Chapter 22
Just as he was about to leave with the meat, Fang Zichen spotted an old man selling tanghulu.
[Tanghulu (糖葫芦): candied fruit skewers]
He suddenly realized that in all this time, he had never bought anything for his cheap little son.
Guaizai was quite adorable—helping Zhao Ger with chores every day and always calling out "Father, Father!" in a sweet, eager voice whenever he saw him.
There were four tanghulu sticks left on the straw bundle. After a moment’s thought, Fang Zichen called out to the old man, "Grandpa, give me three sticks."
The old man eyed his coarse, worn-out clothes but noticed his refined features. Chuckling, he said, "Young man, these are the last few sticks left. Why not take them all? It’s hard for an old man like me to make a living going street to street. Have some pity on me."
"If I pity you, who’s gonna pity me?" Fang Zichen patted his money pouch. "Hear that? Just a dozen copper coins inside, earned from carrying heavy sacks all day. I can’t help you, sorry!"
The fabric on his shoulders was dirty. The old man saw that, though Fang Zichen was tall, he looked quite thin—hard to believe he did manual labor like carrying sacks.
Everyone was just trying to survive.
The old man stopped playing the sympathy card and said, "Life’s tough for you too, young man. I’ll give you the last stick for free."
Fang Zichen grinned. "That’s very generous of you. Thanks!"
Fang Zichen couldn’t stand coarse rice, so as soon as he earned money, he bought fine rice and flour—delicacies Zhao Ger hadn’t eaten since childhood.
Knowing Fang Zichen worked hard and was picky about food, Zhao Ger did his best to make decent meals with what little they had.
That afternoon, Zhou Ger stopped by to give some mended clothes and brought a bundle of pickled vegetables as well. So for dinner, Zhao Ger kneaded dough and prepared plump steamed buns filled with the tangy pickled vegetables.
The aroma of the buns soon filled the air. Guaizai and Liuliu abandoned their play and pressed themselves against the door, peering inside.
"Daddy~" Guaizai called, drooling slightly.
Zhao Ger lifted the pot lid and checked. "They need more time. Be patient a little longer. Why don't you both go play outside for now?"
Guaizai and Liuliu weren’t the type to fuss over food. After a quick peek into the pot, they obediently ran back outside to play.
Not long after, Zhao Ger heard an excited shout from the yard.
"Father’s back~!"
Zhao Ger hurried to the door and saw Fang Zichen carrying something in one hand, a child tucked under each arm.
Unconsciously, a smile spread across his face. "You’re back."
"Yep! Bought some meat. Here." Fang Zichen handed it over.
Taking the meat to the kitchen, Zhao Ger noticed there were two pieces. He decided to cook one tonight and save the other for tomorrow.
Pork skin wasn’t too greasy. With limited seasonings at home, Zhao Ger washed the pork head meat, cut it into small pieces, and stir-fried it with the remaining pickled vegetables and wild onions he’d dug up from the mountain earlier, figuring it’d turn out tasty.
While busy cooking, Fang Zichen walked in.
Something brushed against Zhao Ger’s lips. He instinctively licked it—sweet.
Fang Zichen held out a tanghulu stick. "Sweet?"
"Yeah!" Zhao Ger said.
"Here, it’s for you." Fang Zichen took the spatula from him. "I’ll handle the stir-fry."
"I can’t eat this, you have it!" Zhao Ger refused to let go.
Tanghulu was expensive, two copper coins per stick!
Fang Zichen didn’t argue. He just pressed the tanghulu against Zhao Ger’s lips. "Look, it’s got your saliva on it now. If you don’t eat it, I’ll have to throw it away."
Guaizai and Liuliu sat in the yard, licking their tanghulu sticks, neither willing to take a bite.
It was their first time trying it.
Guaizai's eyes widened as he licked the candied coating. "Liuliu! Ma Xiaowang wasn't lying! It's sour inside but sweet outside, just like he said!"
When Fang Zichen handed out the tanghulu, Liuliu had been too shy to accept it at first. Fang Zichen insisted, shoving it into his hands, while Guaizai grabbed his eagerly, thanking him and then demanding Fang Zichen crouch down for a kiss.
Zhao Ger joined them outside, sitting together.
