After The Coquettish Fake Master Was Driven Away - Chapter 15

The instant that rough palm rubbed over the swollen bruise, the pain flared up several times more violent than before.

Even though he had mentally prepared himself, Xie Jinning couldn’t help but cry out in pain, like a fish out of water thrashing its tail to escape the claws that held it. But the arms were quick and strong, catching him and pressing him back into place.

The place where his thighs met was firmly trapped in the man’s palm. His jade-white feet kicked against the bedsheet, only managing to wrinkle the cloth.

“It hurts, wuu… I don’t want the medicine anymore, stop rubbing me, let me go.”

His slender, pale fingers clenched until the knuckles turned bluish-white, the faint veins under the thin skin twisting like vines, trembling as their owner struggled.

His whole body flushed, his slim waist twisting, tears falling in streams. At his hips, the tender flesh quivered, soft and pink, revealed and concealed with each movement.

Red and white, rising and falling—there was a strangely decadent beauty in it.

“Endure it.”

His legs closed together, but the man bent forward, catching him by the waist and pulling him back. Yan Yi smeared ointment onto his palm once again and pressed it down.

Seeing that he couldn’t break free, Xie Jinning lashed out with curses:

“Yan Yi, you bastard, ah! You hateful brute, stinking oaf, let me go!”

Then his voice softened into a plea:

“Wuu, stop, it hurts so much… I don’t want medicine anymore, no more…”

“Almost done.”

His palm was full of soft, slippery sensation, like pressing against smooth tofu. Yan Yi exhaled hot breath, feeling as if the bath he had just taken had gone to waste, his whole body burning again.

The rubbed wound stung hot and sore, but gradually the burning pain shifted into an odd tingling numbness. With his lashes wet from sweat and tears, Xie Jinning bit down on the corner of the pillow, muffling his sobs and whimpers. But some still escaped.

His black hair spread loose and tangled, stark against the whiteness of his skin, making the scene all the more suggestive.

His shirt had ridden up, revealing nearly all of his snow-white waist, faintly lined with finger-marks. The narrow torso flared gradually into broader curves, framing the soft, full flesh being rubbed and kneaded, glistening with ointment.

The twin dimples at the base of his back looked as if they were filled with sweet wine, inviting a kiss, a taste.

The air was full of medicinal scent mixed with the youth’s fragrance. Yan Yi’s eyes were bloodshot, his brows drawn tight as if he would grind his back teeth to pieces.

His palm pressed against trembling softness that spasmed and quivered beneath his hand. Heat flared in Yan Yi’s chest, spreading with his bl00d through every limb and organ, as if it would consume him whole.

Sweat streamed from his temples, dripping right between those trembling thighs, sliding down the pale seam as though it were sweet nectar secreted there.

Outside, the moon was high and the autumn wind cool, but inside the room was thick with heat and fragrance, springlike and stifling.

Yan Yi suddenly stood up. “It’s done.”

By the time Xie Jinning had caught his breath, the man was gone.

“Yan Yi, you bastard!”

Xie Jinning’s body was limp, his voice hoarse and weak like a kitten’s mewl, even his angry shout sounding soft and pitiful.

He had vomited up dinner before bathing and worried he might wake hungry at midnight. He had wanted to ask Yan Yi if there was food after the medicine, but the man had fled in an instant.

And…

Just now, he had actually felt a strange, tingling numbness—his bones still seemed to hum with it.

Shame surged hot in his chest, his eyes reddening. After a moment he grabbed the pillow, treating it as Yan Yi, and pummeled it in frustrated fury.

When the ointment dried, he carefully put on his pants and finally collapsed into sleep on his stomach.

That night, the moon hung high.

Yan Yi lay in bed, restless.

He wore only his undershirt, the neatly folded quilt piled in the corner. Though the autumn night was cool, sweat soaked his back.

He could not sleep.

Each time he closed his eyes, he saw again that soft, trembling body, and heard Jinning’s cries of pain.

“Damn it.”

His breath grew thick, nose filling with heat as if bl00d would gush out. Sweat poured down his face, chest heaving, his gaze falling on the proud bulge between his legs. With a snarl he sat up and slapped himself hard.

“Gone mad… thinking only of that… what’s the difference between me and a lecher?”

The blow rang loud and clear. His face throbbed, cheek swelling, but that only reminded him of the sensation still lingering in his hand—smooth and yielding.

His expression darkened, and with a growl he leapt from bed to practice punches. In the empty room the strikes cracked like whips, fierce and terrifying.

