The Loyal Hound Comes Calling (Farming)

A farming-life story with the same vibes: no childbearing, no imperial exams, no scheming. The upcoming novel, Better to Go Home, is open for follows. [Blurb] A naturally aristocratic, delicate shou × a rough, loyal-dog gong Although Sui Ningyuan is the legitimate son of a wealthy merchant in Yangcheng County, fate has never been kind to him, and he has managed to squander a hand dealt to him full of good cards. At twelve, he was learning to ride when he fell from a galloping horse and became lame. At fifteen, he came down with a fever that wouldn’t break. Several physicians fought tooth and nail to save his life, but afterward he went blind, and his hearing became poor as well. Deaf and blind, with a limp, he couldn’t pass the exams and win the fame and fortune his father wanted for him. Little by little, he fell out of favor. At eighteen, on the day his half-brother got married in the height of summer, his stepmother and her people dragged him out of his sickbed and dumped him at a dilapidated country estate to fend for himself. Their reason was simple: they thought he brought bad luck. He struggled alone through the miserable, drafty estate, enduring summer rains and autumn winds while subsisting on meals the servants had skimmed of every bit of nourishment. Everyone said the lame young master wouldn’t make it through the winter. Even Sui Ningyuan thought so himself. On the day winter began, he hired a tailor and a coffin maker, spending his meager savings on a shroud and a coffin. He would wait to die quietly, at least ensuring his body wouldn’t be left out in the wilderness. That same day, a towering, muscular man covered in wounds came through the wind and snow outside. His brows were knitted into a deep frown. He had rugged but dashing features, stood eight feet tall, and was all muscle. In the dead of winter, he wore nothing but a thin padded jacket. He knocked on Sui Ningyuan’s door and offered his services. “Master, take me in and give me a bowl of rice. I’m strong, and I can work harder than an ox.” Sui Ningyuan’s heart softened, and he took in the big ox of a man. From then on, he had someone thoughtful at his side. At last, someone could shield him from the wind, frost, rain, and snow leaking in beneath the eaves. At last, someone could protect him and deal with the servants who looked down on the weak and fawned on the powerful. At last, someone could kick over the coffin he had prepared and stay beside him, pounding his chest as he promised: “Master, I know you were born to live in comfort. I’m willing to work hard, and I’ll make sure you can enjoy an easy life again.” Reader’s Guide: 1. A slow, gentle farming story with a small ensemble cast. It’s all domestic life, with no grand schemes. The pace is very, very slow, and life gets better little by little. No imperial exams, no children, no court intrigue. Just farming and making a life together! 2. The gong is a genuine roughneck: big, muscular, and rugged. Think Yu Zhanao from Red Sorghum. If that’s not your thing, no worries! 3. His disability is eventually cured. It’s a pretty satisfying little story, with no complicated logic, plot, or schemes. Just carefree farming. The next novel, So I Got Pinned by a Male Dan Actor?! Character setup: a young antique-shop owner vs. a scholar of Chinese classics who is also a famous Peking opera performer A carefree, roguishly handsome shou × a reserved, alluring antique expert gong [Blurb] Liang Xiyan is what online users call a bona fide Beijinger. His family is comfortable and wealthy. His grandfather is a master of Chinese classics at an art academy, and he lives in a courtyard house inside Beijing’s Second Ring Road. He speaks with a strong Beijing accent. He does have a job, but if he’s in a bad mood one day, all he has to do is bristle and glare, and his boss can go kick rocks. This irreverent Beijing punk has one rather refined hobby: watching Peking opera. Every few days, with or without an excuse, he heads to the opera house and sits for three hours, staring at the stage in a daze every time. But if another opera fan asks him, “Young Master Liang, which parts of the opera did you understand?” He can’t say a single word. Liang Xiyan knows he’s a vulgar man. Truth be told, he has no interest in those singsong operas that take forever to get a single line out. The only reason he keeps rushing to the opera house is that he’s going there for someone. A famous male dan performer, whose stage name is Chi Qiurui. The first time Liang Xiyan saw Chi Qiurui, he was performing The Phoenix Returns to Its Nest. Beneath his red gauze robe was a graceful waist; atop his head sat a red, double-phoenix hairpin. His phoenix eyes tilted upward, his lips red as vermilion. A delicate step, a casual glance, a flick of his sleeve, and half of Young Master Liang’s soul was gone. Liang Xiyan wanted to befriend the beauty, but Chi Qiurui was so cool and aloof that he never showed his face after leaving the stage. * After turning thirty, Liang Xiyan was forced to move in with Shang Zhedong, at his grandfather’s insistence. Living together made one thing perfectly clear to Liang Xiyan: he absolutely did not like Shang Zhedong. It was already the modern age, yet this guy was always wearing a Sun Yat-sen suit and gold-rimmed glasses. He was refined and abstinent, rigid and conventional. He didn’t drink or smoke, and he had not a trace of humor or charm. His words and actions were always so proper that he was as staid and boring as the ebony tea table in their