Chapter 11: Making Money
The next morning, Fang Zichen woke up and stared for a long time at Zhao Ger, who was still peacefully asleep, buried in his arms.
He had held Zhao ger all night!
And in an extremely awkward yet intimate position—his chin resting on Zhao Ger’s head, his arm wrapped around his waist, while Zhao Ger curled up small and thin, entirely tucked into his embrace.
What was worse…
Something felt off with his body. Fang Zichen’s expression was a mess, as if he had just rediscovered the world.
After that dream three months before his eighteenth birthday, he had… again… and this time, it was because of Zhao Ger!
He was so embarrassed his whole body burned hot and flushed red. As soon as his arm twitched, Zhao Ger’s eyelashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes.
Still half-asleep and not fully aware, it took him a moment to register the situation.
Seeing Fang Zichen’s strange expression, he couldn’t help but worry: "What’s wrong with you?"
"I…" Fang Zichen felt too ashamed to face him. Using the excuse of needing to relieve himself, he pushed Zhao Ger away and fled in panic.
____
On the way to town, he still felt his face burning. When Zhao Ger spoke to him, his gaze kept dodging.
Had Zhao Ger noticed? They had been so close, sleeping in each other’s arms.
Just yesterday, he had called him his brother, and now… How could he not feel awkward?
His sudden avoidance left Zhao Ger at a loss. He desperately wondered if he had done something wrong.
Had he held him too tightly last night? Had he annoyed him?
After several attempts to talk were brushed off by Fang Zichen, Zhao Ger didn’t dare speak again.
Xiaohe Village belonged to Fu’an Town. Walking from the village to town took about forty minutes at a brisk pace.
Those with money could spend two copper coins to ride the village chief’s ox cart. Fang Zichen, penniless, had no choice but to rely on his own two legs.
Before leaving, Zhao Ger wanted to drop Guaizai off at Zhou Ger’s house. Since they didn’t know how long they’d be gone, Fang Zichen thought it over and decided not to trouble others.
Guaizai was short and skinny, his legs no longer than chopsticks. With a bit of fur, he might’ve looked like a monkey.
Fang Zichen carried him on his back, setting off before dawn. Halfway there, the village chief caught up with his ox cart.
"Fang boy, Zhao Ger, heading to town?"
Fang Zichen nodded. "Yeah!"
"Hop on, I’ll give you a ride. The ox cart’s faster."
Fang Zichen glanced at the cart—packed with people and goods, not even room to stand. If they got on, they’d have to stand on someone’s head.
He shook his head. "No thanks."
Entering the town didn’t require any documents, which relieved Fang Zichen.
Xiaohe Village was poor, and Fang Zichen had assumed the whole area was the same. But the town was surprisingly prosperous.
The streets were paved with blue bricks, wide and branching in all directions. Shops lined both sides, and on market day, the streets bustled with noise and activity, lively and thriving.
It was Fang Zichen’s first time here, but Zhao Ger wasn’t much better off. The two wandered around like blind men.
By noon, Fang Zichen’s stomach growled.
The smell of food from street stalls assaulted his nose. Fang Zichen sighed.
Guaizai was hungry too. Perched on Fang Zichen’s back, he stared longingly at a wonton stall but didn’t cry or fuss.
In this era, there were no formal job agencies. Villagers looking for work in town had to rely on connections.
Seeing Fang Zichen’s grimace, Zhao Ger was about to speak when Zhou Ger’s voice called from behind.
Zhou Ger had come to town to sell vegetables. By late morning, his basket still had some left, and as he searched for a new spot, he spotted Zhao Ger.
"Want to come sell with me? We can head back together later."
Zhao Ger was about to refuse when Fang Zichen cut in.
"Zhao Ger, take Guaizai and go with him."
Zhao Ger jerked his head up to look at him.
Fang Zichen said, "It’s hot. Once you’re done selling, take Guaizai home. It’s past noon, he must be hungry. Go back and make him some porridge."
"I don’t—"
Fang Zichen didn’t let him finish, shoving Guaizai into his arms.
He turned to leave, but a light tug stopped him.
The pull was faint, like a breeze barely rustling his clothes.
… It was Zhao Ger.
"What’s wrong?" he asked.
Zhao Ger looked at him, gripping a corner of his clothes without speaking. But his unease and fear were written all over his face.
For some reason, Fang Zichen remembered the words Zhao Ger had repeated in his nightmare last night.
Don’t go…
After a pause, Zhao Ger’s trembling voice asked, "You… you’ll come back, right?"
Fang Zichen reassured him, "Of course. I don’t even have a copper to my name, where would I go? Don’t worry."
