After The Coquettish Fake Master Was Driven Away - Chapter 20

Xie Nong was standing, Yan Yi was about to rise as well, but only Xie Jinning still sat where he was.

Among those present, he was the youngest, and to sit while the others stood seemed quite rude. Yet, sitting suited him best, and he was unwilling to rise and have his wound pressed again.

Besides, the cushion Yan Yi had given him was soft, very comfortable to sit on…

Such back-and-forth wasn’t worth the fuss. The night was not too cold, and eating under the stars had its own charm.

“It’s fine to eat right here.”

Xie Jinning was the first to pick up his chopsticks, making as if to take food, so Xie Nong could only sit back down.

“Alright, let’s eat first, eat first,” he said. “Child, if you feel uncomfortable in any way, you must remember to tell me.”

“Okay.”

Warmth fell over his shoulder again as another outer robe was draped over him. Yan Yi had returned without anyone noticing, and he said nothing, simply sitting down.

Xie Jinning drew the garment around himself. “Thank you, Brother Yan.”

Xie Nong smiled. “I’ve been away from home these past two days, thank you, Little Yan, for looking after—”

Halfway through, he faltered. Xie Jinning wanted to stay aloof, but seeing the joy between the man’s brows, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter it, so he finished the words:

“My name is Xie Jinning.”

“Jinning, Xie Jinning.” Xie Nong murmured the name a few times, his smile deepening. “Good name, a very good name.”

He raised his wine bowl and clinked with Yan Yi. “Little Yan, thank you for looking after Jinning. Uncle Xie toasts you.”

“…It was no trouble.”

Yan Yi’s Adam’s apple bobbed. In the wine bowl he held was a reflection of the crescent moon, and faintly, another figure shimmered into view. His hand trembled, ripples spreading out, breaking apart that pale silhouette.

Xie Nong turned to look at Jinning again. The boy’s lowered brows overlapped once more with Afang’s face in his mind.

“Jinning…” At the moment of speaking, his voice caught. “It’s enough that you’ve come back, enough that you’ve come back.”

He raised his bowl, wanting to clink, but Jinning merely held his teacup, unmoving.

His arm, still sore from long toil, throbbed with dull pain that spread to his heart. Without even drinking, Xie Nong already tasted bitterness.

He had been overjoyed to see his son, but the boy had only returned to suffer.

Where was the joy in that?

Xie Nong patted his own lips and forced a smile. “Jinning… look at me, I’m old now, dull in the head, my words run ahead of my brain. Don’t—don’t take it to heart.”

With that, he stretched his trembling arm and gently knocked his bowl against Jinning’s teacup, then tilted his head back and drained it.

The burning liquor slid down his throat. It was good wine, chosen specially, yet it tasted harsher than the cheapest swill—bitter and fiery, scorching his chest, bringing tears to his eyes, wetting the deep lines on his face.

His fingertips still tingled from the touch of the ceramic. Such a small cup of tea in his son’s hand, yet it felt like it weighed a thousand catties.

At his side, the man coughed softly through the burn of alcohol. Jinning swallowed the sourness rising in his throat, and his vision blurred once again.

He had seen many flatterers in his life, but now the one so careful, so fawning before him was his own father…

“I won’t.”

He answered softly, and at last raised his teacup—but before it reached his lips, a large honey-colored hand stopped him.

Yan Yi leaned forward, trying to take the cup from him. “I’ll drink it for you.”

The boy lifted his arm, his sleeve sliding down to reveal a slender, pale wrist. In the moonlight it gleamed with smooth luster, the wrist bones delicate like white stones in a mountain brook—fine, fragile, begging to be cradled and played with.

“No need.” Jinning gave a little push, but Yan Yi didn’t budge. He could only shoot him a sidelong glance, lips pursed in a faint pout. “I’ll just taste a little, it’s no big deal.”

It was a look half-anger, half-petulance, like a pawing kitten scratching at his chest. Yan Yi silently released his grip, his hand curling into a fist on his knee.

In his sixteen years, Jinning had never once touched alcohol. Those around him had always shielded him, refusing to let him taste it. Now, curiosity won.

He lifted the bowl and sniffed—grainy, sour, not at all pleasant. He dipped the tip of his tongue against the surface. At once the fiery burn wrinkled his nose, and he licked his lips, pushing the bowl away.

Amusement flickered in Yan Yi’s eyes. His gaze lingered on the boy’s wet lips.

Those lips were plump and red, especially the lower one, so soft-looking it seemed made to be bitten and sucked, surely sweet to taste.

Between pearly teeth, the tip of a rosy tongue slipped out, trembling faintly in the air as if to cool the sting on his taste buds.

Color flushed his cheeks, his brows drew together in mild frustration—but with that little tongue peeking out, there was an unbidden charm.

And softness.

Yan Yi lowered his eyes and gulped down a mouthful of wine.

“Eat while it’s hot, eat while it’s hot—once it cools, it won’t taste as good.”

Xie Nong wiped at the tears in his eyes and urged them to eat. He filled their bowls with rice, heaping Jinning’s and Yan Yi’s full, leaving only half a bowl for himself.

The rice was white, plump, clearly new grain.

He had also prepared an extra pair of chopsticks, and placed a piece of fish in Jinning’s bowl. “Here, Jinning, taste my cooking.”

He could see the boy’s discomfort. After his initial slip of tongue, he hadn’t once called himself “father,” nor demanded Jinning call him so either.

Now that his son had come back, they were family again. From now on it would just be the two of them, father and son, relying on each other. There was time yet—he believed he would one day hear Jinning call him “father.”

And if he never did, that was fine too.

The rice, soaked in broth, was fragrant. Jinning carefully peeled away the fish skin, picked up a small bite and ate it slowly.

