphere cooled. Yan Yi bit into a half-warm chestnut, but tasted nothing at all.

He said quietly, “If Uncle Xie doesn’t come back tomorrow, I’ll cook you something else.”

From the moment he woke, Yan Yi realized—he’d never once heard him mention a mistress of the house. Always “Uncle Xie,” never “Auntie.”

Where was she?

Xie Jinning was curious, but unwilling to dwell on it. He only nodded softly. “Okay.”

Still looking listless.

It was only the first day. Step by step—he would adjust in time.

After clearing the table, Yan Yi helped Xie Jinning back to the bed before tidying up the bowls.

With his stomach warm and full, Xie Jinning’s cheeks gained some color. Calmer now, he watched Yan Yi bustling about and cleared his throat: “By the way, my name is Xie Jinning—Jin with the ‘jade’ radical, and Ning for ‘peaceful.’ You’d better remember.”

“Alright.”

Yan Yi finished wiping the table and turned. “Jinning. Jade-like and serene. A fine name.”

“Do you even need to say it?”

Xie Jinning arched his delicate brows, tilting his fair little chin upward. “Well? Isn’t my name far better than that Xie Zhu?”

Fine jade was worth far more than bamboo!

But Yan Yi only replied, “In my eyes, each has its own charm.”

That was not the answer Xie Jinning wanted. Not only had this man hit him, he couldn’t even say something nice to comfort him!

Would it kill him to coax him with a few sweet words?

He immediately lost the mood to keep talking. Puffing his cheeks, he jabbed a finger at the door. “Out! I’m resting. Don’t talk to me!”

…

After finishing up, Yan Yi lit a candle before leaving.

Sitting sideways on the bed, Xie Jinning’s expression dimmed as he gazed at the flame flickering on the table.

The warm glow reflected in his autumn-water eyes, yet could not dispel the fog within—only trapped and sealed inside the amber.

Hetian Village at night was unnervingly quiet. So quiet that even the wind seemed swallowed. Only the sound of his heartbeat remained—hollow, lonely.

Xie Jinning had never been alone before.

Outside, he had friends. At home, parents and elder brother. Beside him, always A-He. Even when grounded, with guards stationed at the door day and night, he never felt lonely—just bored.

Even when driven back to the village, Wang Zhihe had accompanied him all the way.

But now that Yan Yi was gone, the whole house was empty.

Utterly, completely empty.

The room was only a quarter the size of his old chamber. In daylight, it had felt cramped. Now it seemed terrifyingly vast.

Vast and hollow, unable to be filled even by a single flicker of candlelight.

Darkness chased away the last bit of twilight. The moon climbed high. The night grew cold and bleak.

In this suffocating solitude, Xie Jinning’s heart sank deeper and deeper. His eyelids hardly stirred, until at last, when they blinked, tears clung to his lashes and fell with a faint pat onto the quilt.

They say food and warmth stir desire—but here he was, spiraling into thoughts again.

After venting his earlier emotions, he hadn’t truly wanted to cry. Yet under the slow erosion of the night, his defenses collapsed.

He couldn’t stop himself.

He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking of the Xie family far away in the capital—would they grieve for sending him away? Or would they grow even closer to Xie Zhu, living together more harmoniously than they ever had with him?

Thinking of A-He, who had never left his side for a single day—would he be reassigned elsewhere, or perhaps stay with Xie Zhu as his study attendant?

Thinking of his friends—when they noticed his disappearance, would they search for him? Or simply shift all that friendship onto Xie Zhu, calling him “brother” instead?

Oh right—he had forgotten. Everything he’d ever had had always belonged to Xie Zhu to begin with.

This was simply a case of returning things to their rightful owner.

The night breeze carried dampness, chilling his cheek. He touched his face and found it wet. At some point, his tears had been flowing endlessly.

He hugged his arms tightly. His chest felt like it had been punctured by a great hole. The wind rushed inside, desperate to fill it, stretching him to the point of bursting.

So cold.

Xie Jinning had a secret.

He was never really the cherished treasure his parents praised. Never the radiant sun his brother claimed brought warmth and joy.

He was just a fragile little flower, needing careful watering with love and attention.

His parents, his brother, his friends—he had once been rooted deeply in that rich, fertile soil, blooming freely. But now, he had been ripped up, transplanted into barren dirt.

His petals torn away. Loneliness severed his roots like a sharp blade. And Xie Jinning thought—he was about to wither.

“Ah…”

The harder he tried not to think, the more memories surfaced. Sixteen years of joyful details clawed their way back, stabbing and twisting inside his mind.

He opened his lips, wanting to cry out. But no sound came—only breath.

Suddenly, he felt so tired.

If he had died back when his childhood illness first struck, wouldn’t it have been better? He’d never have learned the truth. His short life would have ended still carrying the title of Young Master Xie, still believing he was his parents’ child, his brother’s true sibling.

Better that than now—

a cuckoo in another’s nest, a counterfeit.

To die while still loved was better than being discarded like worn shoes.

He felt like a fish out of water, the dry air pressing against his skin, wrapping his mouth and nose, leaving him unable to breathe.

“Hah…”

He braced himself against the bed edge, half his body hanging over the side. His pale fingers clutched at his collar, slowly creeping upward—