That day, after selling blood sausages, Zhao Ger returned home starving. He cooked a quick meal, cleaned the yard, and prepared to wash clothes. Fang Zichen was particular about hygiene—whether he sweated or not, he bathed daily.
The men in the village fell into two types—those who kept themselves neat and those who lived in filth. After a long day's labor, most were too exhausted for anything beyond a quick foot wash before tumbling into bed. It was perfectly ordinary for clothes to pile up unwashed for three or four days at a stretch. Partly it was laziness, but there was practical sense too—frequent washing made fabric wear out quicker.
Fang Zichen only had three changes of clothing - the set from yesterday still lay unwashed in the bamboo laundry basket. Zhao Ger instructed Guaizai to stay put at home while he carried the dirty clothes to the river.
Midway through washing, Madam Ma arrived.
The riverside was mostly empty, with plenty of space to wash, yet she deliberately chose the washing stone right next to Zhao Ger's. Her heavy pounding washing paddle sent arcs of dirty water splattering across Zhao Ger, and as usual, she began hurling veiled insults.
In the past, Zhao Ger might have ignored her or responded indifferently. But not today.
Or, as Fang Zichen had once said: "Offending a few people or making a few mistakes isn’t that scary. What’s truly terrifying is living your whole life in fear, constantly bending to others’ will."
When faced with injustice, the weak nurse vengeance, the strong grant pardon, and the sagacious turn blind eyes. Zhao Ger didn’t fit neatly into any category—he wasn’t weak, nor was he strong, and certainly not wise. He might seek revenge, or he might choose to overlook or forgive, depending on the situation.
Glancing at the water stains on his clothes, Zhao Ger cut straight to the point. "You deliberately tricked my son into catching poisonous insects, didn’t you?"
"...... You shameless wretch, don’t you dare accuse me!" Madam Ma’s eyes darted around. "Hurry up and finish washing, then get lost. Just seeing you brings bad luck."
Her voice was loud, betraying her guilt.
Ma Wen had suffered a severe blow after Fang Zichen’s public humiliation, not just losing face but also his spirit.
In his twenties, with little life experience, he tended to magnify every setback. Meanwhile, Zhao Ger, well-fed and showered with Fang Zichen’s sweet words, had transformed—no longer gloomy and withdrawn but often smiling. Every time Ma Wen saw him, Zhao Ger seemed happier, gentler, which only deepened Ma Wen’s misery. He stopped working, drowning himself in wine at home. When his family suggested finding him a wife, he refused, insisting he only wanted Zhao Ger. Drunk, he’d even ramble about going to see Zhao Ger. Madam Ma was at her wit’s end.
Back when Ma Wen had prospects, his second uncle’s wife, Li-shi, and third uncle’s wife, Sun-shi, had fawned over him. But now that he was jobless and drinking heavily—expensive grain liquor, nearly as costly as pork—they grew resentful. Thirty-odd copper coins a day could buy enough meat to feed the whole family, yet Ma Wen drank it all alone. Li-shi and Sun-shi began stirring up trouble, complaining that the household "didn’t raise idle men," mocking him for lounging around like a young master despite his humble origins.
In the village, people married young—matchmaking started at fifteen or sixteen. Those still single past twenty were usually those who couldn’t find a spouse.
Ma Wen had always liked Zhao Ger, flying into a rage whenever his parents mentioned matchmaking. Over time, they stopped pressing him, confident that with his earnings, he could marry well later. But now that he’d lost his job, Madam Ma had secretly consulted a matchmaker, only to be told that at his age, finding a young maiden would require a hefty dowry—otherwise, only widows would consider him.
Madam Ma wanted grandchildren, and she wanted her son to marry a pure, untouched girl.
In her eyes, Ma Wen was exceptional—worthy of not just a young maiden but even a fairy. Letting him marry a widow was an insult!
Watching her son waste away in drunken misery, Madam Ma seethed. Unable to vent at him, she turned her fury on Zhao Ger.
To her, Zhao Ger was a fox spirit, a curse.
After tricking Guaizai into catching poisonous insects, Madam Ma had at first been nervous about potential retaliation. But when days passed without Fang Zichen storming over to confront her, her initial fear gradually disappeared.
Zhao Ger let out a cold laugh, his words striking where it hurt most: "I'm shameless? Then what does that make your son? He was ready to get down on his knees and beg me to take him back—even swore he'd move out and live apart from your family if I agreed!"
Madam Ma shrieked, "That’s impossible!"
Zhao Ger's gaze dripped with contempt. "Why wouldn't it be true? You're pitiful. Two sons—one drowned because you failed to watch him, the other doesn’t want you. Don’t you think that’s sad? I certainly do."
The words struck a nerve. Like a rabid dog, Madam Ma threw down her washing paddle and lunged, slapping Zhao Ger hard across the face. "Shut your mouth, you bitch! Shut up!"
Caught off guard, Zhao Ger was pinned beneath her, but he quickly fought back, kicking and punching her stomach.
Though a ger, he was stronger than most women.
Years of suppressed fury exploded within him—his vision flooded crimson.
Madam Ma groaned in pain, her stomach churning as blow after blow landed.
Her fighting style was typical of women—scratching, hair-pulling, clothes-tearing. Aside from the initial slap, Zhao Ger only suffered a few scratches on his neck.
After a while, shouts rang out as villagers rushed to intervene.
They were pulled apart. Madam Ma clutched her stomach, barely able to stand, glaring hatefully at Zhao Ger.
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