After The Coquettish Fake Master Was Driven Away - Chapter 7

Capital City, Zhangyin Mansion.

Though it was already the late hours of the night, the study was dimly lit, with only a few lamps burning on either side.

Blue smoke curled through the room, fragrant and heavy. On a soft couch draped with gauzy curtains, a young man lay reclined, eyes closed, resting.

He had an elegant appearance: fine brows, narrow eyes, lips unnaturally red, and pale, hairless skin that gave an icy impression.

This was none other than Zhao Yi, the current head of the Eastern Depot.

Beneath the couch, a handsome young man draped in thin silk knelt, massaging Zhao Yi’s legs. Behind him, another slender, alluring figure in red silk carefully rested his hands on Zhao Yi’s shoulders, gently kneading, his expression ingratiating and flattering.

The incense burned thickly, filling the room with its intoxicating aroma.

After listening to the man kneeling beneath him report, Zhao Yi’s finger twitched lightly at his chin.

“Ran away?”

His voice betrayed no emotion, yet the man on the floor shrank back, cold sweat running down his face. Zhao San dared not lift his head and swallowed hard. “Y-Yes… the others couldn’t keep up…”

Zhao Yi’s brows lifted slightly as he opened his eyes, the gaze cold as a deep pool.

Recalling that bright-eyed, jade-like face, a shiver of desire ran through him. He chuckled softly. “Heartless? I think they just didn’t want to curry favor with the head of the Depot.”

No one dared respond.

He popped a grape into his mouth, narrowing his eyes like a snake flicking its tongue. “Fine.”

“After all, the Xie family must send a son into the palace.”

A faint, sinister curve spread across his unpainted lips.

Only then did Zhao San, who had been holding his breath, relax. “Th-Those who failed in their duties…”

Zhao Yi cast him a sidelong glance.

“I understand.”

Zhao San exited the room, shutting the door to seal in the fragrance. His vest was already soaked with sweat.

The head of the Depot was notoriously unpredictable and ruthless; delivering reports in person was a dangerous task. Minor mistakes might cost a layer of skin; major ones could cost one’s life. Zhao San had been unlucky enough to draw this duty.

And yet, despite failing the task, he had been lightly dismissed. Zhao Yi seemed in a good mood today, likely because progress had been made on the “Invitation to the Immortals” project.

Wiping sweat from his thick arms, Zhao San quietly instructed his subordinates to deal with the incompetent men and wait silently outside.

Soon, the teasing laughter inside the room abruptly stopped, replaced by the harsh crack of whips.

Soft pleas quickly escalated into piercing screams of despair, then ceased entirely.

A sharp, crimson light slowly seeped through the door crack.

…

Hetian Village, Xie Family.

The courtyard walls were made of yellow clay and broken stone, with a wooden gate providing minimal protection. The buildings inside were similar: yellow earth foundations, red clay roofs, dark and weathered, showing the scars of wind and sun.

The wooden gate creaked open. A man with sharp brows and piercing eyes strode in, carrying firewood.

Eight feet tall, strong and muscular, his coarse clothes outlined honey-colored muscles, full of raw power—a man clearly capable of heavy labor.

Yan Yi glanced at the bedroom, which remained silent. Estimating it was close to noon, he turned to the cooking area.

The “cooking area” was little more than a small space enclosed by yellow walls. He quickly built a fire, and soon smoke curled upward.

After half an incense stick’s time, he carried two clay bowls and went toward the bedroom, pushing open the door.

On the wooden bed lay a young figure, breathing shallowly, still asleep.

Sunlight streamed through the half-open wooden window, illuminating the boy’s pale, pink-tinged skin. Fine down on his arms caught the light, making his cheeks appear like juicy, sweet peaches.

Arriving in the middle of the night, he hadn’t seen the boy’s face clearly in darkness—but now, he looked even more like Xie Shu than Xie Zhu.

Yan Yi withdrew his gaze, placing the bowls on one of the few pieces of furniture, a wooden table, then stepped to the bed, about to wake the boy.

In the next moment, the boy’s long “butterfly wings” of eyelashes fluttered open, revealing clear amber eyes.

