After The Coquettish Fake Master Was Driven Away - Chapter 13

The stench—overwhelming.

Xie Jinning had only just stepped inside when the odor nearly forced him back out through the curtain.

The exterior was already shabby enough, made only of straw and wood planks, but he hadn’t expected the inside to be worse. There were just two wooden boards, one to the left and one to the right, with a gap in the middle from which the foul stench constantly poured.

The darkness of night hid what was inside, but that suffocating, almost tangible stench could not be ignored. It made his eyes water, his throat heave, and nearly made him vomit.

Forcing down the urge to bolt, he hurried through his business. When he pulled up his trousers, Xie Jinning pressed his lips tight together, not daring to cry out even when he tugged too hard—afraid that a single deep breath would let the poisonous air rot his insides.

He all but fled outside. After rinsing his hands, he leaned against the wall, clutching his chest, face pale as a withered cabbage sprout.

His body felt lighter, but his mind was exhausted and on the verge of collapse. His stomach churned; he wanted to throw up but couldn’t bear to waste the food he had eaten. He forced it down, cheeks flushing red from the effort.

“So smelly—ugh. You—you people are really disgusting!”

As though the smell still clung to his fingers, he flailed them in the air weakly, as if the wind might blow away some invisible filth. When the nausea faded a little, he muttered, “Why don’t you ever empty it? It reeks in there!”

“Is it that bad?”

Yan Yi, who had just set down the tub he’d rinsed, lifted the curtain and peeked inside. “It’s fine. I emptied it just seven days ago for composting. It’s only half full—you can bear with it a while longer.”

Thinking he’d misheard, Xie Jinning asked, “What? Compost?”

“Yes. We collect it to use as fertilizer.”

Xie Jinning froze.

Even if he was no farmer, he knew fertilizer was for crops. And Yan Yi was saying the raw material came from… from that.

He couldn’t even say the word.

Could it be that the vegetables he had been eating every day were grown with… with that? Wasn’t that the same as eating it directly?

His stomach rolled. Face turning ashen, he could no longer hold it back. He bent over and retched.

“What should I do, Yan Yi?”

Using the handkerchief Yan Yi handed over, he wiped his lips and rinsed his mouth, still looking miserable. “If they’re watering crops with this, then won’t I—won’t I end up eating… ugh—”

“No.” Yan Yi didn’t even need to guess what the little young master was imagining. He sighed inwardly, cleaning up the vomit.

“This is only part of the material. We also add fruit and vegetable peels, fish bones, scraps of meat, mixed with wood ash to disinfect. Then it’s sealed and left to ferment for many days before it becomes proper natural fertilizer.

It enriches the soil, lets the crops grow stronger, and is a normal farming method used for thousands of years. And besides, produce is always washed before cooking. There’s no need to worry.”

Xie Jinning couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or not, but Yan Yi carried a steady conviction that made him half believe anyway.

The suffocating nausea in his chest eased a little, though his stomach still threatened to turn. He swallowed several times before finally suppressing it.

When he looked up and saw Yan Yi’s calm expression, he suddenly felt childish and foolish for overreacting.

Heat crept up his cheeks. He wrinkled his nose and muttered, “So what if you know everything? You think you’re amazing.”

He thought he’d said it quietly, but the night wind carried it straight to Yan Yi’s ears. The corner of the man’s lips curved.

“Knowing more means not vomiting in disgust.”

“You—!”

Fuming, Xie Jinning bent over despite his pain and snatched up a stone, deliberately tossing it toward Yan Yi’s shoulder. “Hurry up and finish, then go boil the water!”

Yan Yi didn’t even look. He lifted a hand and caught it neatly. “Right away.”

He was used to washing with cold water—one bucket over his head and it was done. But the little young master was different. He wanted to soak, but couldn’t for too long or his body would weaken.

The well was at the village entrance. Yan Yi went back and forth several times, filling the pot to heat, then carrying it inside. But Xie Jinning complained it was too hot.

So Yan Yi mixed in cold water. Steam curled upward. White fingertips dipped lightly into the water and retreated like startled birds, sending ripples across the surface.

By the bath bucket stood a youth whose face was like a painting, eyes glittering, lips flushed from the steam as he scolded softly.

“Too cold now. Are you trying to freeze me to death, Yan Yi?”

Yan Yi had no choice but to reheat more water, repeating the process until the temperature was finally to his liking.

Xie Jinning had no spare clothes. Xie Zhu had left some behind, patched and worn, but he refused to wear them. In the end, Yan Yi went back to fetch an old cotton shirt of his own that was now too small for him.

“I’ve set it beside you. I’ll step—”

A faint sound of fabric sliding to the floor cut him off. In the swaying candlelight, the youth gathered his hair to his chest, tugging the green robe open. The garment slipped from his shoulders, baring one pale curve.