home. Heavy as a rock. Could it crush your foot if you tried to move it? To outsiders, he was a talented young man, gentle and cultured. To Liang Xiyan, he was a phony. And worst of all, this guy always managed to steal the spotlight in front of his grandfather. So Liang Xiyan glared at him and tore into him with his sharp tongue, hoping he’d take the hint and get lost. But for some reason, Shang Zhedong was more stubborn than a mule and insisted on sticking around. On top of that, this old-scholar type suddenly went off the rails and inexplicably confessed his feelings. Liang Xiyan: “Whoa, don’t go having a fit, buddy. Even if the Front Gate Tower collapsed, we still wouldn’t be a thing. I’m not interested in discussing Marxism with you under the covers.” * One night, Liang Xiyan came home late, reeking of alcohol after drinking with his buddies. In a daze, he saw Shang Zhedong standing in his study, holding all the play tickets, stage photos, and rare autographs of Chi Qiurui he’d collected. The alcohol cleared from Liang Xiyan’s head in an instant. He lunged forward to snatch them back and shouted, “Do you know how many people I had to go through to get that rare autograph from Chi Qiurui? Touch my stuff again and I’ll make you pay!” Shang Zhedong looked at him quietly. “You like Chi Qiurui?” Liang Xiyan’s eyes widened. “Like him? I’m crazy about him! He’s the man of my dreams. What about it?” Shang Zhedong sighed, took off the glasses resting on his nose, and turned away. When he turned back, the impassive, frosty expression on his face had transformed. His eyes sparkled, his gaze was captivating, and his eyes curved like a waning moon. His singing voice was as clear as a spring bubbling through a mountain stream. One look, and half of Liang Xiyan’s soul was gone all over again. Drunk and weak in the knees, he collapsed straight into Shang Zhedong’s arms. The next morning, after a ferocious night, Shang Zhedong was still full of energy. He leisurely picked up a washable marker and, with a quiet laugh, wrote “Chi Qiurui” on Liang Xiyan’s lower back. Then he bit his ear and whispered, “You can have as many autographs as you want, and the Front Gate Tower hasn’t collapsed. So can we discuss Marxism under the covers now, Young Master Liang?” Young Master Liang buried his face in the blankets. His ass still hurt, and he was so embarrassed he couldn’t face anyone. He let out a thunderous curse. This was a real shock. He’d actually spent the whole night being topped by the beautiful male dan performer who swayed like a willow in the breeze onstage and captivated everyone! Damn it. [See the upcoming novel’s blurb here!] A farming-life story with the same vibes, Better to Go Home [Blurb] Deng Ci was the top strategist under Prince Yi, the ruler of Yongzhou. He planned every move and won victories from a thousand miles away. With nothing but his wits and without deploying a single soldier, he helped Prince Yi secure all thirteen cities of Yongzhou and set his sights on the Eastern Palace. Yang Xuan was the maternal uncle of the Crown Prince and the younger brother of the current Empress. He worked tirelessly for the Crown Prince’s faction, offering plans and advice to ensure the Crown Prince held on to his seat in the Eastern Palace and ruled the land with imperial authority. Everyone knew that the two princes’ strategists, Deng Ci of the north and Yang Xuan of the south, were born enemies. They treated the realm as a game board, clashing head-on and plotting against one another for half their lives. One year, after once again becoming the target of suspicion and reprimand over the emperor’s political machinations, Deng Ci finally reached his limit. He refused his salary, removed his official hat, and submitted his resignation with just four words: “I’m done with this.” That same day, dressed in coarse clothes and looking wretched as he left the palace, he suddenly turned around and shouted to the officials in their splendid robes inside the hall: “Yang Zicong, come with me! Let’s go home and farm!” Everyone laughed at him, calling him mad and foolish. The Crown Prince was about to ascend the throne, and Yang Xuan, also known as Yang Zicong, was his most trusted maternal uncle. His future was bright. Why would he be foolish enough to leave with his lifelong enemy and go farm? Half a month later, Yang Xuan resigned and retired from public life. The officials were in an uproar. His resignation letter also contained just four words: “Better to go home.” A Little Scene: It was the middle of the night. Stars glimmered sparsely overhead, and the fragrance of gardenias filled the farmhouse courtyard as cicadas and frogs called out. Deng Ci tapped the Go board, looking at the handsome face across from him as its owner pondered his next move. He smiled. “Zicong, after spending half our lives fighting each other, do you regret spending these quiet, boring days with me in this little courtyard?” The man opposite him placed a stone on the board and said calmly, “Once a move is made, there’s no taking it back. We may not be fighting in court anymore, but we’re still at it every day over the Go board.” Deng Ci smiled slyly. His mischievous hand had already reached across the board to caress the other man’s lapel. “It’s late. Zicong, come back to our room with me and let’s have another kind of contest.” “Three thousand honors turn to dust. Better to go home and live among the fields.” Reader’s Guide: Pure farming life, no villainous characters, no schemes. Theme: A good life is created with our own hands.