After The Coquettish Fake Master Was Driven Away - Chapter 36

After being scolded so harshly, Xie Jinning—who had never been treated this way before—instantly felt his face flush, burning hot.

He was so angry his vision swam. With a sharp flick of his sleeve, he turned and walked off. Only when he had gone some distance, the cool breeze brushing against his burning cheeks, did his rage-clouded mind slowly calm down.

Liar?

He frowned and halted mid-step.

He had only mentioned the idea of opening a school. He hadn’t even provided any concrete details, yet he was mercilessly rejected. When he tried to explain further, they dismissed him outright as a swindler.

That didn’t make sense—neither emotionally nor logically.

Unless…

A glimmer of realization flashed in his clear amber eyes. Had Hetian Village been tricked before, with the same “opening a school” excuse?

By chance, an old woman passed by. Xie Jinning hurriedly asked, and she confirmed his suspicion.

Three years ago, a young man dressed in scholar’s robes, refined and gentle, had come to Hetian Village. He claimed his aging father wanted a quiet place to retire. Passing through, he said he felt a connection with this village and sent his son ahead to ask the village head.

Village head Li Dongsheng initially wanted to refuse, but the man produced proof that his father was a licentiate and showed documents to verify it. He explained that his benevolent father wished to open a school in the village to teach the children.

The villagers were overjoyed, of course. But after building the schoolhouse according to the elder’s supposed requirements, the next day, both father and son disappeared. When the villagers went looking, they found only an empty house—turned out they had absconded overnight with the villagers’ tuition offerings.

The villagers had little to spare to begin with, and many lost half their savings in the scam. Li Dongsheng immediately reported the matter to the county several times, but the authorities told him the man was a repeat con artist, roaming from place to place and specifically targeting remote villages.

As for the “licentiate father,” such a man did exist, but he was not related at all. The swindler had picked up his lost certificate by chance and used it to cheat others. Pitifully, the elder who had studied all his life and finally passed as a licentiate had his reputation completely ruined.

Li Dongsheng returned home dejected. Though the villagers never blamed him, he always felt he had let them down. On one of his trips, he fell from a donkey cart, injured his leg, and from then on carried both a physical and mental scar.

No wonder.

After learning the truth, Xie Jinning’s gaze grew heavy. He sighed, thanked the old woman, and went back to the village head’s gate.

“Village head, are you still there?” he called.

No answer. He knocked again. “You’ve misunderstood. I’m Xie Nong’s son, Xie Jinning—not some swindler.”

Afraid Li Dongsheng hadn’t heard, he banged harder, palms stinging, but still refused to stop.

After who knows how long, just as his arm grew sore, the door finally creaked open. Li Dongsheng stood there, his expression still blank but his eyes no longer as cold as before.
“You’re Xie Nong’s boy? The one brought back a few days ago?”

“Yes.”

Xie Jinning pulled out some prepared notes from his robe and handed them over. “Since I’ve returned to Hetian Village, I want to contribute something. If you still don’t believe me, I can write the Three Character Classic from memory. Look it over, and then decide.”

Li Dongsheng studied him closely.

The youth couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. His cheeks still held traces of baby fat, yet he was strikingly handsome, almost snow-carved in his features.

His words were earnest, his gaze unwavering. Faced with such eyes, even the most hardened heart would crack. Finally, Li Dongsheng said, “Come in.”

His tone had softened.

They talked for a long while—about teaching content, location, materials. Xie Jinning did not plan to charge tuition, but there were still costs involved. Li Dongsheng could not decide alone and told him to wait until he consulted the villagers.

Leaving behind the papers, Xie Jinning rose to go. As he left, Li Dongsheng suddenly said, “Xie Zhu once brought up the same idea.”

As expected.

Xie Jinning asked, “Then why…”

“I refused,” Li Dongsheng replied. “That boy studied so hard he was reciting while working in the fields, never resting all year. Teaching children drains too much energy. I told him if he pursued official exams and gained rank, the village would benefit too. So I persuaded him otherwise.”

Back in the Xie estate, Xie Jinning had held heavy prejudice against Xie Zhu, thinking nothing he did was good. But now, through the remnants left in his room and what others said, piece by piece, he was building a fuller picture of the boy.

The feeling was oddly new.

His long lashes curved upward as he smiled faintly. “Although Xie Zhu has left the village, the books he left behind are what I’ll be teaching from.”

“So if the school is established, why not call it Bamboo Hall?”

By noon, smoke curled from the kitchen. Xie Nong carried out a pot of fish soup. Seeing his son, he rushed forward.
“Jinning, where have you been? When I came home and didn’t see you, I thought you were lost—scared me half to death.”

“I went to see the village head,” Jinning softened his tone. “Dad, I’m grown now. How could I get lost?”

“No matter how old you get, in your father’s eyes you’ll always be my little boy.”

When they sat to eat, only two place settings were on the table. Jinning’s fingers curled slightly. Casually, he asked, “Dad, isn’t there supposed to be one more?”

“Mine’s right here,” Xie Nong said as he placed some meat in his son’s bowl. “Oh, you mean little Yan? He said he had business in town and might not be back for lunch, told us not to wait.”