Xie Jinning was awake.

After being forcibly medicated and confined in the cramped carriage, he had slept poorly for days. Half-conscious, he felt someone lifting and laying him down. Once his body stretched out, his consciousness had sunk into darkness.

Rarely had he slept so soundly. His eyes hadn’t focused yet, and seeing a figure by his side, he instinctively called out, “Wang Zhihe?”

The voice was soft and high, with a slight nasal tone.

Yan Yi paused, a faint ripple of feeling brushing his heart.

“Who is that? The person who sent you here?” he asked in a low voice. “He left after bringing you last night.”

W-What? He’d arrived?

Now Xie Jinning froze. He shot upright, the thin quilt slipping off, revealing the wrinkled water-green silk robe. Sitting up too quickly, his vision darkened, and he nearly fell forward, only stabilized by Yan Yi holding his arm.

From Yan Yi’s perspective, the small red mole on his pale collarbone, framed by the open neckline, was clearly visible.

A sweet, floral scent seemed to rise, and Yan Yi’s Adam’s apple moved involuntarily, forgetting to release his hold for a moment.

Previously, Xie Jinning had strongly disliked forced physical contact, but after the brief dizziness, he quickly struggled free.

Looking up, he saw the man’s sharp features, deep-set black eyes like a calm abyss, high nose, thin lips, stern and steady.

He looked fierce.

Xie Jinning shrank his shoulders. “Who are you?”

Before Yan Yi could answer, he looked around the room. Barely furnished, with only a wooden bed, a cabinet, and a table with stools, it was practically empty.

Suspicion and disdain crept into his delicate features. “This… is the Xie family home?”

Along the way, he had tried to prepare himself for poverty, but seeing it firsthand was shocking.

How could such a broken house exist?!

It was even worse than the Xie family stables!

Closing his eyes in disbelief, he wished it were all an illusion. But the man showed no mercy.

“Yes,” Yan Yi said. “You arrived suddenly. Xie Shu wasn’t prepared. He’s gone to the town to work, and his return is uncertain. For now, stay in Xie Zhu’s room.”

His gaze darkened. After successive blows, he was numb, even lying in the bed Xie Zhu had slept in for years barely registered a reaction—almost self-abandoning.

At least he didn’t have to face his biological parents immediately.

Xie Jinning curled his fingers, saying nothing. Yan Yi wasn’t talkative either. Silence filled the room, broken only by a small gurgle from the quilt.

The boy sat upright, his abdomen covered, waist loose, hair falling around his shoulders.

Soon, another few gurgles followed. Xie Jinning quickly covered his stomach, turning his head to the window, muttering curses at his uncooperative gut.

Perhaps harmless-looking people are easier to favor, for Yan Yi’s lips curved slightly as he watched the boy’s flushed ears peeking through messy hair.

“The food’s on the table. When you finish, just return the bowl,” he said.

“I live next door. Surname Yan, given name Yi. Call me if anything happens.”

Xie Jinning remained silent. Once the door closed, he rubbed his flushed face, slowly moved from the quilt to the bed, and put on his shoes.

Looking at his wrinkled, unwashed clothes and the bare, worn room, his heart sank.

Sniffling, he tried to pull himself together.

He was starving and needed to eat first.

On the journey, he had eaten dry, hard flatbread and jerky he didn’t like. Wang Zhihe had bought some pastries along the way.

But such common food was nothing compared to what Xie Jinning had been used to. Sweet, greasy pastries made him nauseous just thinking of them. Once he reached his destination, he planned to eat well to make up for it.

Even if he ran away, he needed to eat first.

He slowly approached the table, only to be disappointed.

Two clay bowls sat there: one with a pale yellow cornbread and a piece of dark, unidentifiable meat; the other contained plain porridge and a few vegetables.

The porridge was almost finished, the cornbread barely edible. The black lump confused him; sniffing it, a strong salty smell hit him, making him sneeze and recoil.

What is this? Even the lowest servants in the Xie family ate better.

He refused to settle. Yelling, he called out, “Yan Yi!”

Yan Yi, chopping wood outside, pushed open the door at the shout.

