The Richest Man’s Boyfriend Lives in a History Textbook - Chapter 4

Xingyuan ate very slowly, chewing in small, deliberate bites. The milk cake melted the moment it touched his tongue, and Xingyuan would wait until the flavor had faded before taking another bite.

Aisley lowered his head and looked at the top of Xingyuan’s hair, his eyelids half-lowered, a faint smile resting at the corners of his lips.

Once Xingyuan had eaten most of the milk cake, Aisley turned his head aside and looked out at the sky.

It was noon.

A faint light stirred in the depths of Aisley’s eyes. He drew his gaze back and looked at Xingyuan again.

For those few seconds, he looked with great concentration, not even blinking.

The young man’s appearance was imprinted clearly in his pupils, as though he wanted to engrave it into his heart.

After a long moment, he pulled his gaze away and stood up in an instant. His tall, large frame cast a shadow over the small, cramped tavern.

Xingyuan lifted his head in a daze, a trace of milk still lingering at the corner of his mouth.

While he was still in that dazed state, the man walked straight out of the tavern without a word.

Xingyuan: !

He stood up, picked up the small dish, and hurried after him.

However, this time the man’s pace had returned to normal.

Xingyuan’s physical stamina was already poor to begin with, and on top of that his legs had gone weak, so he fell behind in no time at all.

Xingyuan watched blankly as Aisley’s retreating figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance, that silhouette receding further and further until it could no longer be seen.

Xingyuan was quiet for a moment, then tilted his head, his deer-like eyes narrowing into a thin line.

Now what?

He really was too useless — he had actually managed to lose track of someone!

The wind and sand were fierce today. Xingyuan looked down and spotted a long trail of footprints.

He picked up the milk cake and took a bite; the rich, milky fragrance filled his mouth, and Xingyuan curved his eyes into a smile.

Ah, well — those who accomplish great things naturally cannot be stopped by a small setback like this.

If he couldn’t even overcome something this minor, how was he ever going to become a general in the future?

The footprints that had been pressed into the soil had already faded considerably after an afternoon of wind.

Another gust swept through, rolling with yellow sand, and the shallow footprints disappeared entirely from his deep blue pupils.

Xingyuan stood frozen in place, clutching the last piece of milk cake.

His round eyes blinked a few times, and then he fell silent where he stood.

The person — he had lost him.

But Xingyuan didn’t want to give up. He had managed to find something to do with great difficulty. If he couldn’t find the man again, he feared he would lose all interest in the Star-Scrying Device.

He lowered his head and sank into thought, biting away at the milk cake in his hand piece by piece until it was gone, then washed his hands clean.

After straightening the hem of his clothes, Xingyuan finally lifted his head, his expression by now returned to its usual calm.

Though Xingyuan appeared somewhat soft on the surface, his SS-rank mental power was no idle boast.

With that in mind, Xingyuan thought of a method that might prove quite effective —

“System,” the young man called out calmly.

“I’m here,” came the reply, and sure enough, the next second a mechanical voice arrived from all directions.

“Can I top up with money?”

System: ……

“You can.”

Xingyuan reached out and lifted the empty dish; in an instant, the dish dissolved into scattered points of light and disappeared.

“I need the coordinates of that man from just now, thank you.”

The System was all business. “That is possible. One-time location tracking costs 36,666 Star Coins.”

Xingyuan paused. His eyes shifted as he weighed it in his mind for a moment.

His tone was mild, returning to his polite and measured manner. “Book me one thousand times in advance, please.”

System: ……

Xingyuan stepped back out onto the desolate land, and in his field of vision, a red dot appeared ahead of him, steadily pointing him in the right direction.

Since so many things could be solved with money, Xingyuan went ahead and spent a few hundred thousand more to buy himself a language translation function.

The function lasted for one month, and Xingyuan did not renew it.

It was just like what his older cousin, who used to take him along to play games all the time, had once said:

“You can use a few small cheats while playing games, but you can’t have cheats covering your whole screen.

Money is not the issue — if everything is solved with money, what’s the point of any of it?”

Xingyuan thought his cousin made a lot of sense, and so along the way he made a point of walking past pedestrians to listen to them talk.

