Chapter 57 Jiang Maocai

Chapter 57 Jiang Maocai

Upon recognizing the person, Jian Ru was momentarily stunned.

He had previously inquired at the healer's shop, learning from Aunt Chen that this man wasn’t expected back until year-end. He never imagined they would cross paths so soon.

Jian Ru’s last memory of him was on a muddy village road during a heavy August rain—soaked to the bone, following behind as they walked toward Zhang Jiao’s home.

He still recalled the cold, shadowed eyes, brimming with malice, that had met his anxious glance back then. Unfortunately, the Jian Ru of that time couldn’t discern the hidden intent, nor did he suspect the worst of human nature.

And then there was that hand, gripping his tightly, just before he was thrown into the river. In those final moments, this person had only thought to use that hand to soothe him, hoping that as a ghost, he wouldn’t seek revenge.

Jian Ru unconsciously rubbed the back of his hand.

Time had flown; nearly a year had passed since that incident.

Jiang Maocai looked almost unchanged—still fairer-skinned than others in the village, with well-defined features, a tall build, and, as always, fond of wearing clean, light-colored long gowns.

Now, this person was moving through the crowd toward him, his steps steady, the hem of his robe fluttering, just as before.

This was the very demeanor Jian Ru had once cherished, the sight of which used to quicken his pulse. But seeing it again now, the scene felt as dull and flavorless as steamed fish eyes, leaving his heart an unmoving pool of stagnant water.

“Xiao Ru, it really is you!” Jiang Maocai stopped as he drew near. All the way over, his eyes had been scanning Jian Ru’s face in disbelief. “I was just passing by and saw you playing pitch-pot. I thought I must have mistaken you for someone else.”

The crowd was thick, with occasional onlookers glancing their way. The Li family was nearby, and Jian Ru didn’t want to create a spectacle or alarm his family. Though the long-dormant hatred inside him surged like weeds after rain at the sight of this man, he kept his expression controlled and nodded coolly. “When did you get back?”

His attitude was far from warm, but Jiang Maocai, aware of his past actions, had prepared for resentment. Seeing that Jian Ru was still willing to speak to him, he relaxed slightly and smiled. “I’ve been back five or six days. Aunt Chen said she ran into you in town and that you’ve changed a lot. Seeing you today, I really almost didn’t recognize you.”

As he spoke, his eyes scanned Jian Ru, taking in the high-quality, stylish fabric of his clothes and glancing at the jewelry adorning his neck and wrists. But unlike others in the village, he merely noticed these things without showing the envy or longing Aunt Chen had displayed.

Finally, his gaze met Jian Ru’s again, his smile fading into an apologetic look. “When I returned to the village, I heard you were still alive. Believe it or not, I was so happy I couldn’t sleep for days.”

“Zhang Jiao has been with us for years. He’s frail, and his mother has also been in poor health—he’s suffered since childhood. At that time, I was desperate to save him, panicked and not thinking clearly, which led me to do what I did. The moment you were thrown into the river, I regretted it. I wanted to jump in and pull you out, but the current was too swift. You vanished in an instant, and by then, it was too late for regrets.”

He wore a pained, remorseful expression, the whites of his eyes tinged red, his gaze intense. Combined with his decent looks, it was a heart-wrenching sight.

Jian Ru only responded flatly, “Oh.”

Not discouraged, Jiang Maocai smiled bitterly. “I know you can’t forgive me right away. There’s no way for me to make it up to you now either. I can only hope time will prove my sincerity, and we can take things slowly from here.”

Jian Ru listened, suppressing his disgust, already tired of the man’s droning and rambling. He glanced toward the stall diagonally across, but the crowd was too thick to spot the person he was thinking of.

Jiang Maocai watched his profile, momentarily entranced.

In the past, before his face was ruined, this young man had been delicate and pretty but still not as striking as Zhang Jiao. Yet now, he was utterly captivating—strikingly beautiful, slender, every gesture innocent and endearing.

He had stood in the crowd for a long time just now, and everyone around had been watching him.

As Jian Ru turned back, Jiang Maocai couldn’t help asking, “Aunt Chen said you’re married?”

Jian Ru gave a faint “Mmm.”

Jiang Maocai’s lips parted as if to say more, but just then, a good-looking woman in her thirties pushed through the crowd behind Jian Ru, followed by a breathless man and a child. The woman tapped Jian Ru on the shoulder. “Finally found you! Come on, let’s get some sweet soup. Little Brother and Qiao Zhi are waiting over there!”

Jian Ru acknowledged her, then glanced back. Noticing his look, the woman followed his gaze and asked quietly, “A friend of yours?”

Jian Ru shook his head. “Someone I knew from the village.”

With that, the woman tugged him along, one hand pulling the child away.

Jiang Maocai scrutinized the man bringing up the rear—average height, ordinary features. Noticing Jiang Maocai’s stare, the man smiled and bowed slightly.

The woman up front called back to him, then released Jian Ru to grab the man’s wrist instead. The man hurried after her, smiling apologetically at whatever she said to him.

Jiang Maocai’s furrowed brow relaxed slightly when he saw the woman take the man’s wrist.

The crowd swallowed them up quickly.

