Fu Jing walked very quickly, and Fu Sili had to follow with hurried steps.
Upon reaching the courtyard, Fu Sili shook off the hand that was still gripping his wrist. Fu Jing immediately turned around, slammed the door shut, slid the bolt into place, and pulled him into the room, closing the main door behind them as well.
The grip on his wrist finally relaxed, and the scorching heat of Fu Jing’s skin receded. Fu Sili rubbed his wrist and turned to duck into his own room.
Fu Jing took a sip of tea and looked sideways, saying, “Stop right there.”
Does he think that just because he tells me to stop, I will?
Fu Sili’s heart surged with defiance. Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the room behind him. He looked back to see that the charcoal brazier by the table had been kicked against the door, perfectly wedging the door, which had not been fully closed, firmly shut.
Fu Sili turned around: “What is it?”
“It seems you never take my words to heart.” Fu Jing set down his teacup and smiled slightly. “When we first arrived at the Imperial Academy, I said you must return on time at night. If the academic proctor checks on you today, you would be marked for a demerit and receive a caning.”
Fu Sili sneered: “Let them punish me. If you are afraid that I will disgrace you, just let me leave.”
Fu Sili’s face was lean, carrying a delicate, obedient kind of beauty. Most of the time, he presented an appearance of harmlessness; only when he retorted could one sense his hidden aggression. His peach-blossom eyes narrowed slightly, his brows lifting in a rebellious arc.
The northern winter was naturally dry, and the charcoal brazier in the room made it even more parched. Fu Jing slowly swallowed the tea in his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His gaze dropped, scrutinizing the clothes Fu Sili was wearing.
When Fu Sili arrived, he had prepared two sets of Imperial Academy scholar robes. One had been changed out two days ago, and he had intended to wear this one for two more days until the New Year break to take it home for cleaning. Now, both the sides and the sleeves were singed with holes, and the smell clinging to the fabric had not dissipated despite the cold wind on the way back.
It seemed he had never seen Fu Sili take proper care of himself. He was reminded of how Fu Sili looked when they first met in Chuzhou: a narrow, damp, moldy wooden shack, with a yellow-skinned, emaciated child burning with a high fever lying on a small bed in the corner.
A raging fire ignited in Fu Jing’s chest. Reason dictated that he speak gently: “Who said I thought you were a disgrace?”
“From now on, after classes end, return by seven-thirty in the evening to practice calligraphy. I will watch you.”
Fu Sili turned and started to leave, but Fu Jing called out coldly: “Stop. I did not tell you to leave.”
“Control, control, control! You certainly have a wide reach. Who are you to control me?”
After Fu Sili impatiently finished speaking, he saw that Fu Jing’s expression remained unchanged. He stood tall, refusing to show weakness as the man stood up from his chair.
“Who am I?”
“I cannot control you?”
Fu Jing smiled: “Fu Sili, if I had not gone to Chuzhou back then, you would have died on that bed.”
“I saved your life. I have no right to control you?”
Fu Sili’s face went cold: “Regarding my mother’s affairs, you are…”
“That was between Ming Suye and Fu Anhuai. Fu Anhuai is Fu Anhuai, and I am I.” Fu Jing had endured his cold indifference for so long; this time, he was determined to correct him. “You know this clearly in your heart.”
Fu Sili met Fu Jing’s bottomless, tranquil eyes. Sensing what he was about to say, his voice rose sharply: “Shut up!”
Fu Jing said calmly: “You are simply unable to bear the weight of your mother’s passing, so you distribute a portion of the blame onto others to bear. Now that you have calmed down, do not use this excuse to deceive yourself anymore.”
The air in his chest seemed to be squeezed dry. Fu Sili stood there stunned, remaining motionless.
Fu Jing took a light breath, turned his head, and commanded him firmly: “There is hot water in the outer room. Take off your dirty clothes and wash up. I have clean clothes here.”
Fu Sili stood rigidly, head bowed, walking toward the room.
An arm reached out from behind, iron-like, pinning him down. Fu Sili pushed him away hard, his fingernails scratching a bloody trail across the back of the other man’s hand.
Beads of blood welled up from the scratch one after another. Feeling the damp stickiness on his fingers, Fu Sili turned to run. This time, the man wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and they collided as they shoved their way out the door.
“Let me go!”
Fu Sili tried to hook his foot around something to brace himself, but the moment he lifted his toes, both feet were off the ground, and he was hoisted into the outer washroom.
As the door opened, the steam from the room billowed out, then the door slammed shut, and the room grew warm again.
Fu Jing leaned against the door: “Undress.”
Fu Sili pressed his lips together, rubbing his fingernails against his clothes, his eyes flickering: “I want to go back.”
Fu Jing slowly moved aside, used one hand to slide the bolt into place, and kept his gaze on Fu Sili: “Wash up first.”
“I want to go back.”
As Fu Sili tried to push Fu Jing away, Fu Jing seized his hand and walked to the bathtub.
Fu Sili had never seen Fu Jing use force. Like a mouse with its tail stepped on, he shrieked and struggled, panic-stricken, but Fu Jing was stronger. Suddenly, Fu Sili was splashed with water.
Fu Jing scooped up water with one hand: “Now your clothes are wet. Take them off and take a bath.”
Fu Sili blinked rapidly, his voice sharp: “Let me go! Let you go! I do not need you to look after me!”
Another splash.
“Are you going to wash?”
Yet another splash.
“Are you going to wash?”
