Chapter 14 Plowing the Radish Field

Chapter 14: Plowing the Radish Field

Chi Luoxi saw He Angxiao's reaction to that form of address—it was quite strong. The veins on the side of his neck suddenly tightened and bulged in an instant, pulsing faintly with the violent roll of his Adam's apple.

They had taught him that whoever spent money on him was his husband.

Judging by Mr. He's reaction, it didn't seem like he was overjoyed; rather, it was more like he had choked on something.

Chi Luoxi was a bit uncertain: "...Mr. He, you don't like being called that?"

He Angxiao's fingers gripping the steering wheel tightened a bit, and he said with restraint, "Call me whatever you like."

He glanced quickly at Chi Luoxi, whose eyes still held a hint of peach-pink at the corners, like petals on a spring branch just blooming, with morning dew still clinging.

Those light-colored pupils were also now steamy, wet, confused, and innocent as they looked at him.

This appearance was like he had just been carried off by He Angxiao.

Pure temptation—truly made it impossible not to think dirty thoughts, not to have beastly urges.

He Angxiao stepped harder on the gas without thinking. What he had set his sights on was his; from childhood to adulthood, he had never failed to get what he wanted.

Halfway there, the car screeched to a halt in front of a 24-hour convenience store.

He Angxiao yelled, "Wait here," pushed the door open, and got out.

Chi Luoxi sat alone in the passenger seat, watching He Angxiao stride quickly into the convenience store, his mind in a jumble, as if in a dream. Why did Mr. He suddenly change his mind?

Could it be that his singing had won him over?

He Angxiao didn't stay long in the store. He had a clear target, strode directly to a certain shelf, almost without browsing, reached out and took several boxes from the rack, then bent down to grab a bottle from the refrigerated cabinet below. He went to the counter, scanned the items, paid—the whole process so swift that the cashier couldn't help but give him a second look.

Soon he was back in the car, a white plastic bag in hand.

As soon as he got in, he carelessly tossed the bag onto the center console between the driver's and passenger's seats.

Chi Luoxi curiously glanced at the bag. It wasn't sealed, hanging open loosely, and he could vaguely see the colorful packaging inside.

He reached out and pulled the bag toward himself.

What came into view were several square little boxes.

The packaging had pictures and text—some explicit, some subtle.

Chi Luoxi counted: one, two, three... a full six—no less.

Next to them was a small transparent bottle filled with a clear, oily liquid.

Chi Luoxi jerked his hand back, not daring to look again.

In the mountains, kids sometimes married early.

Chi Luoxi remembered that his deskmate from his mountain school days had gotten married before, and he had gone to the wedding feast and served as a groomsman.

Back then, several experienced aunties from the village had crowded into the bride's room, pulling her aside and whispering tips.

Chi Luoxi had happened to be squatting outside the bridal room wall, waiting to be called to toast. He had good hearing, so he caught bits and pieces.

The aunties had lowered their voices, teasingly warned, saying things like, "If you don't want kids so soon, you have to use this," "Make him wear it," "Otherwise, you'll suffer."

He was young then, only half got it, felt too embarrassed, and quickly ran away.

But he associated that thing with not wanting kids.

"...I... I'm not a girl... do I... do I have to use this too?"

He Angxiao's hand on the steering wheel tightened again. He glanced at Chi Luoxi, pulled the corner of his mouth into a wicked grin, and said, "...If you don't want to... that's fine too."

Chi Luoxi didn't know why, but that look made him flustered.

The car drove into the underground parking lot of the upscale apartment where He Angxiao usually stayed. After parking, He Angxiao got out first, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door. Instead of letting Chi Luoxi out immediately, he grabbed the plastic bag and stuffed it into Chi Luoxi's arms.

"Take it."

Chi Luoxi: "...Why do I have to carry it?"

He Angxiao thought, Of course it doesn't suit my image. "Why so many questions? Will you be a good boy or not?"

Chi Luoxi said, "I'll be good," then hugged that bundle of things, feeling like he was holding explosives.

He Angxiao: "Let's go."

Chi Luoxi followed He Angxiao into the elevator. The shiny elevator walls clearly reflected their figures, one behind the other. Chi Luoxi kept his head down, one hand clinging to the hem of He Angxiao's clothes.

He Angxiao stood straight, as if he had grown a tail, his eyes fixed on the rising floor numbers.

When the elevator doors opened, He Angxiao opened the apartment door.

The door clicked shut behind them, locked. At the same moment, He Angxiao turned around, grabbed Chi Luoxi, who was still standing at the doorway hugging the stuff, pulled him into his arms, and kissed him.

