“Brother, you were hurt today. Don’t bother with other things—rest early.”
Back at the Ning residence, Ning Zhengyu eagerly followed Ning Muyan all the way into the garden, while Bai Lan, not wishing to get involved in the display of attention, quietly returned to Tianmendong.
Ning Zhengyu, emboldened, escorted Ning Muyan into the house without the usual shyness or hesitation.
He had admired Ning Muyan deeply since childhood.
Ning Muyan’s accomplishments were remarkable, often cited as exemplary by scholars. With such a brother, how could he not feel proud?
When he was young, after his mother passed away, he had been raised under the care of the late madam and even studied with Ning Muyan in the study—a time of warmth and harmony.
Later, with the deaths of the late madam and his father, and the arrival of a stepmother, Ning Muyan’s responsibilities grew, balancing family affairs with his studies. The lively, talkative boy he had once known became increasingly silent.
Ning Zhengyu tried several times to approach him but could not get close. When he was sent to the stepmother’s garden, confined to studying in the study, he had even fewer chances to see Ning Muyan.
Over the years, his mother’s words constantly swirled in his mind, leaving him to wonder whether they were true. As a result, he hadn’t been able to truly reconnect with Ning Muyan.
Today, however, it was clear that his elder brother cared for him. They were once again like the brothers of their childhood.
Knowing this, Ning Zhengyu became talkative and clingy. “I know, Brother, that you bear the weight of the Ning family. From now on, I will focus on my studies and learn to manage family affairs. In the future… I will share some of the burden with you, so together we can support the Ning household.”
Hearing this, Ning Muyan looked at him closely. His gaze softened as he reached out to gently pat Ning Zhengyu’s head. “Ah Yu, if you can think this way, it means you’ve truly grown. Brother can rest easier now.”
Ning Zhengyu’s eyes reddened slightly, and he nodded vigorously.
“Today, Brother has worked hard. I won’t disturb you further. I will come to greet you properly first thing tomorrow.”
“All right.”
Watching the boy leave, Ning Muyan exhaled quietly. In the past, he and Zhengyu had been estranged. Zhengyu, in moments of stubbornness, had allowed himself to be used, leading to wrong turns that contributed to the Ning family’s decline.
Seeing him now, with a genuine desire to change and still so young, Ning Muyan felt a sense of relief. If properly guided, there would be no more quarrels between brothers.
The boy’s words today brought genuine comfort: in the past, Ning Muyan had carried the family alone, sacrificing for its prosperity. Now Zhengyu openly offered to shoulder the burden alongside him. Whether he had the capability or not, the very intention was enough to warm Ning Muyan’s heart.
Later, after bathing and changing clothes, Ning Muyan glanced at his wrist. The scratches, once merely red, had turned to deep purples, tender to the touch, more striking than earlier in the day.
He decided to apply more ointment; after all, the injury was on his right hand, causing inconvenience. The sooner it healed, the better.
He retrieved the ointment from Bai Lan’s medical box. Though he didn’t doubt Bai Lan’s skill, he had been skeptical—this ointment seemed to do nothing for pain or bruising.
Hesitating briefly, he didn’t want to risk discouraging Bai Lan, so when a servant came in carrying tea, he called him over instead.
“I hear you know a bit about medicine,” Ning Muyan said.
The servant replied respectfully, “What are your instructions, Young Master?”
Ning Muyan handed him the ointment. “Take a look—does this work for treating bruises or injuries?”
The servant carefully opened the jar, sniffed it, and dabbed some onto the back of his hand. As he spread it, it melted into oil.
“…This isn’t for treating bruises and injuries.”
Ning Muyan’s brows furrowed. “Then what is it for?”
The servant, honest to a fault, said, “It’s an ointment for intimate use between men and young masters.”
“….”
Even without prior experience, Ning Muyan had some faint awareness. Seeing that this had already been applied to his arm, his face flushed with complex emotions.
“You may leave now.”
The servant didn’t dare question further, though he couldn’t deny the quality was unmatched—better than any ointment he had ever purchased. Still, it wasn’t his place to ask where it had come from.
Ning Muyan sat heavily in his chair, placing the jar on the table.
This Zhengyu… really could do anything around him.
Yet he paused. The ointment had come from Bai Lan’s medical box. How had it ended up there?
He wondered—was it for sale, or personal use? But Ning Muyan himself wasn’t idle; he was always under close watch, with no chance for outside contact. He wasn’t the type to act recklessly.