He liked fish, but once had a bone lodged in his throat, so since then he had only eaten filleted fish or soup, never whole cuts.

The flesh was firm but carried a fishy tang, and a touch of saltiness—not very tasty, though the bones were few and large.

Jinning forced himself to eat on, unhurried.

Yan Yi took one bite and frowned.

Since coming to Hetian Village, he had often shared meals with the Xie family. He knew Xie Nong’s cooking well—so long as it was cooked through, that was all one could expect.

Earlier, when he tried to help in the kitchen, Xie Nong had refused, saying he wanted to personally cook for Jinning, so Yan Yi had made two meat dishes next door and brought them over.

Xie Nong had eaten his own cooking too long to tell good from bad, and Yan Yi didn’t care—he was the type to eat whatever was set in front of him.

But the pampered young master… was actually eating with such relish?

“How is it?” Xie Nong’s eyes shone with hope. “Tasty? I added bean paste for more flavor, thought it’d taste better that way.”

At last Jinning swallowed the three-finger-wide chunk of fish. He wanted water, but his cup held only wine. He ate some vegetables instead, to mask the salt.

He nodded lightly. “It’s alright.”

Joy lit up Xie Nong’s face. He downed another gulp of wine and added more fish to the bowl. “If you like it, eat more. From now on I’ll cook for you every day. Whatever you want, I’ll buy it for you.”

“I—cough, cough…”

Jinning had just swallowed a bite of greens when he choked on the juice, covering his mouth, eyes misty with tears.

“I’ll get you water.”

While Xie Nong left, Jinning dropped the act. After coughing, he sighed, and jabbed at the new piece of fish in his bowl with his chopsticks until it was full of holes.

Forget it—it wasn’t unbearable. Tonight, he’d let the man have his happiness.

Still, the look of distaste was hard to hide.

Then another pair of chopsticks reached in, taking away the fish. His bowl of fish was slid aside, replaced with a dish of stir-fried rabbit Yan Yi had hunted that day.

Yan Yi said, “Eat meat.”

And poured the wine from his cup into his own bowl.

“?”

Jinning blinked at the sudden maneuver, coughing lightly. “What are you doing? I can eat it.”

“This suits your taste better.”

With that, Yan Yi quickly picked out the bones and shoveled the fish into his own mouth, chewing in big bites. In a moment, half the dish was gone.

When Xie Nong returned with a cup of warm water and handed it to Jinning, Yan Yi spoke up:

“Uncle Xie’s fish is as delicious as ever. I must’ve gotten carried away and eaten too much—sorry.”

“Oh, what’s there to apologize for?”

Xie Nong didn’t doubt him, only grew more cheerful. His broad, honest face was lit by a smile that wouldn’t fade. “Eat, eat, there’s plenty. Tonight we celebrate—we’ll eat our fill.”

Hiding behind the water cup, Jinning cast a sideways glance at Yan Yi, who was devouring food with gusto. His gaze was complicated.

So he really did like it? Strange—his taste was…

Quite unusual.

…

After several rounds of wine, most of the food was gone. Yan Yi gathered the bowls and went off to wash them, leaving father and son alone in the courtyard.

Xie Nong drained the last of his wine. With the alcohol in his bl00d, his dark-red face turned ruddy.

He quietly watched Jinning, who sat across from him, hands cupping tea, eyes downcast, unreadable.

“Good child… You’ve come back, and you’ve been wronged.”

Jinning said nothing.

He was wronged—sorely so. But then he thought, this was supposed to be his true life, while the one he had lived belonged to Xie Zhu. He had stolen that. Did he have the right to feel wronged?

Once, his heart had been small, holding only what he loved most: father, mother, brother, fine clothes and delicacies, treasures and toys.

Now it held grief, bitterness, regret, and turmoil—feelings that tore at him until he could hardly bear it.

“Back then… it was your mother’s fault. She made us, father and son, be torn apart for so many years.”

Drunk, Xie Nong hiccuped. His slurred words jolted Jinning from his haze, seizing all his attention.

“What do you mean?”

Why was he saying it was his mother, Afang’s, fault?

“No, no—it wasn’t your mother’s fault, it was mine.”

Xie Nong shook his head violently, covering his face as tears spilled. “It was me, I wasn’t capable. I couldn’t give her a better life. I failed her, failed little Zhu. And now I’ve made you come back to suffer too—I’ve failed you as well…”

Jinning’s heart skipped a beat, his breath nearly stopping. His voice shook. “You—what are you saying? What do you mean, mother’s fault? What really happened?”

…

In the capital, at the Xie estate, in the Bamboo Pavilion.

Xie Zhu stood quietly in the courtyard.

Dressed in plain robes, his figure was tall and upright like bamboo, serene like a breeze beneath the moon. His complexion was still sallow, but faintly, he bore the air of a gentleman.

Gazing at the crescent moon in the sky, his phoenix eyes stirred with faint emotion.

He wondered how that proud little young master was faring now. Had he grown accustomed to Hetian Village?

And his father—surely he too would grow fond of such a vivid, spirited child.

Tomorrow morning, he would enter the palace. Who knew if they would meet again?

On the way to the Xie residence, he had seen refugees clogging the roads, corpses of the starved lying side by side—while within the capital, it was all song and dance, gluttony and wine.

Xie Zhu wanted to change all of this.

The emperor and the watchdogs of the Eastern Depot already had their eyes on the Xie family. His path was bound to be perilous, but this was the closest he had ever been to his ideals. Even knowing it was a mountain of blades and sea of fire, he had to try.

“Young master, the night is cold. Rest early.”

He closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again, calm as still water.

“Alright.”