The food was still on the table. The Xie family’s biological son, just returned from the capital, sat with crossed legs, frowning, staring at the food as if it were filthy.

“Why bring me this? Is the Xie family so poor they can’t afford food?!”

Slamming his hand on the table, some porridge spilled.

Yan Yi didn’t focus on the mess.

The boy’s lashes trembled, a watery mist forming in his eyes. He curled his hand into a fist, hiding the reddened palm in his sleeve, thinking he was being discreet—but Yan Yi noticed everything.

He stepped closer. “Is there a problem?”

“A big problem!”

Yan Yi was tall and imposing; now sitting versus standing, the height and size difference created immense pressure.

Nearly blocking the light with his broad shoulders, Xie Jinning tilted his head in defiance, then stood, hands on hips. “Look at this! Can a person eat this?”

Anger built up from his previous capture and return, now directed at the man before him.

His delicate face carried resentment; his soft voice sharpened.

Yan Yi frowned. “Then what do you want to eat?”

“Steamed Eight-Treasure Pork, glutinous rice-stuffed duck, assorted fresh soup, fresh silks of Jiangyao…”

Xie Jinning rattled off dishes he often ate, his mouth watering at the thought.

Each dish mentioned made his throat move with anticipation, swallowing even the tail sounds of words.

“What?”

Yan Yi leaned in, and Xie Jinning repeated coldly. Seeing Yan Yi still confused, he licked his lips, took two taels of silver from his bag, and pushed them across the table.

“Go quickly; I’m starving.”

Two taels of silver, a jade pendant, and his silk robe—everything Xie Jinning had taken from the Xie family.

He only thought of eating well, never considering how he would escape with nothing, or how he would reach his friends for help.

Moreover, in this remote, poor village, his usual restaurants didn’t exist, and two taels of silver wouldn’t buy much.

When Yan Yi firmly refused and said the household could only provide what was on the table, anger surged. Xie Jinning waved his hand, knocking over the bowl with cornbread and meat.

“I said I’m not eating this! Are you deaf?!”

The clay bowl shattered, the cornbread and meat rolling on the ground, covered in dust.

“What are you doing?”

Yan Yi hated food waste. His cold eyes sharpened, and his usually stern features darkened, muscles tensing as if a storm were about to erupt.

Xie Jinning instinctively stepped back, goosebumps rising.

He hugged his arms, realizing he’d been intimidated by a rough country man—how humiliating.

He lifted his chin, glancing down at Yan Yi picking up the cornbread, and said arrogantly, “It’s inedible garbage anyway. What’s the harm in throwing it away?”

…

The cornbread mixed with flour, the smoked meat, and the fine rice were all precious items that Xie Shu usually rationed carefully.

Last year’s drought had dried up wells and ruined crops. After paying ever-increasing taxes, little remained. Villagers tightened their belts; meat and refined grains were rare.

Xie Shu had sold everything for road expenses for Xie Jinning, leaving the remainder for his son. But the young master did not appreciate it, calling it garbage, treating it like he had been raised in luxury and wastefulness.

Now that he was back, such indulgent habits needed correction.

Yan Yi pulled a piece of coarse cloth from his pocket, wrapped the cornbread and meat, placed it on the table, then strode toward Xie Jinning.

“Y-Y-You… what do you want to do?”

A chill ran down Xie Jinning’s spine.

The man’s broad back and steady steps pressed down like a mountain. His cold gaze fixed on him like a hawk locking onto prey.

“Stop right there. Don’t come closer!”

Xie Jinning tried to act fierce, voice loud, yet his tailing tone betrayed fear.

His sun-kissed skin flushed, amber eyes wide with panic.

Attempting to look intimidating but secretly wanting to be dominated, he stepped back as the man advanced, until his thighs hit the bed.

His legs gave way, and he fell onto the bed.

The man was already before him.

“You… ah—”

In the next instant, the world spun. Yan Yi swept him up, pinning him across his knees.

With one arm, he easily restrained him. Ignoring the struggle, he lifted the boy’s robe, lowering the waistband, and brought a slap down toward the curve wrapped in thin white undergarments.

This was how villagers disciplined children: disobedience warranted a beating.