Then why place this in a medical box, even in a portable one? If it were meant to sell, why carry only one? And today wasn’t even a day for seeing patients.
What was the purpose?
Suddenly, clarity struck him: perhaps it was a deliberate hint.
Earlier, Bai Lan had referred to the blue jar—he must have known what he was doing. Bai Lan had been thinking about him all along, even back when he first made nourishing meals for him. Ning Muyan realized—this boy had entertained such thoughts early on.
This young master, who had previously insisted on keeping his distance, had now cast caution aside…
Well, he thought, a young man in his twenties, full of blood and passion, and a boy in the prime of youth—desires at night are natural. Bai Lan was extraordinary, living daily by his side; to resist attraction would be difficult.
Ning Muyan felt a quiet joy. Bai Lan had intention—he, in turn, felt pleasure at that fact. Yet, a tinge of concern lingered.
Ning Muyan folded his brows and paced back and forth in front of the desk.
If he agreed… would that be too soon? They weren’t married yet; everything was still unsettled.
But if he refused, would Bai Lan feel hurt, thinking that Ning Muyan had no feelings for him?
It truly felt more difficult than choosing which prince to support for succession.
After a long moment of careful thought, Ning Muyan’s reason won over desire.
No matter what, the intention itself was good. Ning Muyan smiled faintly—he would go find Bai Lan and speak properly.
Just as he was about to leave, he heard hurried footsteps outside, followed by a knock on the door, and Bai Lan’s voice: “Young Master, it’s me.”
Ning Muyan inhaled sharply. It had been so long since he felt this way—suddenly he was tense, awkward, almost nervous.
“Come in.”
Bai Lan entered and found Ning Muyan seated at the desk. He avoided looking directly at him, feeling guilty.
He explained hurriedly that he had forgotten something earlier: when he returned to Tianmendong to pack up the medical box, he realized he had promised to deliver the ointment he made for the madam back in the village. Upon checking, only the ordinary bruise ointment remained—his own preparation had vanished.
Panic struck him. Hastily, he had brought it over. “Young Master, you haven’t rested yet?”
Ning Muyan lifted the teacup beside him, feigning calm, though it trembled slightly in his hand. “Not yet. What is it?”
Bai Lan quickly presented a jar. “Earlier, my father gave me some bruising ointment back in the village. He’s skilled with bone injuries, so I thought this would help you heal faster. My own… might not be as effective.”
Ning Muyan glanced at him, noticing Bai Lan’s anxious attempt to cover something. Clearing his throat, he realized Bai Lan was trying to see if he had noticed the ointment’s unusual nature.
“Your ointment… indeed isn’t very effective,” Ning Muyan said, softened by the boy’s cautious demeanor. “I… I understand your intentions.”
Bai Lan exhaled in relief. “It’s good… it’s good that you understand. Then I’ll take my ointment back; you can use my father’s instead.”
Seeing Bai Lan flustered, trying to escape the situation, Ning Muyan quickly reassured him: “Don’t feel bad. I’m not rejecting your feelings—I just think it’s not the right time. I don’t want you following me without recognition. Can you understand that?”
“…Ah?” Bai Lan swallowed nervously. “I… I don’t quite understand.”
“You don’t need to hide anything or feel embarrassed. Just speak openly.”
Bai Lan gave a wry smile. Then why don’t you speak openly yourself…
Ning Muyan, sensing Bai Lan’s difficulty, picked up the ointment from the back table. “Wasn’t this meant for me?”
Bai Lan’s eyes widened. He had been naïve to hope that Ning Muyan, being upright, wouldn’t notice anything unusual.
But men were men, after all.
Ning Muyan snatched the jar from him, his ears reddening. “You may not believe it, but this was prepared for a patient. Today, I meant to deliver it, but you got hurt on the way back, and I forgot.”
“…And by coincidence, Young Master Zhengyu ended up applying it to you.”
“…”
The room fell into silence.
After a long pause, Ning Muyan spoke, his voice unsteady: “Are you telling the truth?”
“All I’ve said is true, including this.”
Bai Lan wished he could sink into the floor. His terrible memory would need several doses of memory-enhancing tonic to recover from this embarrassment.
“So… you had no other intentions?”
Quickly, Bai Lan declared: “This little physician would never dare harbor improper thoughts toward Young Master.”
But he noticed Ning Muyan’s expression darken visibly.