Even with that promise, Zhao Ger wasn’t at ease. As he left with Zhou Ger, he kept looking back like a lost soul.
Zhou Ger noticed his distraction. "What’s bothering you? Afraid he’ll run off?"
Zhao Ger stayed silent.
"I heard he’s from overseas, robbed of everything. He doesn’t know this place, where would he go? Stop overthinking it."
Zhao Ger halted. Zhou Ger tugged him along, but Zhao Ger said, "I want to find him."
"Are you stupid?" Zhou Ger said. "He told you to come sell vegetables because he didn’t want you following him."
Zhao Ger lowered his head, voice small. "I… I’m afraid he won’t know the way home."
"Ugh!" Zhou Ger understood all too well. He sighed. "He’s not a child."
Zhao Ger had no more excuses.
If Fang Zichen really didn’t want him around, going back would only annoy him.
Finding work in town was tough. Fang Zichen nearly wore out his soles scouring Fu’an Town without spotting a single job posting. After some thought, he headed for the docks.
He arrived just as a cargo ship pulled into port, workers already unloading.
Several men carried large sacks, while another recorded the count. Fang Zichen watched for a bit before approaching.
"Uncle, are you hiring?"
The dock manager looked up.
Fang Zichen wore He Xi’s clothes—not too old, but not new either. He Xi was shorter but broader, so the clothes hung loose on Fang Zichen’s slender frame, making him look even frailer.
The manager eyed him skeptically. "You up for this?"
They were short-handed during this busy season, but they couldn’t just take anyone.
Fang Zichen thumped his chest. "Of course. A real man never says no."
The manager chuckled. "Not to doubt you, but these sacks are heavy. They might not look big, but they weigh over a hundred catties. Don’t crush that skinny frame of yours."
"Let me try. If I can’t do it, I’ll leave," Fang Zichen said. With his striking looks and years of playing the obedient student and son, he had a way of making refusal difficult when he softened his tone.
"Fine," the manager said. "Give it a shot. If you can handle it, you’re hired. One copper for every three sacks, same as the others."
Three sacks for one copper?
Is this a gift from heaven?
Meat buns cost two coppers, six sacks would buy one.
Suddenly, Fang Zichen felt endless energy surging through him.
The manager watched him rush off to work, amused.
In his decade managing the docks, he’d seen plenty like Fang Zichen—overconfident, only to quit after a few trips, not even wanting their pay.
Not too busy, and curious about Fang Zichen’s earlier bravado, he set down his pen to watch.
Then his eyes slowly widened.
Fang Zichen tucked two massive sacks under his arms and practically flew back and forth, not even breaking a sweat after multiple trips.
The other workers gaped.
They’d initially laughed at his audacity, but now…
Damn!
By evening, the ship was finally unloaded.
"Fang Zichen!"
"Coming, coming!" Fang Zichen was extra eager when collecting his pay, grinning from ear to ear.
"Sixty-two coppers," the manager said, handing them over. "Not bad, kid. In all my years here, I’ve never seen anyone earn this much in a day. Thirty’s the usual max. You’ve got a real talent for hauling sacks!"
Fang Zichen: "…"
I have no desire to excel in this field.
You can have this "talent." Want it?
He stepped aside but didn’t leave immediately. The manager, finishing up, noticed him inspecting a copper coin, flipping it over and muttering to himself.
"Damn, so this is what a copper coin looks like. If I could go back, selling all these antiques would make me filthy rich overnight."
Then his brow furrowed.
"But if I could go back… my parents’ New Year money, company stocks, the Maserati my brother gave me last year, the two high-end apartments from my grandparents… I was already worth millions!"
The copper coins in his hand suddenly lost its appeal. Fang Zichen pouted, stuffing the coins into the small pouch Zhao Ger had given him that morning, ready to head home.
"Hey, kid," the manager called. "Coming back tomorrow? We’ll need help for a few more days."
Fang Zichen brightened. "Yeah, of course!"
Near the town gates was a bun shop. After starving all day, Fang Zichen, now with a full pouch, bought two on the spot.
People in this era were honest—the buns were solid and filling. After eating his fill, Fang Zichen bought four more for the journey home, satisfied.
By the time he was halfway home, night had fully fallen. The moonlight was just enough to see the path.
Before reaching the village, he spotted a small figure crouched by the roadside, head buried in knees, faint sobs drifting over.
Truth be told, after the incident with Old Man He, his courage seemed to have grown somewhat
Fang Zichen approached quietly. Only when he got close did he realize—it was Zhao Ger.
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