Chapter 23
When Zhou Ger arrived, Liuliu was still munching on his bun, while over half of the pickled cabbage stir-fried with meat on the table had already been eaten. Fang Zichen had long finished eating. The pork head meat paired with pickled cabbage was so delicious that he alone had devoured three buns. Zhao Ger himself had eaten two as well. At first, Zhao Ger couldn’t bear to eat the pork head meat, but Fang Zichen kept serving him, so he ended up having quite a bit.
The little ones ate with gusto, clutching their buns with both hands, their cheeks stuffed full as they chewed like little hamsters.
Fang Zichen found it amusing and, being his usual mischievous self, poked one cheek, then the other, delaying their meal.
So by the time Zhou Ger arrived, Liuliu still had more than half a bun left.
White flour was expensive, and Zhao Ger’s buns were large. Zhou Ger felt terribly embarrassed. On the way back, when he learned his son had also eaten tanghulu, he felt even apologetic.
But he didn’t tell his child, "Don’t eat at Uncle Zhao’s house from now on." Instead, he just said, "You must remember to say thank you."
He and Zhao Ger were close, so if the child ate, it was fine—he could make up for it in other ways later.
The vegetables from Zhao Ger’s plot weren’t ready to eat yet, so he decided he’d bring some over tomorrow.
After the meal, Fang Zichen and Guaizai played in the yard.
One moment, Fang Zichen pretended to be a tiger, the next a ferocious ghost, claiming he was going to eat people. Guaizai shrieked and ran wildly around the yard. Fang Zichen caught him, pressed him into his arms, and pretended to gnaw at his belly. Guaizai had never played such an exciting game before—he laughed until tears nearly streamed down his face. When Zhao Ger called him in to wash his feet, he was still reluctant to leave.
Perhaps all that running had worn him out because the moment Guaizai lay down in bed that night, he fell asleep.
Fang Zichen entered the room, still damp from washing, and saw Zhao Ger beckoning him over.
"These are the clothes Aunt Liu finished. Try them on and see if they fit."
Aunt Liu’s craftsmanship was excellent, honed over thirty years of experience. The fabric was good, comfortable to wear—loose where it should be loose, snug where it should be snug, accentuating Fang Zichen’s lean and sturdy frame.
"Clothes make the man, as a saddle makes the horse"—the saying held true. Before, in ill-fitting clothes, he had looked like a down-and-out scholar. But now, dressed like this, he had the refined, gentle demeanor of a cultured young master.
Zhao Ger couldn’t tear his eyes away, staring almost dazedly. Fang Zichen grew embarrassed under the gaze.
"Snap out of it," he said, his face warm as he took the clothes off and handed them to Zhao Ger. "Put them away for me first."
"You’re not going to wear them?" Zhao Ger asked, a little regretfully.
"They’re not practical for carrying sacks," Fang Zichen said.
Truthfully, it wasn’t just about practicality—
Have you ever seen someone move bricks in a suit?
After putting things away and lying in bed, Zhao Ger couldn’t sleep. Thinking back to the conversation at dinner, he asked Fang Zichen, "Do you think Xiaowen will come back?"
Liu Xiaowen was Zhou Ger’s husband.
In the village, Zhao Ger was closest to Zhou Ger and Liu Xiaowen. The three of them had practically grown up together—childhood friends. Liu Xiaowen had been gone for three years now, without a single word. Not only were the Liu family worried, but Zhao Ger was too.
Fang Zichen couldn’t possibly know, but Zhao Ger just wanted to ask, if only for some peace of mind.
Fang Zichen really didn’t know either, but considering how fierce the battles at the border were, there was a high chance Liu Xiaowen was dead. But of course, he couldn’t say that.
"Not everyone conscripted for war has to fight on the front lines. Some are lucky—they get assigned as cooks in the rear. That’s much safer."
Zhao Ger didn’t understand these things. Propping himself up on one elbow, he looked at Fang Zichen. "What’s a cook?"
Fang Zichen explained, "They’re the ones who prepare meals. Think about it—soldiers need to eat too. Their wives and fulangs aren’t around, so someone has to cook for them. Otherwise, in the middle of a battle or while standing guard, they can’t just say, ‘Hold on, I’m hungry, and I haven’t cooked yet. Let’s pause the fight—I’ll go cook first, eat, and then come back for another three hundred rounds.’"
