TAMW CH35

The following morning, the courtyard was filled with a flurry of low, bustling sounds as Deng Yongquan directed the servants in loading luggage into the car.

Yuqing had gotten up twice during the latter half of the night, only falling into a deep sleep when the sky was just turning a pale gray.

Zhou Xiao pushed the door open, waving his hand toward the servants. “Keep it down.”

Having received the order, Deng Yongquan hurriedly told everyone to tread lightly.

“Master, everything is packed. Are we setting off now?” Deng Yongquan trotted over to ask.

Zhou Xiao wore a dress shirt, its top collar button still undone. He cast a quick backward glance toward the inner chambers. “What about breakfast? Is it ready?”

“Those are to be prepared once Madam wakes, otherwise the food will go cold.”

Zhou Xiao nodded, still looking somewhat uneasy. “I’ll go take a look.”

Deng Yongquan smiled. “Master, you really have changed.”

“Changed how?” Zhou Xiao walked briskly toward the small kitchen, where vegetable porridge was simmering on the stove.

Deng Yongquan: “In the past, you would never stay at home for this long.”

When Zhou Xiao was a boy, he would wake up an entire hour early for school, preferring to sit on a freezing bench in the classroom watching the sunrise out the window rather than linger in the Zhou residence for a single extra moment. Deng Yongquan had packed up early strictly out of habit, never imagining his master’s habits had shifted long ago.

The corner of Zhou Xiao’s mouth curled slightly. “Have they?”

“They certainly have!”

In the small kitchen, Zhou Xiao asked, “Why only this porridge? There isn’t a speck of meat on the table.”

The family cook had been replaced not long ago, as the previous cook’s dishes no longer suited Yuqing’s current palate.

“The food doesn’t quite sit well with Madam these days,” the cook explained.

The household had always kept to the old ways: breakfast consisted of six dishes, mostly local Baizhou fare, leaning heavily on grains and flours, light porridges, and pickled sides—exceedingly plain.

Zhou Xiao rolled up his sleeves, motioning for the cook to stand aside. “Let me.”

Deng Yongquan’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “Master, you…” Do you even know how?

“It must be that these people aren’t putting their hearts into it, which is why Yuqing doesn’t want to eat. He hasn’t tasted Western food yet.” Zhou Xiao twirled the kitchen knife deftly in his hand; one glance was enough to tell he was an old hand with a blade.

Yuqing woke up rather late, feeling surprisingly free of aches.

When he had gotten up in the night, Zhou Xiao had supported him both times. Now that he was further along, he truly needed a steadying arm to stand securely during midnight visits. Whatever else could be said of Zhou Xiao, he attended to these matters with genuine care, proving far more natural to have around than Zhao Fu.

Zhou Xiao never felt the slightest aversion to getting his hands soiled. Instead, he would fret over him, wondering aloud why he had woken up earlier than the night before, asking if he felt unwell anywhere.

He hardly acted like an aristocratic young master at all.

Yuqing had had no intention of dirtying his hands during the night, yet Zhou Xiao had meticulously wiped him down… and before he was even done, he had lit a candle to inspect his work, insisting on checking whether he was completely clean.

A truly shameless young master.

Morning was much the same. It had been quite some time since Yuqing had slept this comfortably; in the past, rolling over in the morning would press against his chest so hard it brought an aching sting. This morning, a head had burrowed straight into his embrace instead, Zhou Xiao’s high nose-bridge nuzzling back and forth against him.

The movements were gentle. Utterly worn out by the baby’s demands, Yuqing let him fuss for a while. He had thought the man was going to fool around again, but surprisingly, Zhou Xiao behaved himself. After nuzzling around aimlessly for a bit, he muttered that there seemed to be less than yesterday, asking if Yuqing was hungry and wondering why the milk had dwindled.

Helpless, Yuqing pushed his head away, chiding him for pushing his luck.

Zhou Xiao had buried his face in the crook of Yuqing’s neck, inhaling deeply for a good while before finally getting out of bed.

