Chapter 16: If the Young Lord Says One Word Begging Me, I’ll Help You

Chapter 16: If the Young Lord Says "Please," I'll Help You

In the carriage.

Sweat the size of beans beaded on Pei Yuhuai's forehead, veins bulging from the strain of holding back. He snatched at Lan He's robe in agitation: "That antidote of yours—can you brew another batch?"

Lan He sat upright in the main seat, eyes shut, idly toying with his prayer beads: "Your Highness, do bear with it. As I told you before, there's just the one bottle, and it's empty for now."

"What?! It's gone?! Then what am I supposed to do!"

Pei Yuhuai's face burned bright red, his whole body blazing unbearably. He was grinding his teeth to hold on.

Suddenly, the horse spooked, and the carriage lurched. Pei Yuhuai, who'd lost his balance, felt his legs give way and slid with a plop onto the plush rug, landing on his knees at Lan He's feet.

"..."

Awkward silence.

Pei Yuhuai grabbed the chance to cling to Lan He's leg, his eyelids heavy: "Quick, do something to save me—I, I'm about to lose it, save me!"

He could feel the fire inside him raging hotter, searing his insides with wave after wave of heat, burning away the last shreds of his sanity.

No.

I can't take it.

I'm gonna blow.

"I, I gotta get off—stop, make the carriage stop, I gotta get off."

Shaking all over, he clutched the seat and tried to get up.

But the little monk driving didn't seem to hear and kept going.

"Stop..."

Pei Yuhuai even thought about leaping out of the carriage—if he didn't do something fast, he was afraid he'd be done for.

He'd barely gotten up an inch before a big hand shoved him back down.

Lan He opened his eyes, slow and deliberate.

He loomed over the trembling Pei Yuhuai. The young man's eyes were rimmed with an alarming red, his hair a little mussed, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wet and glistening like a fawn lost in the woods.

Lan He swallowed hard.

His eyes darkened, and he warned, unhurried: "We're right in the middle of the busy market. If Your Highness steps out now, by tomorrow the whole capital will know what the Marquis's Heir looked like today."

Pei Yuhuai was already losing his mind, his face red as spring peach blossoms, just waiting to be plucked.

He slumped to the floor without thinking, clinging to Lan He's leg like it was a life raft, muttering in a daze: "This is all your fault, you stinky monk—hurry up and save me."

Lan He's lips curved into a faint smile: "If the Young Lord says one word—'please'—then I'll help you."

Pei Yuhuai's mind was now consumed by that one thing—shameless and desperate, he grabbed Lan He's robe: "Please, please, just give me the medicine."

"Alright."

Lan He reached out, pulled him up, and pinched the young man's earlobe.

His fingers drifted lower, brushing the delicate collarbone.

Pei Yuhuai was like a fish finally in water, desperate to dive deeper.

But Lan He wouldn't let him have it, each touch brief and teasing, making the fish thrash and flail, swimming toward the water on its own, begging for mercy.

"Pei Hang, who am I?"

"Lan, Lan He."

Pei Yuhuai panted, clawing at his hand in a frenzy.

Lan He smirked and gave him what he wanted.

Pei Yuhuai held his hand tight, prying his thumb open.

No matter.

Suddenly, Lan He snatched his hand back, and a wave of helplessness crashed over him.

"Mmph..."

Pei Yuhuai whimpered, pitiful, and reached for his hand again, but this time Lan He wouldn't budge. He grabbed the young man's chin and smirked contemptuously: "Get up here."

Disobedience calls for punishment.

Just like before, he offered his own leg as a stool.

"Don't move."

Lan He bent down and pulled out a box from the corner of the carriage.

The box had a lock on it.

While Lan He worked on the lock, Pei Yuhuai could barely stand it, clawing at him like a kitten, crumpling Lan He's robe with desperate, clumsy grabs.

Lan He didn't stop him, quickly opening the box to reveal several bottles and jars, plus a bundle wrapped in silk.

He peeled back the silk.

Inside was a dainty little thing.

As for what it looked like...

Lan He's breath hitched, and he looked away.

He thought for a moment.

Lan He still went ahead and made some preparations.

Pei Yuhuai had already stopped thinking, obediently doing as he was told.

"Hic..."

A ripping sound—fabric tearing: "You don't listen, you get punished."

The carriage rocked along through the busy market.

The little monk driving just figured the road was bumpy, or maybe the carriage needed fixing—after all, he'd been born deaf and couldn't hear the soft sounds from behind.

Pei Yuhuai's mouth was stuffed with a piece of cloth, and his hands were gripped tightly, leaving him completely unable to make a sound.

Outside the carriage, the bustling cries of vendors, laughter, and chatter rang out as if right beside his ears, stirring a shameful feeling of being exposed in public.

Pei Yuhuai snapped back to consciousness, his legs kicking wildly, only to be quickly restrained again.

Since he couldn't speak, he couldn't even say he was awake, and the intense pain and pleasure continued without letup.

By the time they reached Qingwu Manor, Pei Yuhuai had passed out cold, tear-streaked, his underclothes a complete mess.

Luckily, Lan He had set his outer robe aside earlier, so it was still clean.

Lan He straightened out both their clothes and hair before scooping Pei Yuhuai up by the waist and carrying him off the carriage.

Before entering the room, Lan He instructed another monk disciple: "The young lord got drunk and threw up a lot in the carriage. Burn the carriage right away."

"Yes, Master."

With the evidence destroyed, Lan He also had hot water boiled and fresh clothes brought in.

Pei Yuhuai didn't wake up during all this.

Lan He personally bathed him and cleaned him up, then carried him over to the bed in the guest room and tucked the covers around him.

The young man seemed to be sleeping restlessly, his eyes still red and puffy, his brows knit tightly, and he kept mumbling something every now and then—maybe he was having a nightmare.

Lan He gazed at his features, couldn't help wanting to smooth out the furrow between his brows.

"This time, you must remember well."

The moment his fingertips touched, Pei Yuhuai seemed to sense it, suddenly grabbed his hand, rolled over, and hugged his hand to his chest.

"..."

Lan He gently tried to tug his hand away, but Pei Yuhuai, annoyed, opened his mouth and bit down on it, even making little smacking noises.

Hiss.

How outrageous.

Lan He was about to push him away when the young man pouted pitifully: "Ow, it hurts, it hurts so bad, it hurts like hell, boohoo..."

"!"

Lan He's breath caught, and his movements froze. The scene from the carriage flashed vividly before his eyes—the boy, radiant as a peach blossom, curled in his arms begging for mercy, crying with tears and snot streaming down his face.

Had he been too rough?

A flicker of guilt rose in Lan He. He took a deep breath, pulled his hand back, and went to the medicine room to fetch some ointment.

The young man's delicate skin bore streaks of bruising, mottled purple and blue, severely battered.

Thankfully, Pei Yuhuai couldn't see it himself.

Lan He held his breath, knelt by the bedside, and carefully applied the ointment to his wounds.

Pei Yuhuai still didn't wake, only letting out occasional whimpers, shifting from sleeping on his back to sleeping on his stomach.

By the time he finished, Lan He was drenched in sweat, his body burning like fire.

He hastily fled the scene, ordered a tub of cold water, and bathed under the autumn moon, yet his heart refused to settle.

This medicine was indeed a poison, its potency growing stronger over time until it left one wishing for death but unable to die.

He harbored resentment and selfishness, so he had added other ingredients to the medicine, turning it into what it was now.

Lan He closed his eyes, leaning against the tub, his thoughts in turmoil.