Chapter 60
The West Street was bustling with people. Across the street, a stall was selling wontons, and business was so good that the husband-and-wife owners could barely keep up. Next to them, a pancake vendor was also doing well. Zhao Ger watched enviously.
Guaizai clung to his leg, quietly observing the passersby.
"Oh, Zhao Ger, so you’ve moved your blood sausage stall here! No wonder we couldn’t find you on East Street."
Two men walked up, speaking familiarly and loudly. A few nearby pedestrians turned to look.
Zhao Ger frowned slightly—he didn’t recognize these two.
"Give me one," Sun Dahu said, licking his lips. "I’ve been craving it for days. You should’ve told us you moved locations—we’ve been searching all over for you, your regular customers!"
"Exactly," Wang Xiaojiu chimed in. "Your blood sausages are the best. I’ve been thinking about them nonstop. It’s a shame yours are the only ones in town—nowhere else sells them!"
The two of them played off each other seamlessly, one after another. At first, Zhao Ger was confused.
He didn’t know these men, yet they seemed to know him, even recognizing that he sold blood sausages. Then someone murmured, "Aren’t those Zuixiao Restaurant’s workers?" and it clicked. He played along.
Zhao Ger cut two blood sausages and handed them over. Sun Dahu and Wang Xiaojiu exchanged a glance before reluctantly taking a bite.
They had bragged earlier, but upon seeing the blood sausages—made from pig offal—they had already steeled themselves. Even if it tasted awful, they would force it down and lie through their teeth. With their silver tongues, they could talk anything up—turn the dead into the living and the living into the dead. Give them the time of one cup of tea, and they could make this thing sound like a delicacy. But to their surprise—the taste was actually pretty good!
Though the appearance wasn’t exactly appetizing, the texture was surprisingly tender and smooth, with the outer casing pleasantly chewy. The more they ate, the more they liked it. It was genuinely tasty.
Sun Dahu finished his and said, "Zhao Ger, cut me another one."
Seeing how much they were enjoying it, a passerby also asked for one. At just three copper coins apiece, and with these two being Zuixiao Restaurant workers—who had surely tasted all kinds of dishes—still going out of their way to hunt down these blood sausages, they couldn’t be bad.
Gradually, a crowd began to gather.
Zhao Ger was swamped, barely able to keep up with collecting money. Then, a small hand reached out from behind the basket, followed by a sweet, childish voice.
"Uncle, three copper coins."
A burly man stepped forward and found himself staring into a pair of big, dark eyes.
The child was adorable. The man grinned. "Oh, you’re the one collecting money?"
Guaizai nodded. "Yes~"
The man, already holding two blood sausages with a third in his mouth, asked indistinctly, "Then how much should I give you?"
Without hesitation, Guaizai answered, "Six copper coins."
"Well, I’ll be!" The man was astonished. He swallowed the barely-chewed sausage skin and praised, "So smart! No wonder your head’s so big."
"......" Fang Zichen, who had just arrived, overheard this.
What did he mean, "head’s so big"??
That made it sound like his son had some kind of oversized baby head.
Though he’d thought the same before.
But it was understandable—back then, Guaizai had been so thin, with barely any flesh on him, that his head had seemed disproportionately large, like an African famine victim.
Now, he looked much better.
The stall was surrounded by customers, but Fang Zichen didn’t step in to help. He stood to the side, observing. The blood sausages were delicious—soft and flavorful. Some customers wanted to take some home for their elderly family members, but the sausages were greasy and messy to carry.
He thought about it—maybe he could chop some bamboo later and make skewers. That way, the sausages could be speared like candied hawthorns, making them easier to carry, cleaner, and more hygienic. Two birds with one stone.
A full basket of blood sausages sold out in half a shichen (1 hour). Sun Dahu and Wang Xiaojiu bowed out gracefully. "Sister-in-law, we’ll head back now."
Both were in their early twenties, older than Fang Zichen. Being called "sister-in-law" left Zhao Ger momentarily stunned. "......Thank you."
"Don’t mention it!"
Once they were gone, Zhao Ger began packing up.
The blood sausages had sold better than expected. He’d make more tomorrow. He needed to stop by the butcher’s first, and also buy more peanuts—Aunt Liu’s stock was running low. As he mentally calculated, he heard Guaizai’s sweet voice.
"Father~ Why you come here?"
Guaizai’s forehead was damp with sweat—from exhaustion and the heat. Fang Zichen’s heart ached. "A son doesn't dislike his mother's ugliness," and he didn't mind his son's dirtiness. He kissed Guaizai’s forehead. "I missed you and your daddy, that’s why."
Guaizai touched his face and pouted. "Guaizai miss Father too! Guaizai wanna kiss Father too!"
As Zhao Ger finished packing, he smiled and asked, "Isn’t the shop busy?"
"It is!"
"Then why’d you come?"
Fang Zichen picked up Guaizai. "I was worried about you. Thought you might cry if your stuff didn’t sell, so I came to comfort you—show off my gentle, considerate side."
Zhao Ger glared at him, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "I wouldn’t. I’m not a child."