Left behind, Yuqing drifted back to sleep for a morning nap. When he woke, there was no lingering discomfort, and he noticed the swelling in his calves had subsided. He vaguely recalled that after Zhou Xiao got out of bed, he had sat by the edge of the mattress, slipping his hands beneath the quilt to massage his calves for a while.

Yuqing had initially wondered how he managed these tasks so adeptly. When asked, Zhou Xiao’s face filled with unmasked pride, claiming he had consulted the physician. Since childhood, he had been a quick study with everything; looking after someone was hardly rocket science, especially when it was Yuqing.

Whenever he said such things, his face bore the look of someone fishing for praise. If Yuqing didn’t offer a compliment, he would lean in on his own accord, pressing his cheek against his. If Yuqing happened to be asleep, he would dutifully wind a strand of his long hair beneath his nose to inhale softly, taking it as his well-earned reward for playing the caretaker.

Though Yuqing kept his eyes shut, he felt it all.

He simply felt that Zhou Xiao was straying further and further from the man he had originally imagined.

He really was quite like Xiao’er: obedient, well-behaved… and thoroughly endearing.

After waking, Yuqing loosely gathered his long gown, draped a shawl over his shoulders, and asked a servant, “Has the Master stepped out?”

The servant replied, “The Master is in the small kitchen.”

He hadn’t left yet.

Yuqing walked over to the small kitchen to see for himself. There was a bit of distance from the main courtyard to the kitchen, and every servant he met along the way bowed respectfully, offering a proper, “Good morning, Madam.”

“Madam, why have you come here?” Deng Yongquan stood outside the kitchen entrance, just about to lift the curtain to announce him to Zhou Xiao.

Yuqing waved his hand dismissively. “What is he doing in there?”

“The Master said he wanted to cook a meal for you…”

“He knows how to do that?” Yuqing asked.

Deng Yongquan looked conflicted, unsure if he should speak the truth. Having grown up beside the young master, he had never once seen him step into a kitchen—how could he know if he was capable? But if he bruised the Master’s ego, he feared he might be the next one ordered to castrate himself. His eyelid twitched faintly as he gave an ambiguous reply: “He’s… merely not very practiced…”

“He’s never cooked before, has he?” Yuqing was a master at reading expressions; one look at Deng Yongquan’s troubled face told him everything.

Deng Yongquan: “No, no, no…”

“I’ll go take a look.”

Lifting the curtain, the rhythmic thud of a knife against the cutting board sounded surprisingly professional. Leaning against the doorframe, Yuqing looked down at Zhou Xiao.

A steamed bun had been sliced in two, stuffed with ham slices. At the moment, he was carving a piece of seared meat—a cut that was visibly not fully cooked through. Zhou Xiao’s knife skills were sharp. With his sleeves rolled up, the lean muscle on his forearms was taut and firm. Yuqing’s forearms were barely half that thickness, possessing little physical strength to speak of.

Zhou Xiao heard the rustle of the curtain being lifted. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of someone walking in—a man whose hair was left unpinned, walking with slightly hesitant steps. Who else could it be but his wife?

“Hiss…” The blade slipped, slicing a gash across his thumb, blood welling out instantly.

With a flick of his wrist, Zhou Xiao turned around to face Yuqing, hastily concealing the wounded hand behind his back, feigning innocence: “Why are you up already?”

“How old are you now?” Yuqing sighed, extending an open hand. “Bring it out.”

The corners of Zhou Xiao’s mouth curled slightly. Like a child caught in mischief, he hung his head. “It’s nothing.”

Yuqing took his hand to inspect it; the cut wasn’t shallow. Pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve, he pressed it over the wound. “Careless as always…”

“I have to leave today. The cooks don’t make food to your liking, so I wanted to let you try some Western dishes. Bad timing—you just had to catch me making a mess of it.”

“Trying to show off when you don’t even know how?” Yuqing pinched the bridge of his nose, his tone a blend of motherly affection and mild scolding. “Hmm?”

