Chapter 16
"Foreman, did you call for me?" Fang Zichen asked the foreman with a puzzled look.
Lao Wu also stared at him.
"Can you do arithmetic?"
Fang Zichen: "......"
He didn’t answer. Lao Wu’s heart, which had just warmed up, turned cold again.
The foreman took one look at Fang Zichen's face—twisted like he'd bitten into rotten food—with eyes practically screaming in bold font: Are you kidding me right now?
For a science-stream academic elite who had studied for thirteen years, asking him "Can you do arithmetic?" was the same as asking someone, "Why do you have two eyes and one mouth?"—completely stupid question.
After spending over half a month in town, Fang Zichen had figured out that the writing here was the same as in his time, just with some traditional characters mixed in. If it had been something like oracle bone script, clerical script, or cursive script, he wouldn’t have been so confident. But since the characters were the same, the question was just nonsense.
He nodded. "Of course!"
Lao Wu’s eyes instantly lit up, his heart warming again.
"Are you serious? Don’t fool us."
"Why would I fool you?" Fang Zichen scoffed. "I started school at three. Arithmetic is child’s play for me. I’m not bragging, but I could solve ordinary problems with my eyes closed."
Hah, quite the boast.
The foreman immediately handed him the ledger on the table. "Take a look. Can you understand it?"
Fang Zichen felt insulted.
Lao Wu and the foreman watched as he flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning rapidly. In less than half an incense stick’s time, he’d finished a ledger as thick as a finger.
Lao Wu saw Fang Zichen frown, looking like he found it difficult and couldn’t understand—his heart began to cool again.
But then Fang Zichen said disdainfully, "Who made this ledger? Not only is it a mess, but it’s also full of mistakes."
The foreman was surprised. "You really can understand it? Just like that, you spotted errors?"
Fang Zichen flipped to a page and pointed at a figure. "Look here. Morning income: 450 taels. Expenses for goods, shipping, and labor: 120 taels. Both are whole numbers, and the balance from the day before was also a whole number. So how did the total end up as 893 taels and 89 wen? Where did the 89 wen come from? The mistake is so obvious you should’ve caught it at a glance."
Lao Wu: "......"
The foreman gave him a meaningful look before turning back to Fang Zichen. "Can you help me reconcile these two ledgers?"
Fang Zichen hesitated.
The foreman quickly added, "You don’t have to move cargo this afternoon. And if you reconcile the ledgers properly, I’ll give you two taels—one per ledger. How’s that?"
Fang Zichen loosely clasped his hands. "Talking about money hurts feelings."
"Three taels," the foreman raised the offer.
Fang Zichen put on a solemn face. "It’s not about the money. I just want to help. But if you insist on paying, I won’t refuse."
The foreman: "......"
Lao Wu: "......"
With this sudden turn, Lao Wu rubbed his hands excitedly and cautiously asked, "So, Fang, how long do you need to reconcile the accounts? Two days enough?"
"These two ledgers? Are you pigs? Why would it take two days?"
Lao Wu: "......"
"Then—"
"I’ll finish them all today," Fang Zichen declared.
The foreman thought he was being overconfident. "Don’t mess it up!"
"Messing up is impossible," Fang Zichen said. "It’s like asking me what one plus one is. Even if I were half-asleep, I wouldn’t say three."
The foreman felt reassured.
He and Lao Wu left the cabin, closing the door behind them to keep the noise outside from disturbing Fang Zichen.
After a few rumbles of thunder, the rain finally came.
This was the first rain since Fang Zichen arrived over half a month ago. Perhaps because it had been brewing for so long, it poured down hard and fast, pelting the ship like hail. Even inside the cabin, Fang Zichen could tell how bad it was outside just from the sound.
At first, it was quiet outside—likely because the foreman had given orders—so Fang Zichen quickly immersed himself in work. But later, something must’ve happened, because noise erupted again, mixed with the rain, making it hard to hear clearly.
The river was shrouded in mist, the rain so heavy that visibility dropped sharply. A few laborers were resting on deck when one suddenly pointed toward the shore. "Hey, is that a person over there?"
The others squinted. Through the downpour, someone was indeed standing on the bank.
"Who is that?" someone asked.
"No idea. Did all our people get back on board?"
One man counted. Aside from Fang Zichen, everyone was accounted for.
Besides, even from a distance, the figure looked small and slender—nothing like the burly cargo carriers.
"Who’d stand out in this rain without taking cover?"
"Right? Catching a cold costs good money to treat."