“Duoke  %#*¥……”

“Who stole my chicken butt?!”

“Silu *#&!……”

“Good heavens, what am I supposed to do if I have no money to marry a wife?!”

The two things Xingyuan’s ears picked up were different — one was the local language, and the other was the translated Interstellar Standard. Though the words themselves were different, the tone, timbre, and pitch were exactly the same.

Xingyuan found it endlessly fascinating. He began to follow along, trying to learn how to speak.

“Tuluo *#¥……”

“The weather is really lovely today — perfect for hanging laundry to dry.”

A sound that was at once strange and familiar reached Xingyuan’s ears, and it made his heart feel soft and tingly.

His eyes lit up. After that, every time he arrived somewhere new he would memorize what others said, and then repeat it back when no one was around.

The words were translated into Interstellar Standard, and it was clearly his own voice — and yet it made Xingyuan feel as though someone else were speaking.

Whose little sweetheart is this? Such a young, soft voice — it sounds so lovely!

“I heard they’re recruiting soldiers up ahead. Should we go sign up?”

Xingyuan’s footsteps halted. He turned his head to look at the two men who had spoken.

They were two men, wearing clothing with pitifully little fabric.

One of them had very dark skin, and there were marks on his shoulders where a hemp rope had dug in. The other was not quite as dark-skinned, but his back was permanently bent far lower than most people’s.

The dark-skinned man’s eyes were dull and lifeless. His voice came out rough and hoarse. “Go. At least you won’t starve there.”

“But if we go, we might not come back alive!” said the hunched man, his expression conflicted. A thin, bony boy trailed behind him.

The dark-skinned man rubbed at one of his hands and closed his eyes. “If I don’t go, my kid won’t be alive right now!”

The two exchanged a glance, and each let out a sigh. The dark-skinned man waved his hand. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

The hunched man forced a smile. “Come on. It’s actually a lot better now than it used to be. The fighting probably won’t last much longer.

I remember what it was like ten-odd years ago — when they were conscripting, they didn’t even bother asking. If they saw someone who looked strong enough to carry a blade, they’d just drag him away on the spot. So many people died back then. If two or three out of ten men survived a battle, that was already considered decent.”

The dark-skinned man clapped the young boy trailing behind the hunched man on the shoulder and said, “Go on — call my boy Tudaoge out. We’ll all walk over together.”

Xingyuan blinked. He was quiet for a moment, then ultimately turned and walked on in the direction of the red dot.

****

The conscription post.

Gloved fingers pinched at a sheaf of rough paper, turning it over page by page, until it was slammed down onto the wooden table with a loud smack.

The military officer standing at an angle nearby bent his waist even lower at the sound. He was drenched in sweat, his face white with terror, his body trembling without stop.

A laugh rang out — rich and magnetic.

Its owner leaned back in his chair, feet in military boots propped up on the tabletop.

“Your talent truly astounds me. Out of a resettlement allowance of ten Kaen coins, you actually managed to skim off four. What a shame the Finance Minister never had you on his staff — he really missed out.”

“Lord, I beg you to spare me this once……”

The man stretched lazily, then in the next instant he dropped his legs and reached out in a flash, slamming the officer’s head down onto the table.

A heavy thud — the officer’s head cracked hard against the wooden surface and he let out a muffled grunt of pain.

The man bent down until his face was close to the officer’s, smiling all the while, yet his eyes were completely dead.

His voice was low and deep, the smile curled at his lips, his volume pressed to the very lowest. “If you’re willing to take off your clothes and submit yourself beneath any man of your choosing, I might consider letting you go.”

The officer’s pupils contracted sharply. His expression was one of absolute horror. “No! No! That is a sin — it is an affront to the gods! If it were ever discovered, it would be punishable by hanging!”

The man was completely unsurprised. He held the officer’s gaze directly and flexed his wrist. “So you understand my position.”

The officer’s face went ashen. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I understand. I will go and request a tribunal hearing.”

The man raised an eyebrow and nodded, then kicked the officer to the floor.

He waved a hand, and soldiers immediately came to take the man away.

He resumed his former posture, both legs propped back up on the tabletop.