Jiang Maocai recalled how Aunt Chen had vividly described Jian Ru’s husband to the villagers—how handsome he was, how refined his speech and manners. If he hadn’t spent time in town and met many people outside this past year, he might have believed it.

Just a sickly invalid, Jiang Maocai thought, an inexplicable twinge of resentment stirring in his chest.

Jian Ru’s life was no longer any of his business. Since he hadn’t spoken of the past before, he probably never would.

Even if he wanted to, given how much he’d liked Jiang Maocai before, all it would take was a little effort to placate him like in the old days. There was nothing to worry about.

With that thought, a sense of resentment rose in him again.

He knew where the sweet soup stall was. Almost without thinking, he started heading that way.

Pushing through the crowd, the scent of sugarcane sugar boiling wafted over. Jiang Maocai paused.

He saw the woman from earlier settling the man and child at a table. Beside the stall stood a young man of strikingly handsome appearance, holding a fresh flower and scanning the crowd as if waiting for someone.

Jiang Maocai had noticed him immediately earlier because his appearance and bearing were so exceptional—everyone passing by, men and women alike, couldn’t help staring, Jiang Maocai included.

The flower in his hand was likely for his wife. It was a local custom: on the summer solstice, husbands would pin a flower in their wife’s or husband’s hair to show affection. Many married women and young men on the street wore such blossoms.

But he didn’t think much of it, assuming the young man was just some unrelated wealthy young master from town.

Having been away for years, he knew well that such people belonged to a different world—one he could never reach, no matter how hard he worked his whole life.

Jiang Maocai continued scanning the area but didn’t see Jian Ru at first.

Just as disappointment set in, the young man emerged from the crowd like a fluttering butterfly, holding an oil-paper package that seemed hot—he kept shifting it between his hands.

Jiang Maocai urgently searched the seated figures, trying to spot which one was Jian Ru’s husband. Or perhaps the sickly man was too ill to leave his bed and had let his beautiful husband come out alone with family.

As he wondered, he saw the exceptionally handsome young man step forward to meet him.

Jiang Maocai’s eyes widened as Jian Ru skipped lightly up to the handsome man, saying something. The man smiled down at him, took the package, and carefully tucked the flower into his hair. Then he pulled a handkerchief from his robe and gently wiped the young man’s forehead with intimate familiarity.

Jian Ru touched the flower in his hair, tilting his pink, delicate face up obediently with a smile, eyes narrowed as he let the other tend to him.

At the table, the woman waved them over. The two went and sat down. The whole group ate sweet soup, laughing together happily from time to time.

The moment Jian Ru and that man interacted, Jiang Maocai felt a sour pang in his chest, his teeth clenching. All the cultivated grace and manners he’d picked up outside now felt as embarrassing as a peacock caught showing its backside.

He watched the stall for a while longer but eventually turned and strode away.

…

In a residential area east of town, many market vendors lived crowded together in shared courtyards. It wasn’t comfortable, but the rent was cheap.

Jiang Maocai entered through the open gate, nearly tripping over clutter on the ground. The stench of a slop bucket filled his nose.

Frowning, he found a shabby door and slipped inside.

By the bed in the room sat a young man, his hair disheveled. His face was sallow, and he coughed incessantly. Despite this, one could still see that he was actually quite good-looking—delicate and frail, making you want to protect him.

But the man who had just entered clearly felt differently.

As soon as Jiang Maocai stepped inside, he placed the oil-paper-wrapped food on the table and set down a packet of medicine beside it. "Make the medicine yourself and drink it. I’ll come back in a couple of days," he said.

With that, he turned to leave.

But the person on the bed called out to him, "Brother Maocai, I don’t want to stay here. I want to go back to the village with you."

Jiang Maocai stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowed deeply. "No, I’ve already told you—you can’t return to the village yet."

The young man’s eyes welled up with tears. "But what does it matter if the village finds out I’m not dead? That whole thing is water under the bridge. We can just come up with some excuse to brush it off. I want to go back to my own home in the village. I don’t want to hide away in this dump anymore!"

Jiang Maocai stared at him and said, "No."

The young man’s expression suddenly shifted. His eyebrows shot up, and he pointed a finger at Jiang Maocai, his voice turning shrill. "Jiang Maocai, don't you forget—you’re the one who threw Jian Ru into the river! If I report you, let’s see how the village deals with you!"

Jiang Maocai dropped his facade of calm. Narrowing his eyes, he retorted, "Report me? Zhang Jiao, I did it for you. You knew everything and even gave me advice on how to lure him there. Do you really think if something happens to me, you’ll walk away unscathed?"

At this, Zhang Jiao covered his face and began to cry. "When will this kind of life ever end? I can’t stand staying here another day."

Disgust flickered in Jiang Maocai’s eyes, but whether it was due to some second thought or not, he swallowed his impatience and softened his tone. "Just endure it a little longer. If we go back now and the village finds out I was the one who took you away, both our reputations will be shot."

"Remember what we agreed on before we returned. You have to keep it in mind at all times. I’ve already made some progress. If you listen to me, we’ll both have a good life ahead—no more wandering and struggling."

Tears streaming down his face, Zhang Jiao looked up at him. Though resentment still lingered in his eyes, he eventually nodded in agreement.