(A/N: probably not the best idea to read this ch while eating !)

He awoke to the glow of red through his eyelids and a sour miasma. Jia Yang lifted his head from off his elbows and expired sharply at the pain that action wrought. Not only was his neck twinging, but the soreness also radiated down to his pelvis and even knotted up in his shoulders. 

As the child of a court aristocrat, Jia Yang enjoyed so many “luxuries of life” in his daily regimen that the concept of opulence had long lost its meaning. His light half-meals to placate the palate were rare delicacies, his playthings in infancy treasures of incalculable worth, his acquaintances sons of venerated generals or royalty. From the ink of dawn to the ink of dusk, he could glance at the left and there were his maidservants, glance to his right and find errand boys.

Thus, still submerged in haze, his instinctive reaction was to give an order: “Qiao’er, chase off that stench, how awful.” 

Within his personal yard and quarters, Jia Yang’s command was akin to an imperial mandate. If he had one day decided to personally instruct his attendants to drown themselves in a lake, Jia Yang was assured that they would have acted in accordance—and without resistance. Regardless of how the philosophers of old drivelled on about the poisons of unearned power and affluence, Jia Yang was a lenient master. It was difficult to rouse his anger, and he was an untroubled boy if not somewhat indolent; most importantly, the tone he applied was always mild. 

When there was not a reply of “understood, young master,” Jia Yang was forced to squint open his eyes. His initial disorientation gave way to recollection and realization. 

The source of the acrid odor was a puddle in front of the bed. He could make out that it was a pool of vomit, diluted thin as water and tinged green-yellow with bile. Though he rose to his feet and strode closer for inspection, Jia Yang was not at all made nauseous by the smell or sight. As to the reason behind his indifference, the youth encountered similar accidents on a regular basis. 

Jia Yang had taken in and fostered an impressive share of creatures, going so far as to hide many in his sleeping chambers. His attendants had split feelings toward this pursuit of his, with most chiding him on the filthiness or imperilments of such a practice and a select few praising him for benevolence. Of course, those opposing the practice could do nothing beyond lecture and sigh as their foolhearted young master continued. 

Those animals were collected precisely for their ailing state, so excretions or ejections of offensive bodily fluids was therefore not uncommon. It was true that Jia Yang himself seldom stepped in to clean these messes, but he had now grown accustomed to them through repeated exposure. 

From his improved vantage point, he conceived that the pool on the ground was accompanied by more regurgitated substance on the sheets, streaks of which had stained lines down the bedside. This spread was more substantial and solid, having lumps of pale and half-digested matter. Jia Yang was reminded of a malnourished dog that had snapped up food too hurriedly and threw its digestion into disorder. 

He deduced that the man must have emptied his stomach and then continued retching and gagging over the bed. Jia Yang shook his head slowly, echoing that the fellow was surely too pitiable, and wondered where the courtesan had gone off to. 

And so, the scene that Xiao-yan came across on his return was, for lack of a better description, unexpected; a wealthy young master standing bent over at the waist, intently focused on the foul evidence of his lost meal, besotted enough with the task that he had not even taken note of the other man’s entrance. Jia Yang finally uncurled his back and turned toward the screen door, almost given a start upon seeing the courtesan there. 

Xiao-yan supported a clump of unwashed rags in his arms, and his robes—soiled with wet patches near the collar—did not look any cleaner. Even colored in daylight, he bore semblance to a carcass excavated from its final resting place, his expression just as insentient. Meeting Jia Yang’s gaze, he staggered forward and lowered himself onto his knees. The youth was just about to move to pull him up when the courtesan set about swabbing the floor. 

Ah, so he had not been getting into a deferential bow then. Jia Yang withdrew his arm briskly and retained his imitation of a rigid stone statue. He peeked down at the courtesan’s spindly hands wiping beside his cloth boots. His own fingers prickled with unease as he glanced again. 