Fred, who was standing to the side, took a sip of liquor and remarked, “You’re really something else. The way you talk — always so unsparing.”

Aisley snatched the bottle away in one motion and leaned back in his chair, taking a long swig.

“Hey, hey, hey! That’s my liquor! I remember you brought two Kaen coins to buy liquor — where’s yours?!”

Aisley rolled his neck and said, unconcerned, “Spent it on milk cake.”

“What extravagance,” Fred grumbled. “That stuff is a luxury only rich people eat. You really didn’t hold back.”

Then he caught sight of Aisley’s hair and reached out to touch it. “Isn’t it a hassle keeping your hair this long? Just cut it at some point and be done with it.”

Before his hand could make contact, Aisley seized his wrist in a crushing grip.

“Hiss——” Fred winced in pain, drawing in a sharp breath.

Aisley drew the small knife from his waist and drove it hard into the table, his expression perfectly relaxed.

“Try it. Touch my lifeline and I’ll cut off yours.”

“What the hell is wrong with you,” Fred swore.

“You don’t even have what it takes to sleep with a wife, and you spend every day dreaming about getting married. Keep it. I want to see when you actually manage to marry one — don’t go dying with it still uncut.”

Aisley rolled his neck, raised an eyebrow, and gazed at the clear sky, his tone unreadable.

“Not going to get married anymore……”

He pulled the small knife out and turned it over idly in his hands, his eyes growing distant.

He gave a short laugh. “What’s there to get married for……the way I am.”

People trickled in one after another to register, and since neither of them had anything to do, they sat there all the same.

At some point, a few adults came holding their children by the hand to sign them up. Aisley frowned when he saw them.

“That child is only eleven or twelve, isn’t he? And they dare send him off to fight?”

Fred said, “You’ve forgotten — you were that age yourself when you were sent……”

Aisley was silent for a moment. He took a pull of liquor and looked down with a small smile.

“It’s been too long. I’ve forgotten.”

Aisley had been mooching so much liquor that he reeked of it. He had no idea how much time had passed when, at the edge of his vision, a black-and-white figure appeared.

Aisley: ……

His hand stilled. He lost his grip on the bottle and spilled a little from the corner of his mouth.

His eyes opened fully. The fingers wrapped around the bottle tightened, and then he set the bottle down on the table.

Aisley let out a long, heavy breath and turned his head aside, looking at something else with deliberate indifference.

In the corner of his eye, the black-and-white figure came running over with delight. On instinct, Aisley put his legs down from the table.

The young man arrived and braced both hands on the tabletop, leaning his upper body forward toward Aisley’s side, studying him with open curiosity.

Aisley exhaled slowly. He wanted to shift himself further back, but he was already pressed against the back of the chair.

The young man’s fair and delicate skin assaulted Aisley’s senses. Aisley held his breath, and in that moment his heart seemed to stop beating entirely.

Xingyuan’s eyes were very bright. He said, “What a coincidence we are — I was just wandering around and ran into you again.”

The young man’s pleasant voice buzzed and reverberated in Aisley’s ears. He still couldn’t understand a word the young man was saying.

Even so, it truly was quite a coincidence — they had actually met again.

Xingyuan said to himself, “I didn’t expect that you’d be at the conscription post. As it happens, I’ve been wanting to join the army too — to train alongside all of you.”

As he spoke, Xingyuan picked up a pen and paper and carefully wrote out his name, stroke by stroke.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a place nearby where uniforms were being handed out. His eyes curved into a smile, and he walked over.

Aisley’s breathing gradually steadied. Fred looked at him with puzzlement.

“You seem a lot better now. I don’t know what was going on with you just before — I thought you’d stopped breathing.”

Aisley didn’t spare the man a glance. He picked up the rough paper and looked toward the spot where the young man had just written.

Before he could make it out, the paper was snatched away by Fred.

Fred snapped the paper with his finger and teased, “I didn’t call you out on it when you were flipping through earlier, and now here you are looking again. Can you even read?”

Aisley replied with great seriousness, “I know 136 characters.”

Fred let out a snort. “Seventeen years of fighting, and you know 136 characters. That’s an average of eight characters a year. Impressive stuff.”

Aisley: ……