Chapter 53
As soon as he entered the alley, Zhao Ger was grabbed by the wrists, his arms twisted behind his back, and pinned against the wall. He struggled to break free but found the person behind him astonishingly strong—he couldn’t move at all. His wrists were clamped in an iron grip.
At the entrance of the alley, a pile of miscellaneous goods was stacked, completely obscuring them from view.
If the other person wanted to do something, no one would notice.
Zhao Ger panicked, nerves taut, his mind blank for a moment.
The man pressed against him from behind, leaving no gap between them, and then… began touching him.
A hand slipped under his clothes, trailing up his waist to his navel, the movement unbearably intimate. Warm, slightly damp breath brushed against his ear. Zhao Ger tried to twist away, but the man pinned him even tighter with his leg.
"Don’t touch me…" Zhao Ger struggled desperately, but it was useless. A cold sweat broke out over his body, and despair welled up inside him.
The man held him firmly, trying to grip his chin. Zhao Ger turned his head away but still caught a faint whiff of soap mixed with warm breath—nothing like the usual revolting stench of sweat. The hands on his back had slightly rough calluses on the knuckles…
In sheer shock, his resistance gradually weakened.
"Go on, scream! No one’s coming to save you!" The man released the hand covering Zhao Ger’s mouth. "The more you scream, the more excited I get."
Zhao Ger: "……"
"What, cat got your tongue?" The man rested his chin on Zhao Ger’s shoulder, his voice dripping with lazy amusement. "Not fighting me anymore. What, taken a liking to me?"
Zhao Ger's breath came in quick gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly, he pleaded, "Let me go! Please, I have a husband!"
"Oh? So the little ger’s already married! You’re so pretty—bet your husband’s not bad either!"
"Not at all!" Zhao Ger suppressed the overwhelming emotions and said, "He's not even four chi tall - a stunted little runt with a rat-like face, beady eyes, and the shifty look."
"……" Fang Zichen’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Five chi was about 1.666 meters.
Less than four chi meant under 1.333 meters.
Even Wu Dalang was 1.6 meters tall!
[Wu Dalang: the short and kind-hearted bun seller from "Water Margin," is famously betrayed and murdered by his wife Pan Jinlian and her lover Ximen Qing, sparking his brother Wu Song's bloody revenge]
Now he wasn’t even as good as Wu Dalang?!
Zhao Ger continued, "My husband is hideous, dull-witted, exceptionally stupid, with a long torso and short legs…"
Fang Zichen’s temple twitched. He gritted his teeth, his palm itching as a surge of irritation rose in his chest. "…That’s enough!"
This was getting out of hand.
If this kept up, he wouldn’t even measure up to Wu Dalang’s toenails.
"You scared me half to death!" Zhao Ger turned around and punched him in the chest.
He really had been terrified.
"Now you know to be careful?" Fang Zichen grabbed his hand, gently tracing the veins. "Running around alone—don’t you know to stay alert? Today it was me, but what if it really was someone else next time?"
"This place is so secluded, no one would hear you scream." He lectured sternly, "As a ger, you need to be aware of predators."
Zhao Ger admitted his mistake obediently. "I’m sorry."
He really had been careless.
He’d always thought himself too ugly to be targeted—with so many pretty girls and gers on the streets, why would anyone bother with him? But what if?
What if someone was desperate enough to take whatever they could get?
A wave of fear washed over him, and he hugged Fang Zichen tightly, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "Why are you here? What a coincidence!"
Coincidence, his foot. Fang Zichen replied, "Didn’t you say you were coming to sell vegetables with Zhou Ger today? I had some free time and thought I’d check on you. But Zhou Ger said you’d gone shopping, so I came looking."
Zhao Ger tilted his head up and kissed the faintly bobbing Adam’s apple, smiling. "Come shopping with me?"
Fang Zichen was still feeling the adrenaline from scaring Zhao Ger earlier. But when Zhao Ger smiled at him—eyes slightly red-rimmed from fright, yet still so sweet—Fang Zichen melted instantly. At that moment, if Zhao Ger had asked for the sun itself, Fang Zichen would have tried to pluck it from the sky for him. His chest burned with warmth.
Young men had fiery tempers and were easily provoked.
For years, he’d lived without desire, never giving it much thought. But now, even the smallest tease from Zhao Ger sent heat rushing through him, threatening to spiral out of control.
He pinched Zhao Ger’s slender waist.
"Let’s go!"
Market days brought swarming crowds that packed the streets tight. Fang Zichen moved protectively in front of Zhao Ger, using his body as a barrier against the jostling masses. Along Western Street, local farmers had set up their humble stalls in rows.
At one stall, an elderly vendor was selling chicks—little yellow puffballs no bigger than a fist, all huddled together for warmth in their bamboo cage. The sight made Zhao Ger stop dead in his tracks.
Without speaking, he reached out and plucked timidly at Fang Zichen's sleeve.
Fang Zichen smiled. "Like them?"
"Mm."
"Then let’s buy some."
He led Zhao Ger to the old man’s stall and asked how many he wanted.
The old man said they were three copper coins each, freshly hatched.
Another cage held slightly bigger ones, probably fed for a few days already.
These were more expensive—eight copper coins each.
The bigger ones were easier to raise;, the smaller ones could die if they weren’t careful.
Zhao Ger stared at the chirping yellow fluffballs, his gaze softening—he must’ve had a thing for fluffy creatures. "I’ll take the small ones. Six hens and two roosters."
Hens could lay eggs, so they wouldn’t have to buy eggs anymore.
Roosters could be kept for breeding.
Fang Zichen knelt down next to Zhao Ger, his own curiosity piqued as he gently stroked one of the chicks. The tiny creatures were like living sunbeams - soft, warm against his fingers, their rapid little heartbeats fluttering like butterfly wings.