The movement was urgent, impatient after holding back for so long, finally back in his own territory. He Angxiao lowered his head and kissed Chi Luoxi's lips.

One arm tightly wrapped around Chi Luoxi's neck, forcing Chi Luoxi to lift his face.

...

Chi Luoxi's pupils were really light-colored, that clear amber brown, like fine honey under the light.

How could anyone be this beautiful?

He Angxiao thought Chi Luoxi looked a bit mixed-race, but given his pure Wushan bloodline, he must be a mix of Mount Wu and the next mountain over.

He raised his hand, rubbing his thumb over Chi Luoxi's lips, then said in a remarkably steady voice: "I will."

Two simple words, reassuring.

He Angxiao patted Chi Luoxi's [butt]: "Go get yourself clean. The bathroom's over there."

Chi Luoxi quickly set down that burning hot potato he was holding and scampered into the bathroom.

He Angxiao listened to the sound of water running in the bathroom. The restlessness inside him didn't subside with Chi Luoxi's temporary departure; instead, the feast to come made it surge even more fiercely.

He pulled out his phone and started to study up.

He had to ensure everything was perfect, couldn't scare the guy off, or else this little fool Chi Luoxi might just throw him down.

But after watching for just a few minutes, He Angxiao's thoughts wandered straight into the bathroom.

Annoyed, he closed the video and tossed his phone aside.

He reclined on the sofa, closed his eyes, and listened to the steady sound of water from the bathroom. His mind began to uncontrollably imagine Chi Luoxi's porcelain-white, lithe body, the hot water cascading over him in the steaming mist.

He didn't know how long it was before the sound of water in the bathroom stopped.

He Angxiao's gaze snapped to the bathroom door.

Chi Luoxi walked out wearing He Angxiao's bathrobe.

The bathrobe was dark gray, but it was clearly too big for Chi Luoxi, hanging loosely on his frame with a wide-open collar, revealing a broad expanse of fair skin flushed a healthy pink from the hot steam, and delicate collarbones.

The sleeves were also too long, so he had to roll them up. The hem of the bathrobe fell past his thighs, exposing long, straight legs that were dazzlingly white.

His hair wasn't completely dry, the ends still dripping, water droplets sliding down the graceful curve of his neck and disappearing into the gaping collar of the bathrobe.

His face was flushed red from the hot water, like a ripe peach.

Those light-colored eyes, moistened by the steam, appeared even more luminous, hazy, and glistening.

He was barefoot, padding across the soft carpet towards He Angxiao.

As he moved, the hem of the bathrobe swayed gently, occasionally revealing more of his legs and his slender waist, loosely cinched by the bathrobe's sash.

He Angxiao stood up.

Chi Luoxi walked up to He Angxiao.

Chi Luoxi felt uncomfortable under his gaze, tilting his face up and licking his lips, as if searching for an acceptable outcome for what was about to happen.

"Mr. He," he asked, his eyelashes trembling slightly with nervousness. "Am I going to be your bride tonight?"

He Angxiao's breath hitched at the question.

Chi Luoxi, wearing his clothes in his house—how could he not be his bride?

He Angxiao said, "Call me your husband."

*

Xiao Luo's diary.

In a distant forest fairytale town, animals could talk, and all kinds of residents lived there.

One day, at eight in the evening.

One day, a proud, handsome racehorse that looked purebred and valuable developed a strong interest in a radish patch.

The racehorse strode gracefully and powerfully to the edge of the radish patch.

The racehorse announced it wanted to farm this radish patch.

The owner of the radish patch was a naive mountain man.

Seeing this suddenly arrived horse with its sleek coat and smooth, muscular lines,

the horse was too beautiful, so the little caution and wariness he felt crumbled before its overly attractive appearance and presence.

This horse didn't look at all like it knew how to cultivate.

But the racehorse was too beautiful.

The radish field owner, dazed and confused, forgot to question whether the horse had any real experience or ability in cultivation, and in a daze, opened the fence gate to welcome the proud racehorse in.

As soon as the horse entered the radish patch, it showed its true colors. It was clearly not there for proper cultivation and careful care of the radish patch.

The racehorse's cultivation skills were not very good.

Perhaps the racehorse thought cultivation was like racing—just needing to work hard.

The racehorse charged recklessly, kicking here and there, trampling the neat field into a mess, mud splattering.

When pulling up radishes, it was clumsy and rash, making a mess of the field.

If it weren't for the field itself being exceptionally fertile, with soft and rich soil, and the radishes being especially firm, juicy, and resilient, the racehorse's crude and ignorant mishandling would have left it ruined.