After the umpteenth splash, Fu Sili’s clothes were soaked through. Fu Jing, afraid he would catch a cold, tapped his fingers against the wooden tub, his patience wearing thin.
He scooped up water again and held his hand in front of Fu Sili. He saw the boy’s dark hair matted across his face, his eyes red and swollen as he glared at him. The droplets falling down his cheeks were indistinguishable from the water he had splashed or tears.
He furrowed his brows and paused.
Fu Sili grabbed his wrist and bit down hard. Almost immediately, blood seeped from between his teeth.
“Ugh, ooh.”
Fu Sili’s face flushed red, the metallic taste of blood sliding down his throat, twisting his stomach. Tears spilled over: “You, too, bully me.”
You, too, bully me.
He did not let go, continuing to bite down, waiting for Fu Jing to explode and slap him. But other than the initial furrowing of his brows, Fu Jing showed no reaction.
Fu Sili released his mouth, the slippery saliva mixed with salty tears drawing a transparent thread on the man’s hand.
He shoved Fu Jing violently to run, but Fu Jing used the momentum to flip into the bathtub, grabbing Fu Sili and pulling him in as well.
Splash! Splash!
The medium-sized tub sent out two massive waves, and the water level dropped significantly.
Fu Sili’s sobs ceased, realizing he was being held in Fu Jing’s arms.
A hand bent his legs and gripped his ankles; a moment later, two shoes were flung out of the tub.
Fu Sili watched the pretty ripples created by his shoes flying away, tears hanging on his eyelashes. He sat there for several breaths, looking like a drowned rat.
“Ugh!”
He gagged, his stomach spasming. The person behind him quickly freed a hand, pinched his chin, and pressed his head against the side of the tub.
Fu Sili spat, clearing the bloody foam from his mouth.
He suddenly flipped over, straddling Fu Jing’s lap. With two comical nail marks on his cheek, he raised his fists high: “Ahhhhhh! You bastard, I will fight you to the death!”
Fu Jing muffled his groans as he endured the blows, quickly stripping the wet clothes from Fu Sili and tossing them aside. What he could not strip off, he tore apart, then forcibly scrubbed the boy in the tub.
The wooden tub creaked under the weight, protesting. Under their constant struggling, the tub finally split into four pieces.
Fu Jing quickly lifted Fu Sili out, scooped another bucket of reserved hot water—by now, it was the perfect temperature—and poured it over him. Amidst Fu Sili’s loud, foul-mouthed cursing, he wrapped him in a quilt, carried him back, and threw him onto his bed.
“Ahhhhh! Damn you, Fu Jing!”
Fu Sili pounded the bed in rage, filled with pure hatred.
Fu Jing walked out expressionless. Rarely was he disheveled, and no one had ever made him go to such painstaking, pathetic lengths.
He wore a robe that had been tugged loose, his hem dripping with water. He went to the washroom to tidy up, changed his clothes, and brought another set for Fu Sili.
As soon as he lifted the curtain, a bang sounded—Fu Sili threw the item at the door.
“Get lost!”
Having already behaved more undignifiedly than he ever had before, Fu Jing could speak without any burden, abandoning his usual hypocritical smile: “Do you intend to go naked?”
Upbringing forced him to knock on the wooden wall again: “I am here to bring you clothes. If you throw things again…”
He wanted to threaten him, but paused and stopped himself.
Sounds of rustling came from inside. Fu Jing spoke again: “I am coming in.”
The west wing was not lit; it remained in its original state, leaving only a window that had been opened during the day. Silver moonlight filtered in, casting a faint glow in the room.
Fu Jing felt something underfoot. He looked down and saw a paperweight.
It was an indestructible paperweight.
His gaze moved forward. A small mound rose on the bed—Fu Sili had smothered his head with the quilt and locked himself inside.
He placed the clothes on the chair, lit the oil lamp, picked up the paperweight, and placed it gently on the table. Before leaving, he closed the window.
“It is late today. Get some rest.” With the chiming of pearl curtains, Fu Jing added, “Dry your hair. Your body belongs to you. Do not hold a grudge against me.”
The next day, the two emerged from their respective rooms. Fu Sili did not even glance at Fu Jing, hugged his books, and ran out.
For the next two days, although Fu Sili returned earlier than before, he did not entirely follow Fu Jing’s requirements. He would return at night and light a lamp to practice calligraphy at his desk.
Seeing him return on time at night, and thinking of Fu Sili’s recent impatience, Fu Jing did not interfere further—though he remained forceful on certain details.
Meals had to be eaten in the courtyard, provided by the mansion.
Fu Sili was deeply resentful, suppressing a fire in his heart that he wanted to retaliate, speaking only when absolutely necessary.
That evening, Fu Jing watched Fu Sili finish his porridge and asked, “Are you short of money?”
Fu Sili looked at him coldly.
Does he think that giving me money will make me forgive him? Is the relationship between us something that can be repaired with money?
Fu Sili said, “Yes.”
“How much?”
Fu Sili actually thought about how much money he lacked. Before entering the Imperial Academy, he had helped an outside merchant bring in a batch of goods, which should be delivered when he returned this time.
The money he had certainly was not enough. He had originally planned to pawn some of his own things when he went back.
Fu Sili replied, “Fifty taels.”
He sat waiting for a while, but seeing no intention from Fu Jing to speak, he just sat calmly in his chair reading his book.
He waited a while longer, then stood up, flicked his sleeves, and left.
Bad luck!