Seeing their interest, the old man's face crinkled into a smile. He scooped up a woven bamboo cage and began expertly selecting chicks. To the untrained eye, the yellow fluffballs were completely identical - not a single distinguishing mark between them.
Yet with practiced ease, the farmer would lift each chick, briefly part the downy feathers beneath (revealing nothing but more yellow fuzz to the observers), and confidently announce, "Hen" or "Rooster" before placing it in the cage.
Fang Zichen was impressed. He nearly gave a thumbs-up.
Not even X-rays were this accurate.
____
The vegetable sales had been disappointing - barely a third of the. had sold. Zhou Ger's shoulders slumped in defeat, his expression lifting only slightly when he noticed the chirping chicks.
Zhao Ger also felt awful.
The summer heat would spoil most of it within days. Even if they ate vegetables for every meal, they couldn't possibly finish everything before it went bad, so the only option was to feed them to the chickens. .
All those backbreaking months - the planting, watering, weeding - all for nothing.
Fang Zichen's chest ached at the sight of Zhao Ger's downcast expression. Normally, his eyes sparkled with life - round and luminous when surprised, but transforming into crescent moons when he smiled.
Zhou Ger wasn’t doing well either. Might as well help if they could.
"I’ll ask the shopkeeper if the restaurant needs any," he said.
Zhou Ger’s eyes lit up, though he hesitated. "Won’t that trouble you?"
Fang Zichen waved it off. "Just asking. Wait here."
Zuixiao Restaurant had many customers, and the kitchen staff regularly bought ingredients from outside. It didn’t matter where they came from. Plus, the owner seemed to favor Fang Zichen, having instructed the staff to look out for him.
Since this was Zhao Ger’s friend, and Shopkeeper Yang was on good terms with Fang Zichen, he said, "Tell him to bring them over. If they’re homegrown, he can deliver them daily. As long as they’re good, I’ll take them."
Fang Zichen, with no regard for propriety, patted his shoulder. "Uncle Yang, hearing you say that just made you three times handsomer."
"……" Shopkeeper Yang laughed and cursed, "Get lost."
Fang Zichen obediently got lost.
It was almost time for the busy period, so Fang Zichen hurried back.
By now, the market was nearly over.
Zhou Ger packed the remaining long beans and cucumbers back into the baskets.
This season, they’d known sales might be slow, but they hadn’t expected to sell only a few bundles all morning.
He wanted to cry.
"Zhao Ger, Zhou Ger." Fang Zichen ran over, panting. "Come with me to Zuixiao Restaurant."
Zhao Ger stepped forward. "The restaurant wants our vegetables?"
"Yep!" Fang Zichen hoisted Zhao Ger’s basket onto his back and took Zhou Ger’s too. "Hurry, the place is about to get busy."
Zhou Ger was overjoyed and reached out. "Let me carry it. It’s heavy."
This was nothing. Back when he hauled sacks, one was easily four times the weight of these baskets.
Zhao Ger, knowing his strength, hugged the chicks and followed obediently. "Zhou Ger, he’s strong. It’s fine. Let’s go."
Fang Zichen led them to the back courtyard. Shopkeeper Yang had tea and snacks brought out, but Zhou Ger was nervous.
The courtyard was paved with fine tiles, and Shopkeeper Yang as the shopkeeper was dressed like a wealthy man—exactly the kind of person Zhou Ger had never interacted with.
Villagers often said rich folks in town were quick-tempered and hard to deal with, so he couldn’t help but tense up.
The vegetables were all fresh and good quality. Shopkeeper Yang barely glanced at them—a show of trust.
Farmers were honest folk, and since Fang Zichen had vouched for them, he knew they wouldn’t try to pass off inferior goods.
The pastries went untouched. Shopkeeper Yang had them packed into two portions and placed in Zhao Ger’s basket.
Zhao Ger was too embarrassed to accept.
"Take them," Fang Zichen said. "Free stuff—why not? The fatty chef in the kitchen made them. They’re pretty good. You and Zhou Ger should try some."
Shopkeeper Yang, standing nearby, wanted to kick him. "Stop giving people nicknames…"
____
On the way back, Zhou Ger still seemed dazed.
Zhao Ger took out two pastries to share.
If even the picky Fang Zichen said they were good, they must be decent. The square treats, about the length of a finger, were filled with crushed peanuts and sesame. One bite, and the rich fragrance filled the mouth.
Zhou Ger ate one and saved the rest for his family.
"Earlier, Shopkeeper Yang said I could supply vegetables to them in the future. Was he serious?"
Happiness had come too suddenly—it felt like a dream, too good to be true.
The chicks chirped in the basket, but Zhao Ger didn’t mind the noise.
"He was serious. You won’t have to worry about selling vegetables anymore."
Zhou Ger wasn’t naive. Shopkeeper Yang had only agreed because of Fang Zichen. Otherwise, with so many farmers around, why would he pick theirs?
Did their vegetables smell better just because they used manure like everyone else?
Genuinely grateful, he said, "Zhao Ger, thank you."
Zhao Ger was puzzled. "What for?"
"Shopkeeper Yang only agreed because of your husband. And your husband helped me because of you. Shouldn’t I thank you?" Zhou Ger said. "Fang Zichen must really care about you—otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so kind to me. I’ve heard it called… 'love the house, love the crows on its roof.'"
[爱屋及乌 (ài wū jí wū): lit. Love the house, (and even) the crows on its roof; fig. Love blindly embraces the flaws and peripherals of what (or whom) you cherish]
Zhao Ger gripped the shoulder straps of his basket, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t reply.
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