Chapter 482 You Lied Again

Chapter 482: You Tricked Me Again

Lin Zhufeng picked up his teacup and took another sip, gently closing the lid. His voice was a bit more relaxed than before: "Let's eat first."

Cheng Ge sat down at the table, still clutching the red sandalwood box in his arms, reluctant to put it down. Lin Nanshu reached over, took it, and set it on the side table, only then did Cheng Ge free his hands to pick up his chopsticks.

The dishes on the table were not elaborate—simple congee with pickled vegetables, a few plates of seasonal greens, and a dish of osmanthus cakes set at the very edge.

Cheng Ge sat down and first ladled himself a bowl of congee. It was thick and creamy, the rich rice starch fully cooked out, with a glossy, milky sheen floating on top.

He took a sip—it was just right—then slowly set the bowl down.

Then he picked up the serving chopsticks, reached for the plate of stir-fried asparagus, and placed a piece steadily into Lin Zhufeng's bowl.

"Grand Tutor, please try this," Cheng Ge said with a smile curling at the corners of his mouth, his eyes crinkling.

That smile was sweeter than the osmanthus cakes—so sweet that Lin Zhufeng glanced at him, then glanced again, as if checking to see if the asparagus was poisoned.

Lin Zhufeng looked down at the asparagus in his bowl, stroked his beard, and picked it up to eat.

He chewed twice, nodded, and said neither "good" nor "not good," but that nod was solid—small, from chin to chest, but full of sincerity.

Cheng Ge's heart leaped with delight. He picked up another piece—this time stir-fried yam, tender white, sliced evenly, arranged on the plate like little flowers. He placed it steadily into Lin Zhufeng's bowl.

Lin Zhufeng ate it too. This time he didn't nod, but the downward curve of his mouth flattened just a little.

That flattening was so subtle that if Cheng Ge hadn't been watching closely, he wouldn't have noticed it at all. But Cheng Ge noticed, and his heart leaped again. He decided to press his advantage.

He picked up another piece—this time chilled wood ear mushrooms, glossy black, tossed with minced garlic and cilantro, with a tangy, fragrant aroma.

Just as he was about to place it into Lin Zhufeng's bowl, Lin Zhufeng moved his bowl half an inch to the side.

Cheng Ge's chopsticks froze mid-air, and he blinked.

"That's enough. Eat your own food," Lin Zhufeng said, his voice still neither warm nor cold, but with a hint of something more in it.

Cheng Ge put the wood ear mushrooms into his own bowl, chuckled twice, then lowered his head and took a big mouthful of congee.

Lin Zhufeng watched him, watched for two seconds, then picked up his teacup and took a sip.

Watching Cheng Ge lower his head and wolf down his congee, the weight in Lin Zhufeng's heart eased another half inch.

He was genuinely pleased. The boy was usually easygoing and carefree, but his feelings for Nanshu were genuine, and he was also respectful toward this old man.

Yet he couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt. After all, the young man was a perfectly fine lad who hadn't been drawn to men, yet his own grandson had led him astray down this path. He bore some responsibility for it.

He set down his teacup, beckoned to a servant standing nearby and gave a quiet instruction.

The servant nodded, headed to the kitchen, and soon returned with a food box.

The box was woven from bamboo, with a finely carved orchid on the lid. Lin Zhufeng pushed it toward Cheng Ge.

"I hear the Marquis is fond of osmanthus cakes. Our cook is especially good at making them. Take some back with you. And when you have time, come by more often."

Cheng Ge looked down at the food box, then up at Lin Zhufeng with a smile. "Thank you, Grand Tutor."

Lin Zhufeng didn't look at him. Under the table, he discreetly nudged Lin Nanshu's waist.

Lin Nanshu's expression changed slightly. He picked up a piece of stuffed tofu and put it in Cheng Ge's bowl.

Cheng Ge looked down at the stuffed tofu in his bowl—tender white, topped with shrimp and green peas, looking like a finely carved ornament.

He picked up his chopsticks but didn't eat right away. Instead, he reached for the stir-fried asparagus, picked up a piece, and put it in Lin Nanshu's bowl.

"You eat too," he said, his voice soft, like that of an old married couple.

Lin Zhufeng held his teacup, his gaze shifting from Cheng Ge to Lin Nanshu, then back from Lin Nanshu to Cheng Ge.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He said nothing, only drank his tea.

"The back garden now has a lotus pond with a rain-listening pavilion. We've stocked it with young fish. The lotus leaves are now as big as umbrellas—perfect for fishing and drinking tea."

