After The Coquettish Fake Master Was Driven Away - Chapter 25

Xie Jinning’s pupils trembled.

He wasn’t obedient?

He wore old clothes, slept on an old bed, endured beatings, suffered from fevers, got pecked by chickens, nearly fell off a wall…

In the end, he decided to stay in this barren, entertainment-less mountain village, even taking the initiative to go to the fields and try to help with the farm work.

No matter how he persuaded himself to adapt, his body’s discomfort could never be ignored: the little red rashes that appeared on his back, the prickling ache from stepping on clods of dirt, the palms stained with the stench of rust. All kinds of discomfort Xie Jinning endured, never speaking a word of complaint.

Yet Yan Yi still said… he wasn’t obedient.

Not obedient.

Xie Jinning had never been told that before.

His lips pressed tightly, his face cold as he glared at Yan Yi. But in the next instant, a string of tears rolled out of his reddened eyes.

The tiny sparkles reflected like needles of light. Yan Yi’s brows twitched fiercely, his whole body briefly stunned, obvious panic flashing across his face.

“W-what’s wrong?”

Xie Jinning said nothing. His lashes fluttered, releasing more tears.

He cried very quietly, biting down on his lip with restraint, his breathing faintly trembling.

His cheeks, kissed pink by the sunlight, were wet in patches, like peaches soaked with dew. With his gaze lowered, the tears clinging to his long lashes swayed precariously before finally falling into Yan Yi’s palm.

Plop.

Rippling waves.

Yan Yi quickly took the sickle from Xie Jinning’s hand: “Are you hurt somewhere? Does your hand hurt, or… that place? Are you dizzy?”

Xie Jinning ignored him, silently turning his back. He swallowed his sobs, the frail line of his back wrapped in white trembling slightly.

Yan Yi, who had harvested half a field’s worth of wheat with only slightly quickened breath, now broke into a nervous sweat.

He asked again and again, but his words were blocked as if by a heavy fog—no reply ever came. Anxious, he had no choice but to walk in front of him.

But before he could speak, the boy turned away again, his attitude very clear: it wasn’t that he couldn’t hear, he just didn’t want to acknowledge him.

“Aning, will you please talk to me?”

Each time Xie Jinning turned, Yan Yi followed, relentless, determined to face him.

After several rounds, he finally forced the boy, still sniffling softly, to speak.

“I—I just wanted to help, so how could you say that to me?”

Xie Jinning’s head was spinning from all the turning. Unable to suppress his grievance, he sniffled hard: “You’re the one who’s not obedient. Go away, I hate you.”

So that was it.

He had misspoken again.

“It was my fault.”

Regret filled his eyes. Yan Yi explained sincerely: “I meant that before we came, you promised Uncle Xie you would only watch from the side. But then you snuck into the fields. If Uncle Xie can’t find you, he’ll worry.”

I would too.

“The sickle is heavy, and one careless move could hurt you. I know you’re kind and don’t want Uncle Xie to work alone, but if you really want to help, why not call me first and let me teach you some tricks to save time and effort?”

Don’t get hurt.

His words were warm and even full of praise, leaving Xie Jinning dazed, his tears seeming to retreat.

His misty eyes blinked wide, lips slightly parted, red flashing across them. He looked drunk for a moment, then finally nodded.

“…Mm.”

Clutching his sleeve, shame replaced the storm of emotions. He had just told himself that morning he wouldn’t cry in front of Yan Yi again—yet because of a single sentence, he broke down once more.

It was all Yan Yi’s fault!

Yan Yi pressed on softly: “It was my poor wording just now. Aning, don’t hate me.”

Through the cloth, he caught Xie Jinning’s wrist, his thumb rubbing lightly.

The coarse fabric really wasn’t good enough. Once the wheat was done, he would have to go to town.

He raised the hand to his chest and tapped it twice.

Thump, thump.

Xie Jinning’s hand tingled from the firm muscles beneath, and something else, too, seemed to strike back through the fabric.

“…Fine.” He blinked unnaturally. “I’ll forgive you this time.”

His wet lashes were gently brushed dry, only the faint red at the corners of his eyes hinting at the tears.

Yan Yi tore a strip of cloth, wrapped it carefully around the sickle’s handle, and bent to grab the wheat stalks about a foot from the root.

“Cut here.”

The sickle sliced cleanly five inches up, the wheat falling instantly.

He demonstrated twice more. Once certain Xie Jinning understood, he carefully handed it to him.

Trying it himself, Xie Jinning found it easier, cutting more stalks at once. His spirits soared: “I got it!”

He shoved Yan Yi’s arm aside without looking up. “Go do your own, don’t worry about me.”

Truly… use and discard.

Yan Yi shook his head helplessly and went back to harvesting within sight of him. Soon, his side of the field was cleared, wheat piled into a thick mound.

Xie Jinning gripped the sickle tightly.

The wrapped handle no longer dug into his hand and gave him a steadier hold, but the weight remained. Before long, his wrist ached and swelled, forcing him to pause and rub it before continuing.

“You okay?”

The question came from not far off.

With the sun blazing hotter, Xie Jinning sweated profusely, his throat parched. Too tired to answer, he waved his hand weakly to show he was fine.

His back protested with every bend and straighten, red marks appearing on his palms and fingers, his calves trembling.

Forcing himself, he cut two more bundles, but his strength gave out. Breathing heavily, he trudged back.

“Ugh.”

He wiped his brow, but tripped on a stone. With a cry, he nearly fell face-first, saved only by an arm around his waist.

His back slammed against Yan Yi’s chest—solid, searing hot. Still dizzy, the heat made him shudder. The sickle slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

His legs buckled, sliding downward, until he was suddenly lifted off the ground. Yan Yi gripped him at the ribs, carrying him like a child.

