Chapter 75
"Zhao Ger, what did you just cook?"
"Ah?" Zhao Ger snapped back to reality. This chili sauce was delicious, and he had been thinking of selling it for silver! He couldn’t tell the truth, so he lied: "My husband bought some dishes from the restaurant yesterday. I just reheated them."
"Oh! So that’s it."
Everyone believed him, thinking that dishes from big restaurants were truly different. The moment it hit the pan, the aroma filled half the village—no wonder those wealthy men were willing to queue up and spend loads of silver just to eat at restaurants.
After sending them away, Zhao Ger finally relaxed. It wasn’t too late yet, so he told Guaizai to watch the house while he went to the mountains to gather firewood.
Cooking blood sausage used up firewood quickly. Although Xiaofeng occasionally brought him a bundle, it was never enough.
In a little over a month, the weather would turn cold, so firewood had to be prepared. Aside from daily cooking, winters here were bitterly cold. If they had silver, they could buy charcoal, but charcoal was expensive—only wealthy families could afford it. Villagers relied on firewood for warmth. Though firewood produced smoke and could choke people, it didn’t cost silver. As long as one was diligent and willing to put in the effort, they could gather it from the mountains.
Right now, everyone was busy with fieldwork, so it was the perfect time to gather more firewood. Once others finished their work and started preparing for winter, competition would be fierce, and they’d have to go further to find firewood.
Just as he reached the foot of South Mountain, faint groans of pain came from ahead.
Zhao Ger stopped and looked. In the cornfield, a heavily pregnant ger was lying on the cornstalks.
Zhao Ger recognized him—during the feast at Liu Daleng's house, Fang Zichen had stared at him for quite some time
This was Wu Ger, the potter’s fulang, who had married into the village from elsewhere three years ago. He was known for being gentle, hardworking and kind-hearted. Whenever their paths crossed, he would always greet Zhao Ger warmly.
Back when they were working together at the Liu family, Zhao Ger had asked how many months along he was. Wu Ger had said he was more than nine months pregnant. Now, seeing him like this... it looked like he was going into labor."
Zhao Ger rushed over. Wu Ger’s face was pale, his eyes unfocused, his hair disheveled, and his forehead drenched in sweat. His lower body was soaked and bloody—clearly, his water had broken.
There was no one else nearby. Wu Ger had been lying in the field for a long time. Seeing Zhao Ger, he weakly reached out as if grasping at a lifeline, his voice faint and broken: "Zhao Ger... p-please... help me."
"Don’t be afraid," Zhao Ger crouched beside him and reassured him. "I’ll go find someone to help."
As he stood to leave, the corner of his clothes was lightly grabbed. Wu Ger shook his head, tears in his eyes. "T-too late..."
The village was far, and going back and forth would waste too much time. Besides, villagers were "particular"—they believed the blood from childbirth was unlucky and inauspicious. Wu Ger’s husband was away selling goods in another village, and no man would likely carry him back now. His water had already broken—if the baby wasn’t delivered soon, it might die inside him.
"Then what do we do?" Zhao Ger panicked—this was his first time facing such a situation. Though he had given birth before, it had been a stroke of luck, a near-death experience. Helping someone else deliver a baby was absolutely out of the question.
Wave after wave of tearing pain wracked Wu Ger’s lower body. He didn’t know what to do either—he was terrified and just wanted someone by his side.
Zhao Ger was frantic. Aside from wiping Wu Ger’s sweat and comforting him, he could do nothing.
Time passed minute by minute. Wu Ger clutched his belly and wept, his eyes filled with despair. "My baby... my baby..."
Zhao Ger’s eyes stung—he understood this feeling all too well.
Back when he was lying in the woodshed, unable to deliver his child, his first thought hadn’t been fear of death—it had been worry for the baby.
After ten months of pregnancy, when the baby moved and kicked, he had felt an overwhelming sense of connection.
In a way, the baby was half his life.
"Zhao Ger?" Fang Zichen’s voice suddenly called out.
Zhao Ger whirled around. "Husband?"
His voice trembled violently—something was wrong. Fang Zichen ran over and, seeing Wu Ger, immediately understood. "He’s giving birth?"
"Yes!" Zhao Ger nodded.
Seeing the large pool of blood on the ground, Fang Zichen raised his voice. "Then why are you just standing there? Call an ambulance!"
Zhao Ger: "..."
Fang Zichen immediately realized his mistake—there were no ambulances here. "Find a—oh, right, a midwife!"
"You carry Wu Ger back. I’ll go get the midwife!" Zhao Ger sprinted off.
Fang Zichen was carefree and didn’t care about "particular" customs. Without another thought, he scooped Wu Ger up and dashed toward the village.
On the way, they ran into a few women. Seeing Wu Ger’s condition, they immediately understood and followed, even giving directions in case Fang Zichen didn’t know where Wu Ger lived.
Only Wu Ger’s elderly mother-in-law was home. His husband was out selling pottery. After setting Wu Ger down, Zhao Ger returned with the midwife.
Some women volunteered to boil water in the kitchen. Low, pained moans came from inside. As basin after basin of bloody water was carried out, even Fang Zichen grew uneasy. This was completely outside his experience. He nudged Zhao Ger. "...Let’s go home."
Zhao Ger was still worried. "Let’s wait a little longer, okay?"
Seeing how pale and shaken they both looked, someone reassured them. "It’s fine. Childbirth is always like this."
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