"Why isn’t he moving?" The man scratched his head. "I feel like he’s staring right at us."
A few of his companions shuddered at the thought.
The gloomy weather and heavy rain were unsettling enough without adding creepy strangers.
"You can see his face in this rain?"
"Not clearly," the man admitted. "But I just feel it."
The lone figure stood motionless in the rain, looking pitiful. Someone called into the ship, "Hey! Come take a look! See if anyone recognizes him!"
A few heads poked out.
"Can’t see clearly!"
"Judging by the build, probably a ger?"
That sparked a memory. "Wait, could it be Fang Zichen's fulang? He brought someone last time."
"Now that you mention it, it does look similar."
"Maybe he's here for Fang Zichen? In this rain, maybe something urgent happened at home?"
"Not sure. I'll go get Fang Zichen."
Fang Zichen was confused when someone dragged him out, but when he saw the figure in the rain, his eyes nearly bulged out.
"Zhao Ger!"
He rushed off the boat and ran over.
Zhao Ger had been standing in the rain for who knew how long. Despite the summer heat, his lips were purple, and his clothes were streaked with mud that the rain hadn’t yet washed away.
He couldn’t have been caught in the rain only after reaching town—he must’ve been out in it from the start, or even left home after it began. And he’d definitely fallen, given how much dirt clung to him despite the downpour.
"What are you doing here? Are you stupid? It’s pouring, and you didn’t even find shelter!"
Like before, Zhao Ger just gripped his sleeve, head bowed, silent.
The cautious, pitiable posture made Fang Zichen swallow his scolding.
"Come on, let’s get you on the boat."
The foreman, seeing them both drenched, quickly had the cook take them to change clothes. The cook’s family worked on board, and she had spare clothes from her son, who was about Zhao Ger’s size. Once changed, she brought them two bowls of ginger soup. Fang Zichen thanked her.
Zhao Ger sat stiffly, head still lowered like a child who’d done wrong.
"Drink. You’ll catch a cold otherwise," Fang Zichen said.
Zhao Ger didn’t move. Fang Zichen almost laughed in frustration. "What, do I have to feed you? Drink it."
Still no response.
Before, Zhao Ger had been obedient. Today, for some reason, he was stubborn.
When Fang Zichen had taken his hand earlier, it was ice-cold, like he’d soaked it in winter water. In this era, with its poor medical care, a cold was no joke. Sighing, Fang Zichen sat beside him and asked softly, "What’s wrong?"
After a pause, Zhao Ger muttered, "I’m not stupid."
His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken in ages.
Fang Zichen just wanted to coax him now. "Yeah, you’re not stupid. You’re my ancestor."
Zhao Ger pressed his lips together.
Fang Zichen picked up the ginger soup, blew on a spoonful, and held it to his mouth. "Ancestor, your humble servant Fang is here to serve you. Will you honor me by taking a sip?"
Zhao Ger drank it.
"You drink too," he said, face warming at being coddled for the first time. "I... I can do it myself."
Once he finished, Fang Zichen asked, "Why’d you come to town all of a sudden?"
Zhao Ger had been cheerful that morning when making noodles. Fang Zichen couldn’t imagine what would make him run out in the rain.
"Did you miss me?"
"...Mn."
Fang Zichen: "......"
Zhao Ger had actually agreed.
He’d just been trying to lighten the mood, but Zhao Ger had answered straight-faced.
So blunt?
Fang Zichen, whose face was thicker than a city wall and who came from a more open era, actually felt embarrassed for once.
"Then... then you still shouldn’t have come like this! In the rain, no less. If something happened to you, what would Guaizai and I do, widower and orphan?"
Zhao Ger knew he’d been reckless.
After returning from Aunt Liu’s and standing in the empty house, he’d suddenly felt an overwhelming need to see Fang Zichen. Maybe Aunt Liu’s words had unsettled him. He’d run all the way, slipping and falling countless times on the muddy road before reaching town.
The dock was deserted. Just knowing Fang Zichen was on the boat—even if he couldn’t see him—made him feel calmer.
Now that he thought about it, it really had been irresponsible.
"Sorry," he whispered.
What could Fang Zichen say? Scolding felt cruel, and hitting was out of the question.
Truly an ancestor.
Needed to be pampered.
"Don’t do this again..." From the start, something had felt off, but Fang Zichen hadn’t realized what until now.
"Where's Guaizai???"
Zhao Ger shrank into his collar. "...Probably at Aunt Liu’s?"
Fang Zichen: "......"
Probably?!
And with a question mark?!
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