Had Jinning been present, he would have realized the man’s blows earlier—when spanking him—had been less than a tenth of this strength.

In the dark, Yan Yi’s black eyes blazed like fire, veins bulging across his muscular arms as he struck again and again with relentless power.

An entire hour passed before he finally exhausted himself, dripping with sweat. He wiped himself down with a rag, then lay back, staring sleepless at the thatched roof.

His body calmed, but his mind grew sharper, refusing rest.

He laced his hands behind his head, forcing himself to dig once more into his fragmented memories.

But again, nothing—just fleeting shards like needles of light vanishing into void.

Another fruitless day.

After lying there, unable to sleep, he finally rose and went outside to gaze at the moon.

The Xie house was only half an arm’s width away from the yard wall, practically nothing. Jinning’s bedroom was the closest room, right beside it.

Without realizing, Yan Yi wandered to the wall.

By moonlight, the wall was only yellow mud and stone, but his gaze seemed to pierce through to the boy sleeping inside.

The night was still. Even the wind paused. Yan Yi could hear Jinning’s breathing—shallow, steady—deep in sleep.

He let out a breath unconsciously, then frowned.

“Why…?”

Was it truly only because he had reached the age of marriage and children, that he saw this boy, delicate as a girl, as though he were a woman?

He did not know.

He stood there in silence. Just as he turned to leave, one foot lifting from the ground—he heard another sound.

A whimper.

Perhaps Jinning had cried too much earlier, but Yan Yi knew instantly this was different.

Not a cry of pain or grievance. His breath was short, his throat thick, muddied with dream.

It was the sound of nightmare.

Yan Yi paused.

Should he go look?

Inside, Jinning whimpered again. Sweat beaded on his brow, his flushed color fading, leaving his face pale with only two bright patches of fever-red on his cheeks.

“Wuu.”

Jinning felt as though soaking in hot water, but soon it froze to ice, chilling him to the bone. Then came heat again.

Back and forth—cold and hot—tormenting.

He knew he was feverish, but his body weighed a thousand pounds. His eyelids stuck, refusing to open. His throat was blocked.

Cold outside, fire within. He could hardly breathe.

“So hot… uncomfortable…”

His lips cracked open, but no voice came out.

Yan Yi was the only one who could help him—but surely he was asleep, and they were separated by a wall. There was no way he would hear.

Jinning’s heart sank in despair.

Sweat drenched his hair, clinging to his neck like a net to strangle him. His mind clouded further. He thought he truly might die tonight.

Then—he thought he heard a voice. Perhaps hallucination at death’s door.

Until trembling fingers, lifted with the last of his strength, were grasped by a hand. Only then did he relax—and collapse into unconsciousness.

His sleep was heavy, fever-dreamed. At moments of half-awareness, he felt himself being carried, legs dangling, arms limp.

The night wind was cold against his cheek, so he instinctively buried into the warmth, blocking the sound of the wind.

The ban he had placed on himself during the day dissolved. He remembered his childhood—riding on his father Xie Qing’s back like a horse. The mighty master of river transport, who at home was just a husband and father.

He would lift his long-absent child high into the air, making Jinning laugh, then tickle his cheek with stubble until tears welled, before crouching down on all fours to let him ride piggyback.

Inside the house—his mother’s gentle scolding, his father’s laughter, his own clapping hands—woven into a tapestry of warmth and joy.

Outside of that memory, Jinning stood in darkness, weeping, his tears dampening the shoulder of the man who carried him.

“Wuu.”

His jade-white fingers curled, making Yan Yi slow his steps, thinking he had woken.

But looking down, he saw the youth’s flushed face peeking from the blanket, lashes trembling, tears glimmering at the corners of his eyes.

“…Dad…”

The memory shattered, replaced by rapid breath and a pounding heart.

Jinning frowned, whispering softly, “I hate you.”

He didn’t know to whom he spoke, before his head fell again into deep sleep.

The village road was dark and narrow, silent beneath the moonlight that cast long shadows.

The man quickened his pace, shifting his grip on the boy’s thighs to carry him more steadily, then hurried on.

There had once been an old physician in the village, but months ago, Yan Yi had nearly harmed him in a fit, frightening the man’s children into taking him away to the town clinic.

The nearest clinic was in another village, twenty or thirty li away.

Yan Yi had already been running nearly an hour, slowing only when he felt the boy stir, then speeding up again once he quieted.

Now, more than half the journey was done.