Zhao Ger felt like his ears had been sharply pricked. Fang Zichen, seeing him suddenly go quiet, chuckled.
The sound was low, muffled, yet pleasant, carrying a hint of amusement.
Zhao Ger was just too innocent, wasn’t it just a slightly suggestive and somewhat vulgar remark? Look, it had already stunned him into silence.
Tsk...
Around mid-afternoon, Aunt He finally arrived, carrying a basket on her back.
From a distance, she could see two people standing in her field.
The one digging was the familiar Zhao Ger, while the other, lazily wandering around the field, was that Fang Zichen from overseas.
The matter between Fang Zichen and Zhao Ger had been the talk of the village these past two days, its popularity not waning. Village Chief He Zhi and Aunt He Ying were siblings, and since Fang Zichen had saved her father, Aunt He recognized him as their benefactor.
Even setting that aside, Fang Zichen was the only one in the village with short hair - an oddity that made him stand out.
Aunt He approached with a grin, "Young Fang, you’re here too! Oh, you really know how to dote on someone."
Back then, she hadn’t had the chance to speak to Fang Zichen, only catching a glimpse of him from afar before rushing off to fetch a doctor for her father. At the time, she hadn’t seen him clearly, only thinking how tall he was. Now, up close, he was truly striking.
Fang Zichen’s exposed neck and cheeks were fair and translucent, his nose bridge tall and straight, beads of sweat glistening on the tip. His brows and eyes carried a heroic air—undeniably top-tier looks.
Goodness, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone this handsome even across ten villages.
That skin... even her own daughter, He Xiaoyu, who spent all day lounging indoors, couldn’t compare.
Fang Zichen tossed a sweet potato playfully and called out, "Aunt He."
"Aye~" Aunt He beamed, but when she turned and saw the small basket left in the field, half-filled with rotten sweet potatoes, her smile froze on her face.
"...Zhao Ger," she instinctively wanted to scold him, but then she felt a gaze slide over her—dark, fierce, like a lion lurking in the grass, eyeing its prey’s neck... a gaze of death. She slowly looked up and saw Fang Zichen staring at her without blinking.
"...Y-Young Fang?"
Fang Zichen said nothing.
The atmosphere grew heavy. Zhao Ger dropped his hoe and moved behind Fang Zichen, quietly tugging at his sleeve.
"I was the one who accidentally ruined these," Fang Zichen pointed at the small basket, his expression shifting back to a cheerful grin. "I’ve never done this kind of work at home, so I’m not skilled yet. My apologies."
Aunt He’s scalp was still tingling. Looking at Fang Zichen’s gentle smile, she could only think that what she’d just sensed must have been an illusion. "N-No worries, just a few sweet potatoes. It’s nothing."
After a while, Aunt He’s husband and son arrived. They brought carrying baskets and, after exchanging brief greetings with Fang Zichen, began loading the sweet potatoes he had gathered into the baskets to carry them back.
Once they were gone, Zhao Ger whispered, "Uncle He and Big Brother He seemed a little afraid of you."
Aunt He was digging on the other side. Her husband also shared the surname He. Fang Zichen shrugged. "Aren’t you afraid of me too?"
"I-I’m not."
Fang Zichen, still hung up on the matter of losing face, brought it up again. "Oh, right! You really aren’t, you even dared to hit me with a rock."
Zhao Ger: "......"
It wasn’t a rock!
"Father, Daddy," Guaizai rubbed his eyes as he walked over, his hair sticking up in all directions, looking like he hadn’t fully woken up yet. He swayed as if he’d drunk two pounds of erguotou. Spotting Aunt He at the edge of the field, he called out, "Grandma He."
[Erguotou (二锅头): a strong Chinese liquor, typically around 50-60% alcohol by volume. It's a clear, distilled spirit made from sorghum and is one of the most popular and affordable baijiu (Chinese white liquor) varieties.]
Zhao Ger crouched down. "Still sleepy?"