Zhou Xiao hung his head, mumbling, “I just wanted to make a good impression.”

Yuqing’s soft hand held his injured thumb, his brows knitting slightly. “These are chores for the servants. Doing them yourself degrades your station.”

On the surface, the words chided him for lowering his status, but in truth, they carried pure concern for his injury.

Zhou Xiao lowered his head, rubbing his forehead gently against Yuqing’s temple, speaking with an aggrieved pout, “Madam, I won’t dare do it next time.”

Yuqing rolled his eyes slightly. The gentle glare seemed to put Zhou Xiao in high spirits, and he planted a firm, lingering kiss right on Yuqing’s forehead.

“You have so many calluses on your hands.” Yuqing stroked them gently. “I’ve meant to ask before: how did they get there?”

“Fencing and horseback riding,” Zhou Xiao answered without hiding anything. “Things are unsettled overseas; one has to know how to handle a gun, too.”

“Venturing out into the world at such a young age truly couldn’t have been easy.” Yuqing’s hand gently caressed the rough patches, as though that delicate touch could smooth away every scar this young wolf-dog bore.

“Does your heart ache for me?” Zhou Xiao asked.

“Give you an inch of kindness and you demand a yard of reward—what a greedy young master you are.” Yuqing poked his forehead, pushing his hovering face away.

Laughing, Zhou Xiao pulled him into his arms, embracing him from behind and gently cupping his pregnant belly. “Has the child been troubling you?”

Yuqing’s pregnancy had reached a point where it clearly filled out his long gown, fully showing the silhouette of an expectant mother.

He felt Zhou Xiao’s chin nuzzling ticklishly against the back of his ear. “Not really. When you’re by my side, the baby is very well-behaved.”

“If the child takes after me and pities you, of course he’ll be well-behaved.” Zhou Xiao smiled softly, his large hand resting against the belly, lifting it slightly as if testing its weight.

“Mmh…” The strain on Yuqing’s lower back suddenly eased, drawing a soft sigh of relief from his lips.

He leaned back, finding solid support against Zhou Xiao’s firm chest. Pressed so close through only two thin layers of clothing, it felt as though their hearts were beating in unison.

“You’ve worked hard,” Zhou Xiao murmured.

“In the past, I only knew that women in the inner courtyard bore children to vie for favor. I never knew it was so grueling.”

Zhou Xiao had never cared whether those people lived or died. Now that he had someone he treasured, his only regret was that he couldn’t shoulder more of the burden himself. He had never been interested in children, but if it was a child between him and Yuqing, a quiet sense of anticipation bloomed in his chest.

Yuqing was indeed exhausted. He had been worn down for so many years; even when his father was alive, his mind remained wound tight before sleep, worrying over the Zhou family for his father’s sake while dreading the Second Uncle coming to stir up trouble.

Yet, after all those years of ceaseless tension, the only moments of true relief had come during these past few days.

Outside, the world was in an uproar over the fire at the Ruan residence and his own identity—every bit of it fodder for idle gossip. Yet over these past days, Yuqing had felt no anxiety at all, resting in an uncanny state of peace.

It was as if, with Zhou Xiao by his side, he had finally found a harbor…

Much like the solid chest he was leaning on right now, offering him a place to catch his breath.

As for why…

The only thing that came to mind was Zhou Xiao’s quiet reassurance: ‘Only if you’re willing.’

Was it because, around Zhou Xiao, he could cast aside his masks and live unburdened? Free from pretense, and therefore free from exhaustion.

His belly was stroked over and over by the man’s warm palms. Zhou Xiao was exceptionally clingy, his bandaged finger posing no obstacle to his wandering hands.

Worn down by his constant fussing, the two finally sat down to eat.

The sandwiches and pan-seared steak Zhou Xiao had prepared were dishes Yuqing had only seen once before, at the Western restaurant they had visited together. But his cooking was truly dreadful; Yuqing took a single bite and immediately felt a surge of nausea, an unsettling churning in his stomach.

Frowning, Zhou Xiao took a bite himself. “Clear it all away, quickly.”