Cheng Ge was eating the stuffed tofu when he heard this, and he looked up at Lin Nanshu.

Lin Nanshu wasn't looking at him. He was ladling congee, moving slowly—so slowly it seemed like he was waiting for Cheng Ge to say something, or like he wasn't waiting for anything.

The corners of Cheng Ge's mouth curled up, starting from the right, then the left, until his whole face broke into a big smile.

"Great, I'll come by when I have time."

Lin Zhufeng raised his teacup to cover half his face. Behind the cup, a corner of his mouth twitched.

By the time Lin Nanshu walked Cheng Ge to the Marquis's residence gate, the sun was already leaning west.

Cheng Ge stood on the steps, waved at Lin Nanshu, then turned and pushed open the door.

Then his feet froze. The front courtyard was full of boxes.

Red, black, gold-patterned, silver-inlaid—dozens of them, big and small, neatly arranged.

They were tied with red silk, tied into bows, one after another, blazing red in the sunset.

At the very front, a pair of wild geese were tethered with red ropes, tilting their heads to look at him, cooing twice.

The corner of Cheng Ge's mouth twitched again.

He turned his head and saw Wuliji standing among the boxes, his hair tied up neatly—the style Cheng Ge had re-combed for him before he left yesterday.

Lü Rou and Funiang stood under the eaves, their expressions unreadable.

Hearing the commotion, all three turned to look at Cheng Ge at once.

The foot Cheng Ge had just stepped through the door quietly slipped back half an inch.

That foot hovered at the threshold for a moment, meeting the three pairs of eyes head-on.

Cheng Ge cleared his throat, put on a nonchalant air, and swaggered into the courtyard.

"Ahaha, what are you doing here? Have you been here long?"

Wuliji's gaze followed him without a blink. "This morning... I came... to deliver... the betrothal gifts."

Cheng Ge's eyes swept over the dozens of boxes. The red silk blazed like fire in the sunset, stinging his eyes.

His eyelids twitched. He was the one who'd said those words himself, and now the man had brought the betrothal gifts. What could he say?

He set the food box he was holding on the table. "Have you eaten lunch?"

Wuliji shook his head.

Cheng Ge glanced at the sky—it was almost dinner time. This guy was probably starving by now.

"There's osmanthus cake here. Want some?" He opened the food box, took out two pieces, and pressed them into Wuliji's hands.

Cheng Ge turned his head and called out to Funiang: "Go rustle up some food."

Funiang acknowledged and turned to leave, but Cheng Ge called her back again.

"Better make it roasted meat," he said.

Funiang nodded, glanced at Lü Rou, and the two of them walked off together, moving quickly, as if clearing out to give someone space.

The corridor fell quiet, leaving only the sunset, the red silk, the sweetness of osmanthus cake, and the two pieces in Wuliji's hands, already dented by his grip.

Cheng Ge stood among the boxes as the wind lifted the red silk, brushing against the back of his hand and making it itch.

He glanced at the pair of wild geese. The geese were looking at him too, cooing twice.

Cheng Ge had dinner with Wuliji in the courtyard.

Funiang brought out roasted meat—thinly sliced mutton marinated in cumin and chili powder.

It had been grilled over charcoal until it sizzled with oil, and it was still steaming when served, the charred aroma mingling with the spice.

Wuliji ate fast, but without rushing—each bite chewed thoroughly.

Cheng Ge sat across from him, holding his bowl, picking at his rice absentmindedly.

His gaze wandered over the dozens of boxes, drifted back to the wild geese, then settled on Wuliji.

Wuliji finished eating. He set down his bowl, setting his chopsticks neatly across the rim.

Then he looked up at Cheng Ge, not blinking, dead serious.

Cheng Ge felt a little uneasy under that stare. He set down his bowl, picked up a handkerchief to wipe the corner of his mouth, then looked down at his own lapels, thinking he'd gotten something on them.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Wuliji didn't look away. His Adam's apple bobbed as he asked: "When... will we... consummate the marriage?"

"COUGH—COUGH—COUGH—!!!"

Cheng Ge braced one hand on the table, covered his mouth with the other, and coughed until tears streamed down his face.

Wuliji's face changed. He quickly reached out and patted Cheng Ge's back, stroke after stroke, helping him breathe.

"Eat... slower..." Wuliji's voice was low, awkwardly urgent.

Cheng Ge coughed for a long while before he could catch his breath. He looked up, eyes red-rimmed.

He looked into Wuliji's eyes—so earnest they practically burned—and swallowed.

