Chapter 13
Fang Zichen was determined to show off in front of Zhao Ger. He tucked two large sacks under his arms—if it weren’t so inconvenient, he would’ve even tried balancing one on his head like those Indian fellows.
After making several trips back and forth, he shouted from a distance, "See that? See that?"
The smugness on his face was unmistakable. Zhao Ger pressed his lips together and turned away, refusing to look at him.
Guaizai, however, was more than happy to cheer him on, clapping his hands and saying, "Father is amazing! Father is amazing!"
Fang Zichen was satisfied.
By noon, Zhao Ger had bought a few steamed buns. After Fang Zichen finished work, the three of them rested in the shade by the boat.
Zhao Ger and Guaizai ate the buns with such relish, their eyes sparkling as if they were feasting on abalone and chicken gizzards. Fang Zichen had been hungry, but for some reason, watching them eat, his heart ached faintly.
He suddenly remembered Zhao Ger's first day at his home, pointing at the basket of wild vegetables and saying that he and Guaizai could just eat those.
He remembered the old scars he’d accidentally seen on Zhao Ger’s arms.
He remembered how Zhao Ger had toiled under the scorching sun, sweating buckets, just for a few sweet potatoes.
It wasn’t that he didn’t realize Aunt He was taking advantage of him under the guise of helping. But the weight of life’s hardships and injustices had crushed his spine and dignity, forcing him to play dumb about many things. Because he had no right, nor the ability, to fight back.
Even the smallest scraps of kindness from others, he had to kneel and be endlessly grateful for.
Guaizai was no different. At such a young age, he followed Zhao Ger up mountains and into fields all day. Other children his age were treasured like jewels, while he was treated like a weed.
They lived a life Fang Zichen had never imagined—or perhaps couldn’t even fathom. Because their past had been so bitter, even two plain steamed buns now felt like a feast.
When Zhao Ger noticed Fang Zichen had stopped eating after just two bites, he gave him a puzzled look. "Why aren’t you eating? Are you too tired? Or is it too dry to swallow?"
The rapid-fire questions left Fang Zichen unsure how to answer—or if any of them even fit. He squeezed the bun in his hand, it wasn’t particularly soft. Suddenly, he wanted to ask Zhao Ger: Do you think your past was hard? Did you ever want to give up? Do you feel content with how things are now?
There were so many things he wanted to ask. But the words stuck in his throat. Zhao Ger was happy now—why dig up wounds that might not have fully healed? In the end, all he said was,
"My mouth is dry."
"Then I’ll buy you a bowl of porridge!" Zhao Ger offered.
"No need," Fang Zichen stopped him. "I’ll just ask the foreman for some water. Do you and Guaizai want any?"
Zhao Ger turned to Guaizai, then nodded.
The dock work didn’t include meals, but water was provided. The foreman was a decent man, allowing half an hour of rest at noon. Since they’d woken up early, Fang Zichen soon dozed off with Guaizai in his arms, leaning against the boat.
The foreman rested at a stall by the dock, run by a distant relative. Thanks to that connection, the stall had a prime spot.
The stall owner leaned against the doorway, chuckling at something amusing. "Their son’s already that big, yet those two are still so lovey-dovey."
"What?" the foreman asked.
"Come see for yourself," the relative said. "That tall, skinny fellow you took on yesterday—the one who carries those huge loads like it's nothing. What a lucky man! Not like my wife—ugh, Only six years married, and already she glares at me like I'm a bull. Had I gone off to war back then, she’d probably be on her third marriage by now."
The foreman smiled but didn’t comment. From the doorway, he could see Zhao Ger fanning Fang Zichen with his hand. Fang Zichen seemed uncomfortable, so Zhao Ger adjusted him to rest his head on his lap.
Even from a distance, he could see Zhao Ger gazing intently at Fang Zichen, as if memorizing his features, his eyes tender and brimming with quiet happiness.
Zhao Ger had a round face and big eyes—at a glance, he seemed gentle and unassuming. Fang Zichen was different. There was something contradictory about him. When he smiled, he looked sweet and well-behaved, but when silent or displeased, his temper showed. It was clear he’d been spoiled growing up—good-natured but with a sharp edge. He was also a smooth talker; within half a day of arriving, most of the dockworkers already knew him.
The foreman had a feeling that if Fang Zichen had a bit more money, he’d soon be adding another wife or two to the family.
After watching for a while, he said, "He really is lucky."
"No kidding," the stall owner muttered, frowning slightly. "That guy doesn’t look like a village man. And he’s so young... that kid sleeping on him looks small, but he must be two or three years old. Getting married so early, probably couldn’t keep it in his pants."