He still had shopping to do, and bringing Guaizai along would be inconvenient. Fang Zichen couldn’t stay away for long either. After some thought, he decided to take Guaizai back to the shop first and let Zhao Ger pick him up later.
Zhao Ger hesitated. "Will that be alright? Will Shopkeeper Yang mind?"
Shopkeeper Yang had unbreakable bond with him—why would he mind? Fang Zichen waved it off. "It’s fine. Hurry up and go!"
It was around weishi (1-3 PM) now, past the lunch rush. The restaurant was quiet. As soon as Sun Dahu and Wang Xiaojiu returned, their nosy coworkers swarmed them.
"Hey, hey! What did Brother Fang ask you to do earlier?"
"His fulang was selling stuff on West Street," Sun Dahu said, plopping onto a stool. Thirsty from the trip, he poured himself some tea. "Brother Fang sent us to help drum up business."
"So you met his fulang?"
"Hm."
One of the buddies grew excited. "Well? What’s he look like? Is he drop-dead gorgeous?"
Wang Xiaojiu cut in, "What’s it to you if he’s gorgeous? You planning to steal Brother Fang’s fulang?"
"Pfft, as if," the buddy said. "No way I could. Just curious what kind of ger could tame Brother Fang."
Another chimed in, "Same here."
Everyone was curious.
Fang Zichen was practically the face of Zuixiao Restaurant now. Boss Lu from the pawnshop used to eat here once every ten days or so—now he came daily. He used to dine in private rooms, but this month, he insisted on sitting in the main hall, claiming that watching Fang Zichen made the meal tastier.
Fang Zichen even joked that he should eat less—his belly, once resembling a five-month pregnancy, now looked ready to pop.
With so many customers coming and going, plenty of girls and gers had openly or subtly expressed interest in Fang Zichen. Yet he hadn’t spared a single one a glance.
Wang Xiaojiu and the others were baffled. One girl was the daughter of the Hou family, one of the wealthiest in Fu’an Town. As the family’s only daughter, she was decently pretty—eyes where eyes should be, nose where a nose should be. If Fang Zichen had agreed, he’d have gone from rags to riches, rolling in silver for life. And yet, he hadn’t even given her the time of day.
Later, after spending more time together, they learned he already had a fulang and son at home.
Fang Zichen knew they gossiped about him, but he didn’t care much.
Handsome people were used to attention wherever they went. He was no exception.
It was like celebrities—even if it had nothing to do with them, fans still wanted to know: Which lucky person had snagged such a handsome man? What kind of enchantress was she, and what did she look like?
Fang Zichen acted like he had eyes on his forehead, looking down on everyone. He constantly boasted, "My fulang’s the best, he’s exactly my type." Hearing this over and over, of course they grew curious.
Wang Xiaojiu thought for a moment, then borrowed Fang Zichen’s words, since his own vocabulary was lacking. "Well, Zhao Ger has big eyes, a round face, and little pink lips. Pretty cute."
"And then?"
"What do you mean, ‘and then’?"
"That’s it?"
"Yeah, that’s it!" Wang Xiaojiu said.
Zhao Ger wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but he wasn’t ugly either.
He was definitely on the attractive side, just not at Fang Zichen’s level—the kind of top-tier beauty that turned heads.
"I’m so jealous of Brother Fang," one worker sighed, slumping onto the table. "Eighteen years old, already has a fulang and a child, and makes three taels a month. I’m heartbroken."
"Same," Sun Dahu said.
"You should be," Wang Xiaojiu said bluntly. "Twenty-three and still no wife."
Sun Dahu scowled. "I had one before. We just divorced."
Wang Xiaojiu scoffed. "And you’re proud of being cuckolded?"
Sun Dahu groaned. "Ugh, I regret it now. If I’d known how hard it’d be to find another wife, I should’ve just pretended not to notice back then. Now it’s been years, and I still can’t find one."
The others burst out laughing.
Just then, Fang Zichen walked in with Guaizai in his arms. Wang Xiaojiu darted over first. "Brother Fang, you’re back."
"Yeah." Fang Zichen was about to tell Guaizai to greet everyone when Shopkeeper Yang spoke first, his eyes fixed on the child.
"Oh my, who’s this?"
"My son." Fang Zichen smiled, patting Guaizai’s butt. "Guaizai, say hello to Grandpa."
Guaizai chirped, "Hello, Grandpa!"
"Hello, hello," Shopkeeper Yang said warmly, pinching Guaizai’s chubby cheeks. At his age, he had no resistance to cute kids. "How old are you, Guaizai?"
Guaizai held up three fingers. "Grandpa, Guaizai three years old!"
Shopkeeper Yang: "......"
Shopkeeper Yang was stunned. He knew Fang Zichen had a son, but he’d assumed that, given Fang Zichen’s youth—only eighteen—the child would be a toddler at most. But three years old?
Did that mean Fang Zichen had gotten someone pregnant at fourteen?
Truly, each generation surpasses the last. Incredible. Absolutely incredible.
[江山辈有人才出 (jiāngshān bèi yǒu réncái chū): lit. Each generation surpasses the last; fig. There’s always new talent rising.]
No comments:
Post a Comment