Chapter 32
Guaizai only had his big eyes resembling Zhao Ger’s, the rest of his features bore no similarity at all.
Zhao Ger’s heart skipped a beat.
"Then who do you think he looks like?"
"No idea!" Fang Zichen shook his head. "But he looks kinda familiar."
Guaizai’s features were quite handsome, so the bastard who had forced himself on Zhao Ger must have been decent-looking too.
Not wanting to dwell on the topic, Fang Zichen changed the subject and recounted what had happened at the docks that day.
Since the matter with Zuixiao Restaurant was still uncertain, he didn’t mention it to Zhao Ger, only saying that the dock work was finished and he might need to find another job.
"I don’t want to join the military," he grumbled. As a modern person, the idea of fighting and killing was unbearable.
Zhao Ger said, "Here, conscription happens every three years. The last round was this March. If we save up enough money, we can pay to avoid it."
Fang Zichen thought for a moment, then quietly told him that conscription might happen again next year, warning him not to spread the news.
Zhao Ger nodded. "I understand." He grew uneasy. "Husband, what should we do then?"
With two able-bodied adults in the family, one would surely be drafted if conscription came.
If they didn’t want to go, they’d have to pay—nine taels of silver per person. But their family was dirt poor, where would they get that kind of money?
Right now, conscription was voluntary, and those unwilling could pay instead. But if the border wars dragged on for over a decade and troops ran short, the government might enforce mandatory drafts.
Unfamiliar with this era’s laws, Fang Zichen asked, "What do you think we should do?"
A moment of silence passed in the dark.
Finally, Zhao Ger spoke. "We could try the imperial exams."
"Huh?"
"If you earn an official rank, you’ll be exempt from labor conscription and taxes," Zhao Ger explained.
Fang Zichen propped himself up, peering at him in the dim moonlight. "So you’re saying I should study?"
"Mm!"
"But if I go study, who’ll support the family?"
"I will," Zhao Ger said firmly. "I can provide for us."
Fang Zichen chuckled. "How? By digging up sweet potatoes for that stingy old Aunt He again?"
"I can wash clothes for people," Zhao Ger racked his brain for ideas. "I can chop firewood, forage wild vegetables to sell, or—"
"Hold on, hold on," Fang Zichen laughed. "How much can you really earn washing clothes? And look at you, you're so skinny! If you tried chopping firewood, the wood would probably chop you instead."
Zhao Ger puffed up indignantly. "I can do it! I used to chop firewood all the time at the Ma family." To prove his point, he held up two fingers. "I could carry two big bundles at once!"
"Alright, I get it, you’re amazing," Fang Zichen conceded, not wanting to argue. "Let’s see how things go first. If it comes down to it, I’ll just live off you and be your little kept man."
Zhao Ger flushed red. "Stop talking nonsense!"
____
The Ma family had been on edge all day, but when Fang Zichen didn’t show up seeking revenge, they assumed the matter was over.
The next day, as soon as Ma Erzhu and his wife Li Shi went to the fields, Ma Xiaoshun bolted out of the house.
He was a burly kid who used to be the leader of the village children, but his bullying nature drove most of them away. Now, only three or four boys—just as ill-mannered as him—still hung around him.
The village kids often split into groups to play. A few days ago, Ma Xiaoshun had challenged his rival Liu Dali to a contest: both sides would build houses out of mud and let the others judge whose was bigger and better.
The loser would have to call the winner "grandfather."
Determined to win, Ma Xiaoshun had kneaded mud until his palms were raw. To smooth the walls, he’d even been tempted to lick them. After three days of hard work, his grand mud house was nearly complete.
Today, he just needed to add the courtyard walls, and it would be finished.
Liu Dali’s group was hopeless—their house was rough, uneven, and the windows were crooked.
Victory was assured.
Ma Xiaoshun was gleeful as he and his little gang worked enthusiastically. Then, someone beside him called out,
"Boss Ma, Guaizai’s here."
"So what?" Ma Xiaoshun said dismissively.
"No, he’s here with his father!"
Ma Xiaoshun shot to his feet, his neck stiff as he turned to look.
Guaizai sat on Fang Zichen’s shoulders, his face flushed with excitement as he pointed. "Father, it’s him!"
Ma Xiaoshun turned to flee, but Fang Zichen, holding Guaizai steady, dashed forward in a few strides and yanked him back by the collar.
"Trying to run?"
Ma Xiaoshun burst into terrified wails, while his friends huddled together, not daring to breathe.
Liu Dali and his group stared in awe, thinking Fang Zichen was the coolest person ever.
Ma Xiaoshun was a big kid, yet Fang Zichen lifted him with one hand like a chick.
Ma Xiaoshun struggled wildly, so Fang Zichen tossed him to the ground—not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to make him freeze. "Shut up," Fang Zichen warned. "Cry again, and I’ll knock your teeth out."
Ma Xiaoshun immediately stopped. A yellow streak of snot dripped toward his mouth, but he sniffed hard, sucking it back up like a worm retreating into its hole.
Fang Zichen: "..."
He nearly vomited up his breakfast.
Glancing around, Fang Zichen noticed the kids were covered in mud, and two large mud houses stood by the field.
One was a mess, but the other was quite impressive—neatly shaped with smooth walls. It must have taken a lot of effort to mold rough mud into something like that.
Village kids loved playing house with mud, but Fang Zichen pretended not to know. "What are you all doing?"
Liu Dali, unafraid, answered, "Uncle, we’re making houses." He explained the bet between him and Ma Xiaoshun, the loser would have to call the winner "grandfather."
Fang Zichen walked over to Ma Xiaoshun’s mud house and nudged it lightly with his toe.
Ma Xiaoshun tensed, tears welling up again.
"Guaizai, watch how your father gets revenge for you." With that, Fang Zichen bent his knee slightly, then kicked out—sending Ma Xiaoshun’s painstakingly crafted, three-day labor of love flying. It hit the ground with a crash, shattering into pieces.
For children, a spanking wasn’t always the worst punishment. Sometimes, phrases like "Go do your homework" or "I threw away your toy" hurt far more.
Fang Zichen knew exactly where to strike.
Ma Xiaoshun burst into loud, heartbroken sobs.
His masterpiece was destroyed, and his partners-in-crime sniffled along with him.
Guaizai clapped his hands, overjoyed, his little feet kicking excitedly. "Fader so stwong~ Fader da best~"
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