Chapter 17
Fang Zichen couldn't sit still any longer and immediately went to find the foreman.
Zhao Ger ran over in the rain. The foreman thought something had happened at home, so when he asked for leave, he simply waved his hand in agreement, only reminding him to return as early as possible the next morning.
The rain had lightened slightly. Fang Zichen pulled Zhao Ger along as they hurried back.
Guaizai was sensible and wouldn’t run off, so Zhao Ger wasn’t worried.
But before they even reached home, they could hear Guaizai’s heart-wrenching sobs from a distance.
His heart skipped a beat, and he immediately broke into a run.
Entering the yard, he saw Guaizai sitting under the eaves, crying, while Zhou Ger stood beside him, flustered.
Seeing Zhao Ger, Zhou Ger looked as if he had spotted a savior: "You’re finally back! Hurry and comfort Guaizai. He’s been crying for so long, and nothing I do can calm him down."
Guaizai’s voice was hoarse from crying, his small eyes red and swollen. He had always been mature for his age—since he was two, he rarely cried. Even when he fell in the mountains and scraped his knees, he wouldn’t make a sound. But now, he was crying like this. Zhao Ger’s heart ached terribly, and he quickly went to pick him up.
"...Daddy." Guaizai clung tightly to Zhao Ger’s neck.
"I’m sorry," Zhao Ger patted his back gently, soothing him. "Don’t cry, don’t cry. Daddy’s sorry for leaving you at home."
Guaizai sniffled, then reached out toward Fang Zichen, who stood nearby: "...Father."
He wanted to be held.
Fang Zichen took him and wiped his face. "Don’t cry. Real men never shed tears. I’ve never cried in my life."
"Daddy and Father... gone," Guaizai said pitifully.
Before, no matter what he did, he could always turn his head and see Zhao Ger. But now, when he came home, no one was there—of course, he panicked.
Fang Zichen, shamelessly shifting blame, said, "Well, that’s your daddy’s fault. Who told him to be so unreliable and forget you at home?"
Zhao Ger: "..."
Zhou Ger: "..."
The sky was still dark. Not long after they got home, another thunderstorm rolled in.
The rumbling and lightning outside the window never stopped.
Fang Zichen spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen, holding Guaizai and Zhao Ger.
Zhao Ger looked out the window at the vegetable seedlings in the yard, battered and twisted by the rain, his heart aching.
Fang Zichen pulled a stool over and sat beside him. "Will these seedlings survive after the rain stops?"
He was also upset. They had planted them some time ago, and they were already as tall as a thumb. In a few more days, they could have been plucked and eaten—but now, the rain had beaten them into a sorry state.
"They can," Zhao Ger said. "Some might die, but the ones that survive won’t be as many."
"I scattered a lot of seeds, thinking we could pick the denser seedlings first. But now, that’s probably not happening."
"It’s fine," Fang Zichen said. Sitting idle was boring, so he teased Guaizai for a while, then took Zhao Ger’s hand, saying he wanted to read his palm.
He placed Zhao Ger’s hand in his palm, examining it carefully, saying things Zhao Ger could barely hear.
Zhao Ger looked down at his own hand—covered in scars and calluses, rough and darkened, the complete opposite of Fang Zichen’s palm.
Suddenly, those scars felt glaringly obvious. He worked under the sun every day, so the back of his hand and his face must be the same color. He had never looked in a mirror before—too busy with work to spare the time. When he did rest, his thoughts were always on how to fill his stomach, never on appearances. After getting together with Fang Zichen, his mind was completely occupied by him. Some things, he hadn’t had time to think about.
Now, Zhao Ger suddenly felt afraid.
He had never thought about how he looked, whether his skin was fair or dark. If he couldn’t see it, he didn’t care. But in Fang Zichen’s eyes, it must all be clear.
Would he think he was ugly?
This was how people were—when you liked someone, even if you were good enough, because of that affection, the other person seemed like a dazzling star in the sky, radiant and bright. Meanwhile, you were just a toad squatting in a ditch, suddenly overwhelmed by inexplicable insecurity and inferiority.
He couldn’t hide his thoughts, they were always written on his face.
Fang Zichen didn’t know what he was thinking, but seeing his expression darken, he thought for a moment, then kissed the back of his hand.
It was like a spark suddenly landing on his skin. Zhao Ger’s eyes widened, and he yanked his hand back. "Wh-what are you doing?"
Fang Zichen looked completely unashamed. "Nothing much. Just being a little shameless. But this doesn’t count as being shameless."
Kissing your own partner wasn’t shameless. Kissing someone else’s partner, that was shameless.
"You—how could you do that?" Zhao Ger hid his hand behind his back, covering the spot where Fang Zichen had kissed him. The warmth from that brief touch still lingered. He was utterly hopeless, his heart pounded wildly.
"What did I do?" Fang Zichen stretched out his left hand. "Fine, you can kiss me back if you want."
Zhao Ger: "..."
"You’re so stingy," Fang Zichen said, holding Guaizai and letting him stand on his thighs. He kissed both of Guaizai’s cheeks, then lifted his shirt to plant a few kisses on his soft, white belly. Guaizai giggled from the ticklish sensation.
"Our Guaizai is so generous," Fang Zichen declared. "So soft and tender, like a big steamed bun. I’m gonna take a bite to see if you’re tasty."
Guaizai pushed at his head, not using much force, laughing uncontrollably. "Tickles! Father’s bad, Father’s bad!"
They tussled playfully, laughter filling the room. Zhao Ger took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his earlier melancholy and unease.
From morning until afternoon, he finally smiled—a faint curve of his lips, his gentle eyes softening. He had the kind of face that looked sweet and tender when he smiled.
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