Chapter 35
"......" Fang Zichen's temple throbbed. Seeing the boy indeed holding a few smooth, peeled sticks, his face burned with embarrassment: "I thank you for this!"
Using sticks to wipe after defecating—truly a sudden regression to pre-liberation days.
Fang Zichen had forgotten a few times before. Before coming to this world, he was used to having toilet paper ready in the bathroom. After arriving here, he didn’t pay attention. A few times, he squatted in the outhouse only to realize there was no paper. The first time, he didn’t know what to do, so the little angel (Guaizai) went to the roadside and broke off some small sticks for him.
But the sticks Guaizai brought were peeled and slippery, making it impossible to clean properly. In the end, Zhao Ger had to step in and bring him a few leaves instead.
Stretching his hand out from the latrine, he stared at the leaves in his palm and instinctively asked: "How am I supposed to use these?"
After he came out, the way Zhao Ger looked at him... was like looking at an idiot.
But using leaves was still within an acceptable range.
He remembered when he first arrived and relieved himself at the village chief’s house. There were two baskets of corncobs in the outhouse. At first, he didn’t understand, but after Hexi explained it...
One basket held used ones, and the other held fresh ones.
He asked, "Using that thing to wipe... doesn’t your... there hurt?"
Those corncobs looked so rough! Even touching them felt prickly.
"Nope!" Hexi scratched his head. "Everyone in our village uses these. We’re used to it."
"......"
Your chrysanthemums must be tough as hell.
"Poorer families can only use leaves and sticks," Hexi said.
"......"
Back then, Fang Zichen was utterly speechless.
Dinner was plentiful. The vegetable sprouts grown in the yard were ready to eat, so Zhao Ger picked a handful and cooked them with some lard scraps. Since they didn’t have farmland, he kept himself busy by going out to forage for wild greens.
Fang Zichen was a bit picky, so Zhao Ger always tried to make him something tasty.
It was July now, and some bamboo shoots had sprouted in the mountains. A few days ago, he dug up a whole basket, sliced them, and soaked them in water. The extra ones could be stored in a jar to make sour bamboo shoots.
This stuff used up a lot of oil, so villagers rarely ate it.
Yesterday, after stir-frying some, he noticed Fang Zichen loved it. Tonight, he cooked them with lard scraps, served with white rice—absolutely delicious.
"Is it good?" Zhao Ger asked.
"Yeah, it’s great!" Fang Zichen replied. Zhao Ger had been picking at the vegetables, so he put a piece of lard scrap in his bowl. "You eat too. It’s not like we’re running out. Don’t hold back, when it’s gone, I’ll buy more next time."
Zhao Ger’s heart warmed. "Mhm!"
It had been over ten years since he last ate white rice, he’d almost forgotten how it tasted.
After dinner, Guaizai sat on the doorstep, his head nodding nonstop.
After running around all afternoon, now that he was full, he was like a little piglet—sleepy as soon as his belly was satisfied.
Zhao Ger bathed him and carried him to bed, where he fell asleep the moment he lay down.
Fang Zichen was also dead tired.
It was only around eight o'clock at this moment, the moonlight hazy. In the past, he would never have imagined going to bed so early. He returned to the room still damp from washing, only to find Guaizai lying on the innermost side of the bed. At first, he didn’t notice anything unusual.
It wasn’t until Zhao Ger came back and suddenly moved close to him while getting into bed, his warm breath brushing against his neck, that Fang Zichen jolted awake, most of his drowsiness fading.
"W-what are you doing?"
Zhao Ger didn’t answer. After a long silence, he groped for Fang Zichen’s hand, interlacing their fingers and holding on tightly.
Skin against skin, his palm was slightly rough but warm and soft. Fang Zichen could clearly feel his fingertips trembling faintly. His voice rose in the darkness, carrying the same unease as that very first night:
"......Do you want to?"
Fang Zichen’s breathing was unsteady as he replied, "No."
Zhao Ger fell silent again.
Their hands remained clasped, but his expression darkened slightly. Being rejected once more, Zhao Ger closed his eyes in shame and tried to pull his hand away. In the dark, every sensation was amplified. He heard Fang Zichen turn over, then felt warm breath against his ear.
Fang Zichen tightened his grip, burying his face in the crook of Zhao Ger’s neck. His voice was muffled and somewhat displeased:
"Do you know what it means to say one thing but mean another?"
"......No."
Fang Zichen pressed closer. "It means wanting something in your heart but saying no with your mouth."
Zhao Ger suddenly felt like laughing—but then his body shuddered, and he froze completely.
Fang Zichen nipped at his ear, soft and warm, his voice hoarse: "Ask me again."
Zhao Ger's face burned as if on fire, and he was grateful Fang Zichen couldn't see it in the darkness. He forced his voice to remain steady:
"Then... do you want to?"
"No," Fang Zichen declared firmly.
"...You're saying one thing but meaning another," Zhao Ger muttered, laughing softly. Fang Zichen released his hand, groped up to his face, and pinched his cheek hard. Then he pressed his forehead against Zhao Ger's, his gaze blazing like fire—so intense Zhao Ger could almost feel the heat.
"Grrr... I'm about to turn into a beast," Fang Zichen's voice was low and slightly hoarse, fierce like a long-restrained wild animal, aggressive and leaving no room for refusal: "Don't blame me later."
The restlessness of youth, the heat of desire—facing his beloved, he was impulsive and couldn't withstand temptation.
With a flip, he pinned Zhao Ger beneath him, the wooden bed creaking and swaying precariously.
Zhao Ger reached up to undo his clothes, his initiative making Fang Zichen's blood boil. He swallowed hard and kissed him.
Some things came naturally to men. Zhao Ger wrapped his arms around his neck, the two of them kissing fervently.
They both seemed a bit frantic—breaths tangled, lips locked, saliva mingling, the darkness filled with ambiguous sounds.
The air around them grew hotter, Fang Zichen burning up all over. Some inexplicable heat surged wildly through his body, pooling low in his abdomen. Zhao Ger could clearly feel something pressing against him. As Fang Zichen kissed him, his hands fumbled to undo Zhao Ger’s clothes. Zhao Ger lifted his body slightly to make it easier, but then Fang Zichen abruptly stopped, as if possessed by some sudden hesitation.
Zhao Ger panted lightly, his eyes damp: "What’s wrong?"
Fang Zichen buried his face in the crook of Zhao Ger’s neck again, his voice tinged with grievance:
"......I don’t know how to do it."
"Didn’t you before—" Zhao Ger’s words were cut off as Fang Zichen let out a shout and jerked upright, nearly tumbling off the bed.
"Holy sh—"
Zhao Ger turned his head and almost had a heart attack.
Guaizai was sitting right beside them, his expression unclear in the dark, only the faint outline of his small figure visible.
Who knew how long he had been watching.
Guaizai rubbed his eyes: "Father, Daddy, why are you sleeping stacked together?"
Fang Zichen: "......"
Zhao Ger: "......"
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