Chapter 51
Fang Zichen chuckled softly.
Zhao Ger was just too innocent—even though he already had a child, he was even more prudish than Fang Zichen, the pure little virgin.
Just rubbing against his leg made him blush.
If they did something even more shameless, would he start steaming and catching fire?
Zhao Ger shot him a glare. Though reluctant, being so intimate in someone else’s home wasn’t proper. He shifted his leg slightly away, but Fang Zichen’s leg pressed right back against him, relentless.
The heat seeped through the fabric, scaldingly intense. As if that wasn’t enough, Fang Zichen lightly tapped his fingers against Zhao Ger’s thigh—each touch sending tingles straight to his heart, leaving his whole body weak.
With others sitting nearby, Zhao Ger wanted to pinch him to make him behave, but the moment his hand reached down, it was caught in a firm grip.
A gentle scratch against his palm sent shivers through him. His heart pounded wildly. They weren’t even doing anything, yet Zhao Ger felt unbearably flustered, his mind in a daze. When Aunt Liu tried making conversation, he answered in a muddled stupor, as if he couldn’t even tell east from west.
Fang Zichen, satisfied, reeled it in and answered for him.
Aunt Liu had listened when Zhao Ger mentioned it earlier, so she had specially prepared a dish of smashed cucumber for dinner—crisp and fresh, tossed with minced chili and garlic. Fang Zichen barely touched the other dishes, focusing only on the cucumber.
Aunt Liu smiled, deep creases forming at the corners of her eyes. "Fang boy, you like the cucumber? Take some home later. I picked plenty this evening and still have a few left."
Fang Zichen didn’t stand on ceremony. "Thanks, Aunt Liu."
"Ah, no need for thanks!"
Aunt Liu was delighted, and Uncle Liu secretly sighed in relief.
Knowing Fang Zichen was literate, had once been a scholar, and now worked at Zuixiao Restaurant, he wasn’t like the rest of them—just simple farming folk. Every time they saw him, they couldn’t help feeling a little stiff, worried he might look down on them. If Fang Zichen had been overly polite, they would’ve overthought it.
That night, lying in bed, Zhao Ger moved Guaizai to the inner side after the boy fell asleep.
Maybe there was some natural magnetism between men, because Guaizai clung to Fang Zichen like a baby who hadn’t been weaned.
Fang Zichen didn’t stop him, instead whispering with a low laugh, "What’s this? Finally couldn’t hold back and decided to make a move on this untouched maiden of a man?"
Remembering what happened at the Liu family’s place, Zhao Ger punched his arm. "You still have the nerve to say that! What if we’d been caught? Aren’t you embarrassed?"
"Embarrassed by what?" Fang Zichen, fully embracing his inner rogue, smirked shamelessly. "Don’t tell me you didn’t like it? Didn’t find it thrilling?"
Zhao Ger’s face burned.
Fang Zichen leaned closer, gently cupping his face, his voice low and rough. "Answer me. Did you like it or not?"
They lay facing each other, so close that the warmth in each other’s eyes felt suffocating. Fang Zichen carried a faint scent of soapberries. Zhao Ger averted his gaze, trying to steady his breathing as he played dumb. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"I get it." Fang Zichen pulled back. "I won’t do it again next time."
Panicked, Zhao Ger grabbed his wrist. "...I liked it."
His voice was barely audible. Fang Zichen pretended not to hear. "Huh? What’d you say?"
Zhao Ger shut his eyes, lashes trembling, voice shaking. "I said I liked it."
"What? Still didn’t catch that."
"I said I liked it!"
"Eh? You said you what?"
Zhao Ger opened his eyes to see Fang Zichen grinning at him. Angry, he punched him: "You did that on purpose."
Fang Zichen caught his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it. Zhao Ger’s fingers curled slightly in reflex.
"Cut your hand again?" Fang Zichen asked.
It happened while weeding. These days, there were no gloves, and no matter how careful you were, injuries were inevitable. Old and new scars crisscrossed, making it look somewhat ugly. Zhao Ger tried to pull his hand back, but Fang Zichen held firm, and he couldn’t break free.