The servants whisked the plates away, replacing them with light, soothing porridge.

Knowing they were about to set off, Yuqing spoke as they ate: “Blasting mountains for railway construction is dangerous. Stay alert and take care of yourself. If funds run short, just tell me.”

“Understood.” Zhou Xiao placed a piece of pastry into Yuqing’s bowl. “I won’t forget Madam’s instructions.”

Yuqing smiled somewhat helplessly. “There isn’t much else for me to say. You’ve long established yourself independently; anything I tell you is likely redundant. Just stay safe, and come home in one piece.”

Zhou Xiao looked up, glancing at the servants standing by with lowered heads, and chuckled, “Look at how strictly Madam manages me. I have no choice but to listen. Deng Yongquan, make sure you etch Madam’s words into your memory.”

Deng Yongquan: “…Yes, Master.”

After the meal, Yuqing couldn’t see him off all the way to the gate, only fastening the top button of his suit jacket for him inside the courtyard.

The sun had risen, casting a warm light that accentuated Yuqing’s porcelain skin. His long hair fluttered in the breeze. Zhou Xiao watched a stray lock dance in the air, reaching out to catch it between his fingers.

At this moment, he actually envied the wind for being able to brush through Yuqing’s hair at will.

“Be safe on the road.” Yuqing patted his shoulder.

Zhou Xiao caught his hand, which was already beginning to cool, and tapped his fingertips against his own nose. “I know.”

With servants standing nearby, he had wanted to lean in for a kiss, but held back for the sake of decorum, merely saying, “Go inside soon. Don’t catch a chill.”

Yuqing intended to watch him leave, but saw Zhou Xiao take a few light steps toward the entrance before abruptly turning back. Reaching into his pocket, where he always carried a thumb-sized pocket knife, he gathered a small lock of his own short hair, sliced it off, and pressed it into Yuqing’s palm.

Yuqing naturally understood the gesture. He drew a strand of his own long hair. Reaching past his waist, just a dozen hairs gathered into a slender thread, which he offered to Zhou Xiao.

This was an ancient wedding custom—placing the locks of husband and wife together in a box, signifying growing old together until their hair turned white. Yet when they had bowed during their wedding ceremony, Zhou Xiao hadn’t even stood before the ancestral tablets with him.

Back then, all he thought about was fleeing the Zhou family. Now, before he had even set foot out the door, he was already turning back.

Having exchanged their hair, Yuqing tilted his head, smiling at him. As the sunlight washed over his face, his beauty was arresting. In his pregnancy, his slender, pale neck resembled that of a sorrowful, elegant crane. His face was gilded in a translucent, golden sheen, and when his thick lashes framed his gaze, one could easily drown in the tenderness of his eyes.

Zhou Xiao had to admit that the small mole beneath his eye had thoroughly ensnared his soul.

A pregnant wife, a weary face, eyes as soft as still water…

Yuqing simply stood there quietly in the courtyard, the picture of a wife seeing her husband off on a long journey.

It was truly… intoxicating.

As the old saying went, even heroes stumble at the gate of a great beauty. Since Zhou Xiao considered himself a hero, he saw no point in trying to clear such an insurmountable hurdle. If it was so difficult to overcome, why bother trying to cross it at all?

“Wait for me to come back.” Unable to hold back any longer, he planted a firm, resounding kiss on Yuqing’s forehead.

The kiss was so forceful it made an audible pop against Yuqing’s skin.

What a clingy Master Zhou.

And so, carrying that single lock of black hair, Master Zhou stepped out the door, the rumble of the Ford engine slowly fading into the distance.

Yuqing returned to the bedchamber to look over the ledgers.

Zhao Fu brought in the day’s morning papers.

Zhou Yulin had died in a modest hotel, strangled to death. His wife, Ruan Hongmei, was present at the scene and had been detained as the prime suspect. The Ruan family was now thrown into utter chaos.