“Yan Yi—!”

Dangling in the air was hardly pleasant. Xie Jinning dared not struggle too hard, his heels hitting the man’s taut calves. But Yan Yi didn’t budge, striding steadily.

Turning his head with difficulty, Xie Jinning’s nose tickled at the sight: bronzed skin, firm lips, and a jaw dotted with short stubble.

He hadn’t noticed before that Yan Yi had so much facial hair.

He remembered staring into the mirror before, desperate to find a single whisker to prove his manhood, only to be disappointed every time. For a moment, he forgot to speak.

Warm breath fanned his neck, the lips in his view pressing tighter into a sharp, dangerous line.

Xie Jinning shivered, his hairs standing on end, only to be melted again by the man’s heat. Tilting his head, he avoided the breath and glanced upward along Yan Yi’s nose—but dared not meet those shadowy eyes.

“Put me down. I can walk.”

Sweat heightened his natural fragrance, seeping into the air. His lifted face was flushed, his glazed eyes unfocused, lips parting slightly before licking themselves moist again.

Crazy.

A thunderclap struck through Yan Yi’s head. His pupils shrank, and it took all his willpower not to reveal anything.

How could he think the boy looked just like in his dream—stunned, clinging obediently to his neck, asking for a kiss?

Truly crazy.

Ignoring him, Yan Yi carried him to the ridge before finally setting him down.

His arm still hovered at his waist until he was steady. “Wait here.”

Then he rushed off, almost as if chased, in a burning hurry.

“…Eh?”

Xie Jinning clenched his fists, preparing to scold him for lifting people without warning. But when he saw what Yan Yi brought back, his anger fizzled.

A small wooden stool and a cushion.

Relaxing his hands, Xie Jinning brushed the dust from his clothes, his eyes darting away.

Strange… why was he always quick to get angry at Yan Yi? He had actually been treating him pretty well lately.

Wouldn’t that make him seem temperamental?

Beforehand, Yan Yi had kept a close eye on him. The moment he stopped, Yan Yi hurried over—thankfully catching him before he fell.

But Xie Jinning had still been holding the sickle. If he had fallen onto it…

His skin was so delicate, even a rough wipe left marks. A scar would be nothing—but if it pierced a vein…

The thought left Yan Yi shaken. Heat surged in his chest, burning like fire until he felt feverish all over.

“You—”

But when he met the boy’s watery eyes, tinged with unease, his anger was extinguished.

Sweat from beneath his hat trickled down his flushed face, tracing lines like dew across flower petals. His small nose glistened like a bud in the morning.

Strands of black hair clung to his pale neck, stark contrast like ink on snow—each stroke enough to paint a perfect landscape.

Though sweat-damp, his face wasn’t disheveled. Instead, it was pure, like a lotus blooming from clear water.

Truly… impossible to stay angry.

All blame swallowed, Yan Yi pulled off the water flask at his waist. “Drink some.”

Parched, Xie Jinning didn’t care about cleanliness. Tilting it up, he gulped greedily.

Cool water soothed his throat, and he sighed with relief, eyes squinting in bliss. After wiping his lips, he considered keeping it but, after a pause, handed it back.

“It’s so hot, you drink some too.”

Yan Yi tied it back at his waist. “Aning, the shade is good here. Rest.”

Xie Jinning almost agreed, but then saw their fields.

Yan Yi’s stubble of wheat stood evenly, six-tenths of the field cleared, his expression not even winded. Those same arms had just carried him without effort.

And he… had barely cleared one-tenth.

No way—how could a man admit defeat?

“No, I can still work.”

Stubborn pride rising, he pushed to stand, but his calf cramped. Before his hips lifted, he fell back down, his hat tilting askew.

Yan Yi straightened it again, tapping the brim lightly. “Careful.”

From his position below, his torso was perfectly in Xie Jinning’s line of sight.

Yan Yi had removed his outer shirt, only a thin layer stretched taut over hard muscles. His abs ridged like mountains, seizing Jinning’s gaze.

Tall, strong, like the heroic generals from the storybooks—the kind he dreamed of becoming. But…

Heat prickled his cheeks. He pinched his thin arms, then his soft belly, suddenly discouraged. Sneaking a glare, he muttered:

“So what if you cut more, doesn’t mean no one else can. So bossy.”

Bitterness tinged with sarcasm.

“?”

Yan Yi froze.

Still not used to his mercurial moods, he racked his brain, but couldn’t figure out how he’d offended him this time.

Then he noticed wheat sticking to his trouser legs. A thought struck. “Aning, you just learned, yet you’re already doing so well. Very impressive.”

Impressive? Him?

Xie Jinning puffed his chest, staring at him wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Of course,” Yan Yi said. “When I first started last year, I wasn’t even as good as you are now.”

His tone steady, his face sincere. He didn’t seem to be lying. Xie Jinning’s head filled with the words: He’s better than Yan Yi. His lips curled smugly.

He wanted to poke his cheek.

His hand twitched but he held it back. Yan Yi hadn’t imagined he’d one day lie so smoothly without blinking.

“But this bit of land, Uncle Xie and I can finish.”

He said lightly: “While the sun’s not too strong, we can finish earlier and go home sooner.”

Hearing that, Xie Jinning, who had long wanted to go home and collapse, reluctantly climbed down the ladder, nodding “unwillingly.” “Fine then.”

When Yan Yi didn’t move, he waved his hand impatiently. “Go on, what are you standing here for?”

…

Only once he was sure the boy couldn’t see did Yan Yi pick up the flask. His gaze lingered on the damp opening that had just been pressed by those lips, and his eyes darkened.

Every part of him screamed—so thirsty.

Heat flooding his head, he slowly raised it and pressed his own lips to it.

Sweet.