The thin under-robe clung close, outlining the delicate neck and narrow waist. The exposed skin was whiter than the fabric itself, and through the glow of the flame, it shimmered like moonlight on water—indistinct yet breathtaking.

Yan Yi’s breath caught. His heartbeat faltered. He turned away quickly, voice low. “I’ll be outside. Call me if you need anything.”

Xie Jinning, busy undoing his sash, didn’t look up. He only hummed softly in reply.

As Yan Yi stepped out, he heard the youth’s voice again: “From now on, don’t undress in front of others.”

Fingers paused on the sash. Xie Jinning blinked.

He’d always bathed with attendants present, long since accustomed to undressing before others. And besides, they were all men. What was wrong with taking off some clothes?

It wasn’t like he was completely naked.

“So what if you’re older? You think you can control everything.”

…

Inside, water splashed.

Yan Yi leaned against the wall, arms folded. Moonlight traced the bridge of his nose, shadows pooling in his eyes.

It had been an ordinary day—chopping wood, hunting, cooking, carrying water.

The only unusual part was this spoiled, delicate little young master.

He cried easily, was picky yet ate little, had a temper yet could be coaxed.

Like some small, harmless animal—trembling in fear in a strange place, clinging instinctively to strength. Once safe, though, he would stretch out soft little claws to scratch.

But he was so weak, without any real bite. Just soft fur and wet eyes that stirred pity.

…Cute.

Time passed. The splashing stopped. Silence.

Fearing the boy had fainted, Yan Yi reached for the door—only to hear rustling, the sound of dressing.

“Yan Yi.”

The youth’s voice was soft, soaked with water. “I’m done. Come take the tub.”

Moments later, in the courtyard, Yan Yi sank into the same water.

The boy hadn’t been dirty—just sweat, a little dust in his hair. Yan Yi didn’t care. He’d carried all the water, and fetching more this late would disturb the villagers.

The tub that let the young master soak comfortably was barely enough for Yan Yi. As soon as he sat, the water overflowed, rising only to his waist.

Bare-chested, muscles relaxed yet still taut, he looked like a predator at rest.

Scars covered him—deep, shallow, old. Across his chest, down his back, one long wound from shoulder blade to waist. Ferocious, ugly.

Scooping water over his chest, he touched the round scar near his collarbone where something had pierced through. He tilted his head back, staring at the moon, mind blank.

He had no memory of where he came from, nor how he had gained such wounds. Whenever he tried to recall, all he felt was a gnawing, restless darkness. Sometimes fleeting images surfaced, only to slip away.

Perhaps he really should leave soon—just as Xie Zhu warned—before he brought disaster to Hetian Village.

His thoughts broke at the faint sound of a door.

Turning, he saw pale skin in the moonlight.

Xie Jinning had no trousers on. The shirt Yan Yi had given him was far too big, hanging loose, hem brushing only mid-thigh.

His legs stretched bare beneath—straight, firm, gleaming like porcelain glazed in moonlight.

His damp hair dripped, darkening the loose collar. At his collarbone, a tiny red mole glowed against the whiteness like a seed, ready to sprout and bloom.

Yan Yi’s throat bobbed. He shifted position in the water.

The bath still held the boy’s warmth and scent. It felt like firewood had been tossed into the tub, heat climbing through him.

The fragrance sank into his lungs, dragging with it a dark, forbidden desire.

“Yan Yi.”

In the silvered moonlight, the boy’s face was veiled like with gauze. “I’ve been calling—why aren’t you answering?”

“What is it…”

His voice was hoarse beyond recognition.

The autumn night was cool. Xie Jinning shivered and stepped back, widening the distance. Yan Yi couldn’t read his expression now.

“You should hurry up. I still need my medicine.”

“Lie down in bed. Cover yourself so you don’t catch cold. I’ll be there soon.”

“Fine.”

The door remained open. From where Yan Yi sat, he could see the boy shuffle slowly to the bed, supporting himself on the table.

Then he bent, hands on the mattress, lowering himself…

Yan Yi’s breath stopped again.

The hem of his shirt rode up. A glimpse of pale curve, flushed red at the peak, spreading heat across the snowy skin.

Yan Yi dropped his gaze, not daring another look. Sweat slid down his temple, dripping into the water.

He clenched the tub’s edge so hard the wood dented. His chest heaved.

Perhaps it had simply been too long since he’d… released himself. Otherwise, how could he feel this way for another man—this man?

He bit his lip, hand slipping beneath the water.

A muffled groan. Ripples spread.

By the time he surfaced, the bathwater was cold, yet his body burned like molten rock. He climbed out swiftly, poured the water away, erasing every trace.

Only the moon bore witness.