Zhao Ger thought about it and agreed. But—"He hasn’t sent a single letter in all these years."
"Does Liu Xiaowen know how to read?"
Liu Xiaowen couldn’t recognize a single character—he was completely illiterate. Zhao Ger shook his head.
"Then it’s normal," Fang Zichen said, resting his hands behind his head and tilting his face slightly to look at him. "If he can’t read, how can he write to you? Even if he asked someone else to write for him, the border is thousands of miles away. Who would deliver his letters? Even if someone agreed, they’d definitely charge money. Does he have any?"
His voice grew drowsy as he yawned. "Go to sleep. Who knows—maybe he’ll be back in a few days."
At the end of June, all the goods at the dock were finally unloaded.
Which also meant unemployment.
Fang Zichen was in a bit of a bad mood. During his lunch break, he wandered out and somehow ended up in front of Gaopinzhai, a pastry shop in town.
A man with a bundle on his back was inside settling his bill. Seeing that the items he bought were all things young women and ger would like, the shop assistant teased, "Who are these for, sir?"
"My fulang," the man replied.
"Your fulang is very lucky."
The man smiled, took the pastries, and headed for the door. When Fang Zichen got a clear look at his face, he instinctively frowned.
What rotten luck.
Does Ma Dazhuang have one of those common faces you see everywhere? Why do I keep running into people who look just like him?
Fang Zichen’s mood for shopping instantly evaporated.
That evening, when wages were being settled, the dock foreman noticed Fang Zichen’s gloom and joked with him a bit. After everyone else had left, he pulled Fang Zichen aside and said, "I’ve got a job to recommend. Interested?"
Fang Zichen’s eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly. "Of course! As long as it’s not murder or arson, I’ll take it."
"My cousin is the shopkeeper at Zuixiao Restaurant. They’re short on bookkeeper right now."
Earlier, Fang Zichen had handed in two account books, which the foreman had shown to the owner. The owner later told him there wasn’t a single mistake—even asked who had helped, praising how well the accounts were calculated and neatly organized.
Coincidentally, the foreman’s cousin had dropped by recently. Over drinks, the cousin had complained about how the people he’d hired at the restaurant kept making mistakes. Between managing operations and the books, he was swamped.
The foreman, knowing Fang Zichen was diligent, immediately recommended him. His cousin agreed to give him a try.
Fang Zichen bowed deeply. "Thank you so much!"
The foreman waved it off. "It’s just a word. Whether you get it or not depends on you."
Fang Zichen had absolute confidence in himself. As far as he was concerned, the job was as good as his.
Zhao Ger woke up early that day. Shortly after Fang Zichen left, Zhou Ger arrived with Liuliu.
He carried a basket with some cabbages inside. When he offered it, Zhao Ger refused at first. "There are wild vegetables on the mountain. Since my husband isn’t home, Guaizai and I can just dig some up to eat. You should keep these to sell."
"It’s just a few cabbages. Don’t be so polite. After Liuliu ate so much at your place yesterday, if you don’t take these, I won’t dare let him come over again."
That sounded serious, so Zhao Ger accepted.
Liuliu looked around but didn’t see Guaizai. Finally, he asked, "Uncle Zhao, where’s Guaizai?"
"He’s still sleeping inside," Zhao Ger said, pointing toward the bedroom.
Liuliu blinked. "Can I go see him?"
"Of course!"
Zhou Ger watched his son dart inside and shook his head with a laugh. "He dragged me out of bed before dawn, saying he had to come ‘repay your kindness.’ When I heard the story, I nearly died laughing."
Zhao Ger found it funny too.
Zhou Ger asked, "You’re not busy today, right?" When Zhao Ger shook his head, he continued, "I’m going to the market with Mother later. Father’s cutting thatch on the mountain. Can you watch Liuliu for me?"
That was how things worked in the village—if adults were busy, they’d leave their kids with neighbors. Some carefree parents even just locked the door and let their kids roam freely.
Like herding sheep.
Once Guaizai woke up, Zhao Ger reheated the three leftover buns from yesterday before taking the two children up the mountain.
After eating, Guaizai and Liuliu seemed to get a burst of energy. Their enthusiasm for gathering firewood was unmatched—they worked tirelessly.
The three of them chatted and laughed as they worked. Just as they finished bundling the first load, a voice called out from a distance—
"Zhao Ger?"
The laughter stopped abruptly.
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