"No rush on that," he said, his voice still a bit hoarse. "We'll talk about it later."

Wuliji's hand stayed on his back, not pulling away.

He looked at Cheng Ge for two seconds. The fire in those deep eyes dimmed for a moment, like someone had blown on it and the flame's core shrank.

"You're... lying to me... again." It wasn't an accusation—just a statement.

Cheng Ge: "…………"

His conscience twinged sharply, and he immediately scrambled to defend himself: "No! How could I lie to you! When have I ever lied to you!"

Even he felt guilty saying it—he had lied, plenty of times. His name was fake, his courtesy name was fake, and Yuli was someone else entirely. But he couldn't say any of that now—it would just be pouring fuel on the fire.

Wuliji looked at him, the fire in his eyes dimming another notch. "You said... give betrothal gifts... then consummate. Now you're... backing out."

With that, he dropped his head. "Consummating... is what makes us... husbands."

Cheng Ge's conscience ached even more. He suddenly felt like a total jerk!

He ran a hand through his hair, completely messing up his topknot.

"Tomorrow night," he said, his voice so small it sounded like he was talking to himself. "Is tomorrow night okay?"

Wuliji's eyes immediately lit up. He looked at Cheng Ge, who had his head lowered, ears so red they looked ready to bleed.

"Good," Wuliji said. A single word, light but heavy.

He stood, smoothed his robes, and left, looking thoroughly satisfied.

Cheng Ge sat in the courtyard, watching his figure disappear. He glanced at the dozens of boxes, then at the wild geese, and buried his face in his hands.

"Damn! What the hell did I do to deserve this."

Cheng Ge felt zero joy—only dread for his own ass.

Lü Rou and Funiang poked their heads out from the corridor, saw Cheng Ge's utterly hopeless expression, exchanged a look, and ducked back inside.

Cheng Ge sat in the courtyard for a long time, until the sun had fully set and the moon had climbed up from the east. Only then did he get up, straighten his clothes, and head out.

He went to a medicine shop in the south part of the city, tucked deep in an alley. The shop was small, with a sign reading "Jishi Hall" in three characters, its paint peeling.

When he walked in, the shopkeeper was dozing on the counter. At the sound, he looked up—a skinny old man in his fifties with two scraggly rat whiskers. His eyes were small but sharp.

"Need some medicine, customer?" the shopkeeper asked.

Cheng Ge looked around and lowered his voice: "You got that kind of medicine?"

The shopkeeper squinted, looked him up and down, and lowered his voice too: "What kind?"

Cheng Ge's ears started burning again. He gritted his teeth and dropped his voice even lower: "The kind that... makes a person... unaware and senseless."

The shopkeeper stared at him for two seconds, then a slow smile spread across his face—a knowing "I get it" smile.

He turned and rummaged through the medicine cabinet behind him, pulling out a small paper packet wrapped in yellow paper with nothing written on it.

"One qian. Take it with warm water. It'll take effect within the time it takes to drink a cup of tea," the shopkeeper said.

Cheng Ge took the packet, tucked it into his sleeve, tossed a piece of silver on the counter, and walked out without looking back.

He left in such a hurry that he didn't notice the shopkeeper stroking his rat whiskers behind him, a meaningful smile on his face.

Back at the marquis's residence, Cheng Ge shut the door, pulled the little paper packet from his sleeve, and examined it under the lamp.

The yellow paper was folded neatly and tied with red string—looked pretty legit, actually.

He opened the packet. Inside was a pinch of grayish-white powder with no smell.

He hesitated, then picked up a tiny bit with his fingernail tip and put it in his mouth—no sensation, neither bitter nor sweet, like eating a mouthful of flour.

He thought to himself, it must be real. Knockout powder, after all, shouldn't have any taste to begin with. He folded the paper packet back up and hid it under his pillow.

In the middle of the night, Cheng Ge tossed and turned, unable to sleep, so he slipped into his clothes and padded to the small kitchen to brew himself a cup of goji berry and ginseng tea.

Hot water poured down, goji berries floated up, bright red, while the ginseng aroma rose with the sweet steam.

He held the cup with both hands, sitting under the candlelight, shoulders hunched, looking exactly like a quail that had been dragged out of its nest.

"After all, we're both men," he muttered, staring at the goji berries in his cup, his voice as quiet as a mosquito's hum, "whoever it is, it's the same..."

He took a sip of the tea, hissed at the burn, blew on it a couple of times, then continued muttering: "Wuliji is an honest man, he definitely won't hold this against me or anything..."