Guaizai eyed the tanghulu in Zhao Ger’s hand and grinned, whispering, "Daddy, Father’s nice. He bought tanghulu for Guaizai and Daddy."
Zhao Ger asked, "Do you like Father, then?"
"Like!" Guaizai answered immediately. "Like Father the most!"
Zhao Ger didn’t mind that Fang Zichen had overtaken him as Guaizai’s favorite. He took a bite of the tanghulu, his heart swelling with that same bittersweet feeling.
Back when Ma Dazhuang worked in town, he’d often bring tanghulu home for his stupid son.
Zhao Ger had stolen glimpses on several occasions. Madam Ma would eye him suspiciously, her protective stance making it clear she feared he might snatch it if her attention wavered even for an instant.
One particular time, when Madam Ma caught him swallowing his saliva, she scolded him. "What? You think you're worthy to eat such things?" she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip crack. "A gutter rat like you should be grateful for moldy crusts! Stop gawking and get back to the woodshed!"
He’d retreated to the woodshed but kept peeking through the cracks in the door.
Back then, he was too young to understand shame or pride. Even after being yelled at, he couldn’t help but watch.
Because he was so, so hungry. And the little fool ate so happily that he couldn’t look away.
Since he couldn’t have it, the longing stuck with him, becoming a persistent craving.
Now, someone had bought it for him. His heart swelled with joy.
"Zhao Ger, get in here! Does this look done? My arm’s about to fall off!" Fang Zichen’s voice carried from the kitchen.
He’d never cooked before. The moment he took the spatula, he kept frantically stirring, terrified of burning the meat.
Zhao Ger, experienced in cooking, didn’t even need to look. "It’s done," he said, timing it perfectly.
When Zhou Ger came to pick up Liuliu, they were all eating.
The pork head meat had some crunchy cartilage near the ears. Liuliu and Guaizai nibbled on their buns, their tiny teeth working at the crispy bits.
"Meat yummy," Guaizai mumbled, his words muffled by the bun nearly as big as his face.
Fang Zichen found it funny—the way Guaizai bit into the bun looked like he was smashing it against his face. "Which do you like better, these stuffed buns or plain steamed bun?"
Guaizai pondered, then admitted, "Stuffed buns a little better."
Fang Zichen chuckled and poked Liuliu. "What about you, Liuliu?"
Liuliu shook his head. "Never had plain steamed bun."
Fang Zichen glanced at Zhao Ger, who explained, "Aunt Liu’s family isn’t well off either."
He briefly summarized their situation.
Fang Zichen understood.
In short: the man of the house had no trade skills beyond basic farming. As relocated settlers, they'd received only four barren mu of inferior land. Three years ago, their only son had been dragged away for military service when the family couldn't pay the taxes.
In these times, poverty wasn’t always due to laziness.
Old Man Liu was too old to find work in town. The family relied on Aunt Liu and Zhou Ger to scrape together earnings—selling vegetables at the market or taking in laundry, barely making fifty or sixty copper coins a month.
But what could fifty or sixty copper coins buy?
Country folk couldn’t survive on crops alone. Oil, salt, cloth—none of it grew in fields.
Feeling sorry for Liuliu, Fang Zichen pinched his cheek. Just for that earlier "Uncle," he said, "No worries. Come by tomorrow, and I’ll bring you some."
Liuliu, murmured shyly, "Thank you, Uncle." Then, turning to Zhao Ger, he added, "Uncle Zhao, tomorrow I’ll go gather firewood with you and Guaizai. I’m really good at it!"
"What about helping your dad with the vegetables?" Zhao Ger asked, amused.
Liuliu shook his head firmly. "I ate tanghulu. Gotta repay the kindness!"
Fang Zichen nearly choked laughing. "You even know about repaying kindness?"
"I do," Liuliu said solemnly. "I’ve heard the uncles talk about it."
Fang Zichen: "What’d they say?"
Villagers with little entertainment often gathered under the banyan tree to gossip or share fantastical tales.
Liuliu struggled to explain—he’d only caught bits and pieces. Guaizai, seeing his friend in trouble, jumped in: "It’s like the fox spirit repaying the scholar! The scholar saved a fox on his way to the exams, so the fox turned into a pretty lady, married him, slept with him, and did his laundry and cooking!"
Fang Zichen: "..."
What a cliche story.
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