"Be more careful next time," Fang Zichen said cheesily: "When your hand is cut, my heart aches."
The corny pickup line made Zhao Ger want to laugh: "It’s so ugly."
"Where’s it ugly?"
Zhao Ger said gloomily: "It doesn’t look like a ger’s hand at all."
Fang Zichen disagreed: "Who says? What’s a ger’s hand supposed to look like, then?"
Zhao Ger blurted out: "Like yours."
"..." Fang Zichen blinked, finally catching on: "You’re saying I’m like a ger?"
"I didn’t mean—"
"Fine, I’ll let you have this one," Fang Zichen said, guiding Zhao Ger’s hand to his own abs. The touch was firm, the muscle lines well-defined—a proper man’s physique. Zhao Ger had touched them before, but he still flushed with embarrassment.
Fang Zichen asked: "Can a ger have this?"
Zhao Ger opened his mouth to reply, but Fang Zichen cut in: "Want to feel my ultimate weapon next?"
At first, Zhao Ger didn’t quite understand the meaning behind those words—until his palm touched a scorching iron rod.
His face instantly burned, his entire body grew restless, and he abruptly yanked his hand back, clenching it tightly behind him until his nails turned white from the pressure.
“Y-you—why did you… let me touch this?”
“Still think I’m like a ger?” Fang Zichen retorted, his heart pounding. It was the first time he’d been so shameless, but he forced himself to stay composed. Then it occurred to him—between lovers, kissing, touching, and even talking about risqué things seemed perfectly normal. Once he rationalized it, the rogue act turned into playful teasing:
“Besides, what’s wrong with a little touch? Who knows, maybe someday you’ll even have to taste it!”
Zhao Ger: “……”
How could this man be like this?!
“Y-you—stop being such a rogue.”
“Between husband and fulang, how can it be called ‘being a rogue’?” Fang Zichen found it amusing to see his flushed face, round almond eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and anger—like a good student caught secretly watching foreign films in class. Unable to resist, he reached out and poked him. “At most, this is called ‘romantic fun.’”
Furious, Zhao Ger grabbed his hand and bit down—not too hard, but Fang Zichen just chuckled, his mouth running wild again:
“If you’ve got the guts, bite somewhere lower!”
Zhao Ger: “……”
If he stayed any longer, he might really lose his temper and hit someone. He sat up, but Fang Zichen, seeing that he seemed about to move Guaizai back between them and sleep on the inner side, let out a muffled laugh and pulled him back.
“Alright, alright, I was just teasing. You’re so thin-skinned—can’t even take a little joke. Who was it again that asked me on the very first night, ‘Do you want it?’”
Zhao Ger: “……”
He was so mortified he wanted to crawl into a hole. Putting on an angry front, he snapped, “Stop talking!”
“Fine, I won’t say it, won’t say it. Let’s sleep.”
Still fuming, Zhao Ger pinched his arm. His dark eyes, bright as if filled with stars, turned serious. “Tomorrow’s market day. I want to go with Zhou Ger to sell vegetables.”
Fang Zichen rubbed his arm, not daring to provoke him further—this ger must’ve learned from the infamous Rong Momo, because his pinches were agonizing. He replied earnestly, “Go if you want. Take some money, and remember to buy food at noon—don’t starve yourself.”
[Rong Momo (容嬷嬷) is a notoriously cruel and ruthless palace maid from the classic Chinese drama My Fair Princess (还珠格格), known for her vicious tactics, such as using needles to torture prisoners, making her a symbol of merciless authority figures in popular culture.]
Zhao Ger was notoriously frugal, if not reminded, he’d probably refuse to spend even a couple of copper coins on a meal.
“Mm, I know.” Zhao Ger nestled into his arms, shifting until he found a comfortable spot, then draped an arm over his waist and stilled—as if planning to sleep just like that.
Fang Zichen: “……”
In the honeymoon phase, he also longed for closeness with Zhao Ger, but sleeping like this… cough—was just adding heat to the fire.
Hot and restless, he only managed to fall asleep deep into the night. The next day, before dawn, Zhao Ger was already up.
He went to the kitchen to cook porridge, and once it was ready, he picked up his carrying basket and left.
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