The radish field owner was alarmed and heartbroken.

He finally snapped out of his initial beauty-induced daze.

Seeing his radish patch trampled into such a state, he couldn't help frowning and, with a tone full of doubt and dissatisfaction, said to the still-working racehorse.

"Mr. Horse, are you really capable? I feel like you're not as good as you claimed. What have you done to my field?"

The proud racehorse, hearing the owner's doubt, snorted in annoyance, raised its beautifully curved neck, and looked at the owner with its beautiful but defiant eyes.

"How am I not capable? Look at the tools I brought!"

"With this equipment, this build, this strength, I'm a hundred times better than those ordinary plow horses. You should feel honored to have a horse like me plowing your field. It's a stroke of great luck. Go ask around—how many people would beg to have me work for them!"

Having advanced tools and pure blood clearly didn't equate to cultivation skill.

The radish field owner was left speechless. He had no experience with this; he'd never had other horses help—sometimes he just huffed and puffed and did it himself.

But he didn't know how to judge a racehorse's cultivation ability, nor what normal cultivation should look like.

He only knew that now his field was in distress, and his radishes were in danger.

Seeing the racehorse's arrogant expression—as if saying the owner didn't appreciate a good thing—and its continued reckless thrashing, the radish field owner was both anxious and helpless.

He sighed, and with a tone of grievance and slight pleading, said, "...Then, could you be a bit gentler? My field has never been tilled by anyone else like this. It's very delicate and can't handle such rough treatment."

Hearing this, the racehorse also realized that its actions might have been a bit too wild.

The racehorse was silent for a few seconds, and in those proud eyes, there was a rare flicker of guilt. Awkwardly, it said, "...My tools don't really allow for that. Look how advanced they are."

The racehorse looked at the radish field owner's pitiful, almost tearful expression. "...Don't cry. I'll try to be gentle, okay?"

The words were spoken without much confidence, but at least it was a concession.

Fortunately, though this racehorse was completely clueless about cultivation—a complete novice—it didn't seem too stupid.

After the initial disastrous, chaotic attempts, the racehorse probably realized that brute force and advanced tools alone weren't enough to complete the task well.

It began to try to slow down.

Although it was still clumsy, and occasionally struggled with controlling force, sending mud flying, it was much better than the initial demolition-like approach.

After more than two hours, which felt like two centuries to the radish field owner, this not-so-large radish patch was finally roughly plowed from beginning to end by the clumsy but now slightly improved racehorse.

The race

At first, the radish field owner forced himself to stay awake, watching the thoroughbred horse's movements and occasionally reminding him to be gentler, but as time passed and the night grew deeper, both physical and mental exhaustion washed over him like a tide.

He checked the time—it was already very late, and the radish field owner felt that today's plowing had far exceeded his expectations and his capacity to endure.

This was already far above the farming skill of any other resident in the fairy tale town.

He needed rest, and so did his field.

So he said to the thoroughbred horse, who was still tirelessly trying to plow deeper over and over, "Mr. Horse, it's getting late. Let's stop here for today, okay? You must be tired too, right?"

"...How many more times are you going to plow?"

The thoroughbred horse was displeased and gave the radish field owner a look that said, "Why can't you be satisfied?"

"Meeting a thoroughbred horse like me, with such fine breed and enduring stamina, you should count your blessings," he said proudly. "Do you know how many horses out there can't last even a short while? I can plow this long and this well—you're lucky to have me."

The radish field owner: "...But you've already sown too many seeds."

If he kept sowing, the ground's going to burst open, isn't it? No radishes would ever grow from this.

The thoroughbred horse shot back confidently, "Survival of the fittest—sow more, and next year you'll get bigger and juicier radishes. You don't get farming at all."

The radish field owner was left speechless.

Exhaustion pressed down like a mountain.

The radish field owner couldn't hold on any longer, and eventually, as the thoroughbred horse tried yet another angle to loosen the soil, he dozed off.

In his sleep, he could vaguely feel the vibrations of the tireless horse's relentless plowing through the ground.

Half-awake, half-asleep, the radish field owner thought hazily: This poor field of his—the first time a horse actually plowed it properly, it encountered such an inexperienced yet overly confident horse, turned over and over, thoroughly messed up. He had no idea what state it would be in when he woke up tomorrow morning...

But, oh well.

Considering that horse's face—it was really too handsome—and he at least put some effort into the plowing.

He'd just put up with it.

Otherwise, what else could he do?

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Author's note: Shout-out to the radish field.