Originally, power had been split three ways: Qingming Bank, the Ruan family, and the Li family. With the Ruan family in turmoil, only the Li family remained. Most members of the Li clan held official posts, with few commercial ventures of their own; their visible wealth was modest, but their political power was vast. The deeds to several suburban plots around Baizhou and administrative authority within the city proper were all concentrated in their hands.

Holding authority, the Li family needed the position of Chamber of Commerce President to funnel and legitimize their money. Without a public channel to move their funds, officials found it difficult to operate.

Qingming Bank’s cash flow had dipped briefly a few days ago, but once the fire broke out at the Ruan residence, word spread that the port was firmly in the hands of the bank’s president, prompting everyone to deposit their savings there. After all, someone who could build such a massive enterprise after being cast out of his own home had to possess formidable methods.

Yuqing reviewed the books until the afternoon, then browsed through some reading material in the study.

A Western rumor had made its way across the sea, claiming that reading to an unborn child would make them sharper and wiser upon birth.

Just as he sat down, a servant entered to deliver a message: “Madam, a letter from the Master has arrived.”

He had only departed this morning, and the letter was already here by the afternoon.

Smiling, Yuqing told them to bring it in.

[To my beloved wife, Qingqing: We have been parted for merely half a day, yet how are you faring? The journey is arduous and long, made bearable only by my longing for you. The food along the way is truly not as palatable as that in our home; swallowing it down is only possible by feeding on my longing to stave off the loneliness. Eat well. If anyone causes you trouble, write to me at once. I will return swiftly; do not shoulder it alone.]

Signed: Qingqing’s Zezhi.

Zhou Xiao’s penmanship was actually quite handsome. He knew how to write in English, and following his signature were several foreign letters that Yuqing couldn’t read. Right before the words Qingqing, there was a phrase: miss you.

Yuqing had never studied foreign languages. Looking at the flowing script, he found it rather novel. He recalled how, when his father taught him to write, he would also draft several sweeping characters before handing them over, explaining their meaning only after Yuqing’s curiosity was piqued.

Yuqing had always had a habit of copying down anything he didn’t understand. Taking up a calligraphy brush, he traced the foreign letters Zhou Xiao had left behind onto a fresh sheet of paper. It felt rather like sketching. What could they possibly mean?

miss you…

What could Zhou Xiao have written?

Yuqing didn’t know. In his hand lay a copy of the Three Character Classic.

From between its pages, a small childhood diary slipped out. Zhou Xiao had once asked about its whereabouts, but Yuqing had told him it was lost. In truth, he had kept it tucked inside the Three Character Classic, having flipped through its worn pages countless times over the years.

Back then, he had desperately wanted to understand what kind of person Zhou Xiao was. The son whom his father loved so dearly yet could never openly dote on—it was a bond that had driven Yuqing mad with jealousy, forcing him to live as Zhou Xiao’s substitute just to receive a father’s care. Whenever that envy flared, he would pull out this little booklet, savoring every page to trace the hardships the boy had endured, nursing his own bitter heart through the shared ache.

This particular page recorded Zhou Xiao’s thoughts after school:

[Yesterday was my classmate’s birthday. His mother came early to pick him up, and today he shared half a piece of cake with me. It was very sweet, very delicious. When my birthday comes, I want to eat such a modern treat too. Will Mother buy one for me? Actually, a bowl of longevity noodles would be enough.]

Reading this entry had also been the first time Yuqing ever learned of cream cakes.

Years later, the first time he ever tasted cake, he had eaten it while watching Zhou Xiao. The cream melted softly on the tongue. At the time, he had thought: So this is the taste Zhou Xiao spent his whole childhood longing for; it really is sweet.

Yet by the time he finally met Zhou Xiao, the man had long outgrown his fondness for sweets, having lost all interest in cream cake entirely.

Yuqing wondered: when his birthday arrived this year, should it be longevity noodles, or a cream cake?

Stroking the little diary, Yuqing laid it over the newly arrived letter.

He penned his reply:

[If the food is unpalatable, you might try some cream cake instead. It is sweet and pleasant. I remember the cakes in Shencheng are quite good.]