Guaizai had never had the habit of taking naps before. When Zhao Ger was with the Ma family, aside from when it was too dark to work at night, he was almost always busy. Guaizai, still small, would get covered in mosquito bites when gathering firewood in the mountains or suffer under the sun in the fields, yet he never complained, following Zhao Ger everywhere.
At first, Zhao Ger hadn’t taken Guaizai with him everywhere. Before he turned one, Guaizai couldn’t be left alone, so Zhao Ger carried him all day. Later, when he got a little older, Zhao Ger would lock him in the woodshed. Once, while Zhao Ger was working in the fields, someone came running to tell him, "Zhao Ger, you’re still working? Hurry back!"
"What’s wrong?"
"Your son, Ma Dazhuang shoved his head into a water vat."
Zhao Ger’s mind exploded. He sprinted home. The yard was crowded with people, and Guaizai lay on the ground, pale and dripping wet.
Zhao Ger’s legs gave out on the spot.
Fear, panic, terror—all the worst emotions surged over him at once.
That feeling... Zhao Ger never wanted to experience it again in his life.
The reason Ma Dazhuang had attacked Guaizai was simple.
That day, Zhao Ger had forgotten to latch the door. Guaizai, thirsty, had tried to fetch water from the kitchen. Still unsteady on his feet, he fell in the yard, cutting his head. The pain made him cry out twice. The weather was sweltering, and tempers ran short. Ma Dazhuang, annoyed by the noise, knew Guaizai wanted water, so he grabbed him by the collar, dragged him to the kitchen, and shoved his head into the vat. "You want water? I’ll give you water."
The commotion was so loud that even the neighbors heard it. An old man from next door, unable to stand it, sent someone to fetch Zhao Ger while he pushed Ma Dazhuang aside and pulled Guaizai out of the vat.
Zhao Ger knew the Ma family was cruel, and since Guaizai wasn’t one of theirs, if Ma Dazhuang could hurt him once, he’d do it again. Guaizai wouldn’t always be so lucky.
After that incident, Zhao Ger took Guaizai with him everywhere.
Guaizai was sensible. Even in the hottest afternoons, he’d follow Zhao Ger around, rarely resting.
This was practically his first time taking a nap.
"My head feels dizzy," Guaizai said. "I see two Daddies now."
Zhao Ger touched his forehead - no fever. After a moment’s thought, he said, "I’ll take you to wash your face. You’ll feel better after."
"Okay!"
Washing up did help. Once refreshed, Guaizai ran all over the field.
One moment, he was picking up sweet potatoes near Aunt He. The next, seeing Fang Zichen falling behind, he rushed over to help, as if he’d taken some miraculous energy-boosting medicine, his stamina endless.
Aunt He praised him with a smile, "Our Guaizai is so well-behaved!"
She used this as an opening, hoping Fang Zichen would respond and warm up the conversation. But Fang Zichen ignored her.
How strange!
According to He Xi, Fang Zichen didn’t seem to dislike Guaizai and treated him quite well.
Fang Zichen was picking sweet potatoes behind Zhao Ger, chatting idly.
"She only paid you three copper coins before too?" Fang Zichen tilted his chin toward Aunt He, keeping his voice low.
"Yeah," Zhao Ger matched his tone. "Most folks in the village aren’t well-off. They do their own chores. Aunt He has a kind heart. She pitied me and wanted to help, otherwise her family could’ve managed on their own."
Fang Zichen curled his lip.
Kind heart? More like black-hearted.
Zhao Ger said daily wages here ranged from nineteen copper coins (with a meal) to twenty-three at most.
If Aunt He truly pitied him and wanted to help, even paying eight or ten copper coins would’ve been understandable. But three? What was that?
A single egg cost two copper coins.
This wasn’t charity, it was exploitation! Taking advantage of Zhao Ger’s desperation under the guise of kindness.
Xiaohe Village was poor, but Aunt He’s family was relatively well-off. Outside of harvest season, her two sons worked at the docks in town, earning twenty-five copper coins a day. Their family never went hungry.
With that kind of income, couldn’t they afford to pay half the usual wage?
That black-hearted old woman.
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