Chapter 33
The children’s loud crying drew the attention of some parents. After Fang Zichen left, they called Liu Dali over to ask what had happened, then began discussing the matter in a clamor of voices.
One parent was particularly displeased—her child was friends with Ma Xiaoshun and had also been crying earlier. She said, "Was that really necessary? It’s not like they’re blood-related. Kids have little scuffles all the time, but for an adult to step in and make a fuss? Honestly, I doubt any child will dare play with his kid after this."
"Exactly," someone chimed in. "First, he beat up Liu Laizi a few days ago, and now he’s bullying children. Does he think his family is so special? It’s just a ger and a bastard, yet they act like they’re royalty."
"Don’t call him a bastard, that’s going too far."
"Pah! You’re all being kept in the dark by the Ma family and Zhao Ger. I heard Ma Wen say it myself outside their house, Guaizai isn’t his son. So what else would you call him but a bastard?"
"What? Really? Before, when people in the village speculated Guaizai was a bastard, the Ma family denied it! What’s Ma Wen’s deal now?"
"Who knows? It’s none of our business anyway. Better keep quiet before Fang Zichen comes knocking at our doors."
Zhao Ger overheard snippets of the conversation before silently turning away.
A little scuffle?
His son’s hands were covered in bruises, and there were boot prints on his body—was that just a little scuffle?
When he had arrived yesterday, he saw Guaizai curled up, being kicked and punched, his face streaked with tears. His heart had ached at the sight.
Fang Zichen had a young master’s temper and zero tolerance for such things. Yesterday, Zhao Ger had deliberately downplayed the incident. If he had told the full truth, Fang Zichen would have sent Ma Xiaoshun home with a limp.
This light punishment was already lenient.
____
By noon, Zuixiao Restaurant was relatively quiet. Fang Zichen waited outside, he had originally agreed on a time with the dock foreman but decided to arrive early.
When the foreman arrived, he greeted him with a smile. "Been waiting long?"
Fang Zichen wasn’t about to admit the truth. "Just got here myself."
"Good, let’s head in then! My brother’s been waiting, he even came by last night to remind me!"
In these times, most common folk were illiterate. Only scholars who had attended school could read and do accounts.
But scholars usually devoted all their time to preparing for the imperial exams, hoping to leap through the dragon gate. Who had time for odd jobs like bookkeeping? Families with scholars treated them like treasures, shielding them from any labor, even wishing they could handle their eating and bathroom breaks for them.
Those working outside were either from well-off families who had studied since childhood or former scholars who had given up on the exams to support their families.
Even these two types were rare.
Shopkeeper Yang had been all smiles at first, but when he saw Fang Zichen’s youthful face, his expression dimmed slightly.
The foreman had warned him that the young man was young, but he had assumed at least mid-twenties. Instead, he looked barely twenty.
"Fang boy, take a seat for now," the foreman said, pulling Shopkeeper Yang aside. "What’s with that look? Didn’t I tell you he was young?"
"You did, but I didn’t expect this young! Are you pulling my leg?"
Ancient times weren’t so different from modern ones.
Accountants and bookkeepers were judged by experience. Bosses never trusted Baby-faced newcomers. If they had no wrinkles, no gray hairs, they must be unreliable.
Fang Zichen sat to the side, watching them whisper, and couldn’t help but smirk.
The foreman and Shopkeeper Yang debated for a while. "Brother, trust me—if Fang boy wasn’t capable, I wouldn’t have brought him. You know how I operate!"
Shopkeeper Yang was still hesitant, but since he’d already agreed, he couldn’t back out now. "Fine. Here’s a ledger, let him calculate it. Then I’ll decide."
Fang Zichen flipped through the thin ledger, there weren’t many entries.
Shopkeeper Yang had expected to wait all afternoon, but before he could finish a cup of tea, Fang Zichen closed the book and handed it back. "Done."
Shopkeeper Yang: "..."
Are you kidding me?
He hadn’t even heard the abacus click once.
This fast?
Skeptical, he took the ledger and flipped to the last page. The total matched exactly what he had calculated yesterday.
Just then, a group came downstairs to settle their bill—the owner of a local pawnshop, who had ordered twelve dishes.
As Shopkeeper Yang tapped away on the abacus, Fang Zichen peeked over and said, "Six taels and thirty-six coppers." Then his gaze drifted to the customer.
The man was fat, draped in fine silks, with jade rings on every finger—the very picture of "money is no object."
Fang Zichen felt a pang of envy.
After hauling sacks at the docks for over a month, I barely made one tael. This guy just dropped six taels in one meal.
But then again, back in his old life, a single fancy dinner could cost someone months of wages.
Shopkeeper Yang glanced up at him but kept calculating. The customer leaned on the counter, amused. "Kid, you’re pretty sharp, huh?"
"I get by," Fang Zichen said.
"Confident! Tell you what—if you’re right, I’ll give you two taels." He slapped the silver on the counter.
"That’s too much."
"Nonsense. It’s nothing to me." The man’s eyes lingered on Fang Zichen’s face. "I’ve got a soft spot for pretty faces. The handsomer they are, the more I like ’em."
Fang Zichen jumped back, looking like he’d just seen a ghost.
The foreman burst out laughing. "Relax... Boss Lu doesn’t swing that way."
The whole town knew Boss Lu was an appreciator of beauty. While others enjoyed flowers and birds, he preferred admiring handsome men and women.
A true connoisseur of beauty—cares about looks above all else.
Shopkeeper Yang finished his calculations and gave a strange look. "Six taels and thirty-six coppers. Exactly right."
"Well, well! You’re spot-on, kid!" The customer sounded impressed.
Fang Zichen waved it off. "It’s not hard."
The man pushed the two taels toward him. "A deal’s a deal. Here."
Fang Zichen pocketed it without hesitation. "Thanks."
As the customer sauntered off, fan in hand, the foreman asked his cousin, "So? Does Fang boy pass?"
Of course he did.
The job was settled—three taels a month for the first three months, with raises if he performed well.
Pleased, Fang Zichen took a stroll through the market.
When Zhao Ger saw him return with a heavy basket, he went to help. "What did you buy?"
"Uh, just some small things." Fang Zichen pulled out a kite from the top before adding, "Mostly food. You can handle it."
The basket was packed—six catties of lard, two catties of pork belly, nearly twenty catties of rice and flour, plus salt and sauces.
Zhao Ger was stunned. "Where’d you get the money?" He had been planning to suggest tightening their budget now that Fang Zichen was out of work, but before he could speak, it seemed the three hundred coppers were already gone.
Fang Zichen handed over the purse. Though it looked flatter, the weight hadn’t changed—two taels and eighty coppers remained.
He always split his earnings, keeping half and giving the rest to Zhao Ger for household expenses.
"How...?" Zhao Ger blinked.
Fang Zichen explained.
Three taels a month was a fortune—more than most villagers made in half a year. It was enviable.
Zhao Ger was happy, but then hesitated.
In the kitchen, he finally asked,
"So... you’re not going for the imperial exams anymore?"
"Of course I am!" Fang Zichen took the water Zhao Ger handed him and gulped it down. "The county-level exams are no big deal. I'll study in my free time."
Zhao Ger bit his lip.
How could Fang Zichen say that so casually?
There was a scholar in Xiaorong Village who had taken the county exam eight times and still hadn’t passed—and he was twenty-six!
Fang Zichen sounded utterly confident, but Zhao Ger wasn’t reassured. What if it was just blind arrogance?
Not seeing Guaizai around, Fang Zichen helped put the groceries away before asking, "Where’s my son?"
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