BDSMST -Chapter 22 The Ragged “Little Farmer”

By the pigsty stood a half-grown boy dressed in a dark blue short outfit.

The clothes were made of the coarsest hemp cloth, washed so many times they had faded pale. The pant legs were splattered with dark patches of dried mud.

His face had been tanned by the sun into a healthy honey-bronze. Compared to the pampered young nobles raised in the sheltered courtyards of the capital, he looked darker and rougher.

His hair was simply tied back with a strip of cloth. A few strands, damp with sweat, clung messily to his forehead.

In his hand, he carried a wooden bucket that gave off a strong sour stench. Inside was something obvious at a glance—pig feed.

If not for the faintly refined contours of his face, and those bright, clear black eyes that remained sharp even in anger, Wei Ziqian and the others would hardly have believed that this “rustic” little farmer before them was the once impeccably dressed and fastidious young heir of the Yongning Marquis Manor—Gu Xuan.

After a brief silence came even louder, more unrestrained laughter.

“Hahahaha! Gu Xuan! It really is you! My heavens!” Wei Ziqian laughed the hardest. He clutched his stomach and bent over, nearly in tears. “You… you’re actually feeding pigs! And carrying a slop bucket! Hahaha! If this gets back to the capital, how are you ever going to show your face again?”

“Look at those clothes! They’re worse than what the servants in our manor wear!”

“And his hands! They’re as black as if he’s been digging coal!”

“Ziqian, take a sniff—doesn’t he smell like pig manure?”

Each sharp, biting remark was like a poisoned dagger stabbing into Gu Xuan’s heart.

His face darkened visibly—from healthy bronze to the deep red of a pig’s liver.

The hands that had once held only brushes and jade chopsticks now gripped the bucket handle so tightly that veins bulged across the backs.

Humiliation.

This was humiliation like he had never felt before.

For a split second, it was as if he had reverted to the little tyrant of the marquis manor—the one who would explode in fury at the slightest offense.

He remembered his identity. His former nobility and dignity. And now these people were trampling what little pride he had left—along with the “new life” he had worked so hard to build.

“Shut up!” he roared, his voice trembling with rage.

But in Wei Ziqian’s eyes, the outburst only made him look embarrassed and weak.

Wei Ziqian laughed even harder. He stepped forward, pointing at Gu Xuan with an expensive sandalwood fan, his face full of disdain.

“What? Angry? Gu Xuan, don’t tell me you’ve really started thinking of yourself as a farmer just because you’re stuck in this backwater place. Don’t forget—you’re the heir of the Yongning Marquis Manor! Looking like this, you’re disgracing your entire house!”

“Whether I’m disgracing anyone is none of your damn business!” Gu Xuan’s eyes were red with fury.

Suddenly, he lifted the slop bucket high. From the way he held it, it was clear he was about to dump the entire bucket of sour pig feed straight onto Wei Ziqian’s head.

His former “companions” instinctively stepped back. They all knew what kind of temper Gu Xuan had—when he went mad, there was nothing he wouldn’t do.

Even Wei Ziqian flinched at the movement, though his mouth remained sharp. “Oh? Want to hit someone? Gu Xuan, is that all you’ve amounted to? Acting like a country bumpkin—throwing fists whenever someone annoys you! Crude! Absolutely crude!”

Gu Xuan’s chest heaved violently. His rationality was hanging by a thread.

The wooden bucket in his hand was already tilting. The thick, foul-smelling slop was about to spill.

At that critical moment, a calm yet authoritative voice came from the direction of the house.

“Gu Xuan. Dinner’s ready.”

It was Jiang Suisui.

Her voice carried a peculiar magic—instantly dousing most of the raging fire in Gu Xuan’s heart.

The motion of him raising the bucket froze midair.

He remembered the rule that woman had set—no wasting food.

Although the bucket of pig feed smelled awful, it had been carefully cooked from rice-washing water and rotten vegetable leaves (cooked by him personally). It was “Humph” and “Haha’s” dinner.

If he dumped it, the pigs wouldn’t have anything to eat.

He also remembered that tonight’s dinner included his favorite—braised pork.

If he started a fight now and caused trouble, that bad woman would definitely have an excuse to deduct his dinner.

Starving himself over these idiots? Not worth it!

After a fierce internal struggle, Gu Xuan slowly—reluctantly—lowered the bucket of pig feed.

He shot Wei Ziqian a vicious glare, like an enraged young wolf—wild and full of warning.

Then, without another word, he poured the pig feed neatly into the trough.

“Humph” and “Haha” immediately trotted over and buried their snouts in the food, eating happily.

Watching them eat so contentedly, the fire in his chest cooled a little more.

Once he finished, he clapped his hands lightly, turned around, and strode past Wei Ziqian and the others like a victorious general—without sparing them even a glance.

He went straight to the well in the courtyard, drew water, and carefully washed his hands before walking into the house.

The entire sequence flowed smoothly, carrying a composure utterly at odds with his “little farmer” appearance.

Wei Ziqian and the others, completely ignored, looked at one another awkwardly, their faces burning.

It felt as though they had punched a ball of cotton—full of force, yet with nowhere for it to land.

What was this supposed to mean?

They had come all this way in grand fashion to “visit a prisoner,” and yet the person in question hadn’t even taken them seriously!

At that moment, Jiang Suisui stepped out of the kitchen.

She was still dressed in plain coarse cloth, her hair pinned up with a simple wooden hairpin. Seeing the uninvited guests in the courtyard, she showed not the slightest surprise or panic.

Her gaze swept calmly over their luxurious robes and arrogant expressions. Then she gave a small nod. Her voice was mild, yet carried an undeniable authority.

“Since you are Xuan’er’s friends and have come from afar, you must be hungry. If you do not mind, please stay and join us for a simple meal.”

Her tone did not sound like an invitation—it sounded more like a notice.

Wei Ziqian and the others exchanged glances, suddenly caught in an awkward position.

They had come to mock, not to eat coarse rural fare.

Wei Ziqian was just about to refuse with deliberate arrogance when, at that very moment, a rich, domineering aroma drifted out from the kitchen.

It was a complex scent—meaty, savory with sauce, layered with some unknown spices.

The mere smell of it made these young masters, who had tasted every delicacy under heaven, swallow in unison.

The words of refusal stuck in Wei Ziqian’s throat.

He cleared his throat and lifted his sandalwood fan to hide his betraying expression. With a snort, he gave what amounted to silent consent.

“Fine! I’d like to see what ‘good things’ this backwater place can possibly serve us!”