"Why bother with gossip?" the foreman said. "We don’t even know them."
"I just feel bad for the ger." Then the stall owner laughed again. "But that guy’s something else. The way the ger looks at him, like he’s about to burn a hole through him with his eyes, and he just sleeps like a log."
As work time approached, the workers trickled back. Those who lived far, like Fang Zichen, napped wherever they could. Those from town went home.
The noise roused Fang Zichen. He started to turn but caught himself.
When he opened his eyes, he met Zhao Ger’s gaze before the other could look away.
Fang Zichen blinked. Zhao Ger’s face flushed, but he held his ground. "You’re awake. Time to work."
"Mmm." The softness under his head, the warmth of Zhao Ger’s stomach against his cheek—Fang Zichen’s throat felt dry. The sun seemed harsher now, heat rushing to his head, his heart pounding erratically.
That look in Zhao Ger’s eyes…
Fang Zichen wasn’t unfamiliar with it. In fact, he’d seen it too many times.
Fang Zichen had always been ahead in school, skipping grades until he was younger than all his classmates. By sixteen, when most were still in high school, he was already attending university. The girls there were confident and forward. Age didn't matter to them—if they fancied someone, they pursued them openly. With his handsome looks, sharp mind, and the fact that sixteen was hardly considered too young anymore, Fang Zichen attracted plenty of attention.
When his adoptive parents arrived at a school function in their luxury car, and later when pictures surfaced of him wearing a custom-tailored suit at a corporate banquet, the floodgates opened. Some admirers coveted his connections, while others were truly drawn to him as a person.
Their eyes had held the same look—unmistakable, involuntary affection.
Yet Zhao Ger looked at him like that?
Fang Zichen couldn’t quite grasp it.
Not that he questioned Zhao Ger's sincerity. But three or four days together - could that truly be enough for love to take root?
Or had it been love at first sight?
Zhao Ger treated him well, always compliant. Fang Zichen had assumed it was just how things were in this era—once married, regardless of feelings, being gentle, dutiful, and eager to please was survival.
But if Zhao Ger had fallen for him at first sight…
Well, it wasn’t impossible.
He was handsome. Kind-hearted, too. It’d be weirder if Zhao Ger hadn’t fallen for him.
They were already together. Earlier, he’d thought of Zhao Ger as a brother, but if the feelings were there…
Yesterday, when Fang Zichen had returned late, Zhao Ger had waited by the roadside in tears. Such desperate attachment—as if his very life depended on him. Zhao Ger was pitiful, sweet, and good-looking. Perhaps... perhaps it wouldn't hurt to indulge him a little.
Having slept with his head pillowed on Zhao Ger's lap all afternoon, Fang Zichen felt obliged to say something. But a mere "thank you" seemed too distant for their current "you-like-me-so-let’s-try-this-maybe-it’ll-turn-into-love" dynamic.
"Your legs are so soft. Really comfortable," Fang Zichen murmured, voice rough.
Zhao Ger: "…"
The spot where Fang Zichen had rested suddenly felt numb, then scorching, as if his blood had frozen and now boiled over, leaving his limbs weak.
This man and his shameless words.
"You… you should get up."
"Yeah." He lifted Guaizai, who’d been sleeping on his chest, and handed him to Zhao Ger. Then he untied the purse at his waist. "Take this. When it’s cooler this afternoon, go out with Guaizai. See what we need at home, get the essentials first. The rest can wait till we’ve saved up."
"Got it," Zhao Ger said.
"You know your way around, right?" Fang Zichen grinned. "Keep an eye on Guaizai. Don’t let anyone lure him away with candy. I’m counting on him to support me in my old age!"
That afternoon, Zhao Ger took Guaizai out.
He didn’t return until nearly quitting time.
The basket held only some rice and flour—not much. Fang Zichen couldn’t understand how such a small purchase took all afternoon.
On the way back, Zhao Ger returned the purse and explained. Fang Zichen finally got it—Zhao Ger had spent hours comparing prices. No wonder it took so long! He’d been worried they’d been kidnapped.
"You’re so thrifty!" Fang Zichen said. "The Ma family really lost out."
"No, they didn’t," Zhao Ger muttered.
"Hm?"
"They swindled you out of three taels of silver," Zhao Ger said, head bowed. "I’m not worth that much."
"Nonsense!" Fang Zichen grabbed his hand, stern. "You’re perfect. If I say the Ma family lost, then they lost. No arguing!"
"But it’s true. I’ve heard even untouched girls at the slave market only cost three taels. My body—"
Damn these feudal ideas.
"Shut up, or I’ll spank you!"
"…"
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