Without forewarning, Jia Yang dropped into a crouch and tugged at a scrap of burlap from the pile. Xiao-yan did not so much as spare his cleaning partner a look until the youth said, “You ate the vegetable pancakes.”

“Mn.” 

“After eating, you became unwell?” 

There was a delay before he affirmed, “Mn.” 

“Absolutely sickening!” Jia Yang grumbled, swabbing with greater ferocity than he had before, enlivened by frustration. Noticing Xiao-yan pause at the declaration, he clarified: “That wrinkled granny at the stall seemed mellow and agreeable or else I would not have purchased from her. Who would have guessed from exterior appearances that she was this vile of a trickster? Not limited to her substandard kitchen talent, but distributing unsanitary and spoiled goods at that.” 

The courtesan did not object nor concur, causing the youth to add, “It is the prevailing custom to berate noblemen for being selfish and exploitative cheats, yet her conduct begs the conclusion that commoners are no better! I should go catch that swindler and run her out of busi—”

“No.”

Jia Yang frowned at his reply: “How are you thusly unmoved? You are the person who had to suffer at her blackened hand—” 

“No fault of the seller,” Xiao-yan said flatly, smudging out the last of the rank puddle. He supported his palms on his knees and heaved himself to a standing position. Jia Yang followed suit and the pair initiated work on the silken sheets, gathering clots of vomit—which had congealed and set in parts—in their rags. 

The courtesan’s cleaning motions were nowhere near as aggressive and quick as those of Jia Yang, but they were more practiced and effective, resulting in both individuals making progress at an equivalent pace. This was not aided by the fact that Jia Yang had taken a handful of breaks while venting passionately about the pancake-vending elderly woman. 

They proceeded in relative silence as Jia Yang reviewed the implications of the courtesan’s statement. The youth sneaked some looks at Xiao-yan and could not stem his emotions of solicitude and tenderness toward the other. Jia Yang sincerely felt as though the courtesan was another ill-treated mutt he encountered in passing, going so far as to appraise the prospect of taking him under his wing. 

He had to help himself remember that the “creature” before him was a human who was his senior in addition to that. It was simple enough—a bribe or threat—to convince Jia Yang’s attendants to overlook a dog or five in his pavilion, but concealing a man would be less straightforward. After all, his servants were employed by his father and had apportioned their loyalties accordingly. 

“Have you had something to drink yet?” Jia Yang asked, as he abruptly recalled a remedy his maidservant Qiao’er had once suggested after research: sweetened and warmed tea. 

Xiao-yan freed a grunt of affirmation, but his hesitation planted a seed of doubt in the youth’s mind. Jia Yang then thought back to the instructions of the owner the night before and projected at full volume, “Is anyone out there?” 

A polite and nasal female voice rejoined with, “Addressing the young and esteemed master, is there a want of something for this valuable client’s visit?”

“I will bother you to retrieve a fresh pot of tea. Chrysanthemum. Stir in a few spoons of good honey if this establishment is willing to provide the addition.” 

“This servant understands the request. May this young master forgive the delay, for this servant will return immediately.”

Hearing the shuffling of the maid’s socks dying away, Jia Yang discerned that he could have easily implored a servant to do away with the sour mess. He immediately let loose the rag from his grasp and grabbed at the courtesan’s wrist, enclosing its meager circumference fully without effort. Xiao-yan held onto his sullied burlap as the youth drew him to the low table, released his wrist, and hinted for him to take a seat. 

“It is imperative to recover the body’s lost fluids, especially succeeding an exhaustive session of loose stool or regurgitation. Hurry and sit. You must feel light in the head or deprived of balance,” Jia Yang insisted firmly, unaffected by the vulgarity of his own words. For a youth who frequently traded classes for the gambling hall, he certainly sounded confident about his knowledge of “medicine.” 

A/N:

fun and romantic date idea #1: mopping up your boyfriend’s puke

fun and romantic date idea #2: lecturing him about diarrhea