Who’s waiting for him?

“…Oh.”

The rice was too mushy, the meat too dry, the fish soup less fresh than yesterday…

Distracted, Jinning suddenly recalled the undergarment he had left soaking in the basin. His chopsticks froze.

“Dad, when you came back, did you see what was in the basin outside?”

“What thing?” Xie Nong looked blank.

Good—he hadn’t.

“Nothing.”

He finished eating quickly and went to check. The basin was still there, but the garment was gone.

Not on the drying rack, not in his room either. It was as if his earlier humiliation had been just a dream.

“A thief?”

But who would steal a torn pair of underpants?

Jinning scratched his head, shivering slightly.

On the desk lay drafts blotched with ink stains, dried to jagged cracks like withered winter branches.

Last night, after practicing strokes with a wooden stick, he had finally ground ink and begun copying. He had wasted several sheets before the characters grew steady. By the time he managed a neat copy, it was nearly midnight.

And then that shameful dream…

Luckily, he had only copied the Hundred Family Surnames and part of the Three Character Classic. If scholars ever found out about the dream, wouldn’t they curse him for disgracing the sages?

Blushing, he refocused and tidied the table.

The stack of paper was thin to begin with. To save, he had gradually written smaller, neater characters. Some angular strokes even softened into rounded arcs, making them look childlike and charming.

Among the pages were names—Xie Jinning, Xie Nong, Xie Zhu—as well as single characters like “sun,” “wood,” “dog.” He carefully stacked them, only to realize one was missing.

That messy scribble he’d written while exhausted—where had it gone? Blown away?

He couldn’t remember what it said anyway. Forget it. Jinning rubbed his shoulders and rested on the desk.

Sleep tugged heavily at him. Almost dozing off, he remembered his promise to the children. Pulling a cloth pouch from his robe, he popped a dried apricot into his mouth. The sourness made his eyes water instantly.

“Dad, I’m going out. I’ll be back later.”

His voice, muddled by saliva, was soft and slurred. He swallowed, then licked his lips. They gleamed rosy and moist, as if brushed with rouge—or kissed raw.

He arrived at the thicket early. Four children were already waiting.

Li Husheng, sharp-eyed, spotted him first and waved eagerly.
“Pretty brother, over here!”

Jinning pulled out candies and handed them around. “Not everyone’s here yet. While we wait, let me teach you how to write your names, okay?”

“Okay!”

Standing tall, he seemed slender as a young bamboo shoot. Crouching down, he became small and approachable. Picking up a stick, he looked at Li Husheng, who was closest.

“Your name is Li Husheng. Let’s start with the easiest character—‘Li.’”

Hetian Village had three main surnames: Li, Tian, and Xie.

Jinning rolled up his sleeves, pale wrist slender and delicate. His long lashes lowered, lips curving gently.

“‘Li’ has two parts. The top is the character for ‘wood,’ the bottom is ‘child.’”

To make it clearer, he wrote slowly—first “wood,” then “child” beneath.

That way, in teaching one character, they actually learned three.

Though the sky was overcast and autumn winds stirred, his soft voice and warm smile felt like spring sunlight.

“See clearly? I’ll write it again. One horizontal, one vertical…”

The children picked up sticks too, crouching and copying him with great focus. Even little Wang Eryin, the youngest, furrowed his brows and pursed his lips in concentration.

The thicket, usually full of laughter, grew quiet—only Jinning’s gentle explanations, the scratching of sticks on dirt, and the softened wind remained.

After a second round, he let them try on their own.

“The side strokes of ‘wood’ should be longer, like outstretched arms, embracing the descendants below.”

“My dad loves hugging me and spinning me around,” Li Husheng piped up, eyes shining. “His arms spread out really wide, like an eagle’s.”

Jinning’s gaze softened. He patted the boy’s head. “Then when you’ve learned this, write it for him—he’ll be proud.”

“Mm!”

The children were so diligent that soon their characters looked decent. Riding the momentum, Jinning introduced “Tian.”

He drew a square. “What does this look like?”

“A box!”

“Right, a box is square. Anything else?”

“A stone!”
“A table!”
“A pillow!”

“All correct.” Jinning praised them with a smile, then drew two lines inside, dividing it into four. “Now what does it look like?”

After some thought, Wang Eryin said, “A window.”

“I know!” Niu Xiaoya pointed at the fields. “Like that!”

Indeed—the farmland was divided into blocks just like the square he’d drawn.

“Very smart, Xiaoya.”

The girl blushed, scratching her head and giggling, cheeks rosy like a peach.

“So this is the character for ‘field.’ Got it?”

“Got it!”

By then, the agreed meeting time had come, but three of the eight children still hadn’t arrived.

Jinning had the early ones guide the latecomers, then looked toward the village.

Far off, a small figure ran toward them, shouting. It was Sun Xiaoshi.

“Brother Xie! Xiaohua and Xiaozhi, they…” He panted hard. “Their father came back.”

Niu Xiaoya groaned in disappointment. “So we won’t see them for days again?”

At those words, Jinning’s face suddenly changed.