Mimicking the strokes, Yuqing carefully penned the letters miss you with his brush. The brush strokes lacked the crisp, sharp edges of a fountain pen, bearing instead the square, upright elegance of his usual handwriting. Tucking several silver dollars into the envelope, he sent it on its way.

By the time Zhou Xiao received the letter, it was already late into the night.

He knocked on the door of a bakery, handing over several extra silver dollars to purchase a small cake.

Indeed, it had been a very long time since he last touched cake. Had Yuqing not told him to eat it, he never would have.

When he first arrived in France, the pastries were exquisite. Zhou Xiao had eaten so many he grew sick of them, yet never found them truly delicious. The meaning was entirely different: what he had craved all along was someone’s heartfelt intention, not the sugar itself.

Yuqing had told him to eat it, and had even tucked several silver dollars into the envelope. This cake was, for all intents and purposes, bought for him by Yuqing.

Inside his room, Zhou Xiao sat by the table, staring fixedly at the cake. Afraid he wasn’t looking closely enough, he leaned all the way forward, hovering over it. His nose drew close, inhaling the sweet aroma.

Yes. This was the cake he had always wanted.

A cake bought by someone who held him in their heart.

Fragrant, thick with a sweet, milky richness, layered with a subtle trace of floral scent.

Zhou Xiao’s lodgings were filled with jasmine plants. Though winter was not the season for jasmine to bloom, the flowers kept in the greenhouse blossomed vibrantly, filling the entire room with Yuqing’s scent.

Zhou Xiao cradled the cake, watching it for a long, long time before finally darting his tongue out to lick the frosting.

Having missed out on cake in his childhood, he didn’t actually care for the flavor now. But he thought to himself: this cream tasted just like the cream that had been stepped on by Yuqing’s foot.

Zhou Xiao crushed the cake in his hand, licking between his fingers, closing his eyes to imagine they were Yuqing’s toes.

No, the taste wasn’t quite right.

The flavor wasn’t pure enough. So he plucked two blooming jasmine flowers from the room, popped them into his mouth, and chewed them to pieces.

Only then did he climb into the wide bed, covering his eyes with a piece of Yuqing’s clothing.

The bed was strewn with garments belonging to Yuqing: the long gown he had worn yesterday, the clean ones washed the day before, along with his undergarments and inner robes, all brought along for the journey.

Mindful of Yuqing’s pregnancy, he had never dared make his lust too obvious. Love and intimacy were things best done with mutual willingness. To force it was uncouth, and he had always considered himself a man of proper manners. Unless Yuqing slipped him some sort of aphrodisiac, what excuse did he have to lose control?

Yet Yuqing was always so cool and composed. At the thought of how Yuqing never took the initiative to demand him, of how he loved Yuqing far more than Yuqing loved him, Zhou Xiao’s eyes couldn’t help but sting with tears.

When on earth would Yuqing fall deeply in love with him…?

When would he finally cling to him, begging for his touch?

Without that soft, fragrant embrace to burrow into, Zhou Xiao’s chest felt hollow. Overwhelmed, he let his tears fall freely. Undoing his trousers, he grabbed one of Yuqing’s long gowns and pressed it over himself, clutching it tightly through the fabric.

When the friction bordered on pain, it felt a little like Yuqing stepping on him.

Yuqing. Yuqing.

Qingqing.

His longing was simply too fierce. Burying himself beneath the quilt, he nuzzled frantically into Yuqing’s clothes, his tears soaking into the fabric.

The chewed jasmine petals tasted bitter and fragrant, and the cream was sweet. Yet these fabrics were neither tight enough nor slick enough, their coarse friction leaving him thoroughly miserable.

The hotel they were staying at tonight had poor soundproofing, situated on the outskirts rather than in the city center since they had to set out for Liu County early the next morning.

Outside, the night was pitch-black.

Listening through the wall to what sounded like muffled, ghostly weeping from the room next door, Deng Yongquan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand completely on end.