Chapter 40
At noon the next day during his break, Fang Zichen informed Shopkeeper Yang and headed to the bookstore with his purse tucked in his sleeve.
Books for Tongsheng exam were usually beginner-level texts, such as Thousand Character Classic, Hundred Family Surnames, Disciples’ Rules, Li Weng’s Rhyming Couplets, and the like.
There was only one bookstore in town, and it was quite large.
At this time, there weren’t many customers. A clerk was tidying the shelves and, upon seeing Fang Zichen enter, paused briefly before promptly asking what he needed.
Fang Zichen had already done his research and listed a string of book titles. The clerk led him to a two-tiered bookshelf on the left side and said, “Young master, all the books you want are here. Take a look—the ones on top were shipped from the capital. The print is extremely clear, the paper quality is excellent, and they’ll last for ages!”
What use was longevity? It wasn’t like he was keeping them as family heirlooms.
Fang Zichen asked, “How much silver?”
“Not expensive. If you buy all six, it’ll be twelve taels.”
Fang Zichen: “……”
Is your tone too lofty, or am I just too poor?
“...I only have a little over one tael.”
“Ah?” The clerk immediately understood, though his attitude remained unchanged. He put the books back and pulled out a few from the lower shelf. “Then you can buy these. They’re hand-copied. The paper isn’t as good, but the handwriting is clear, so they’re cheaper.”
“How much cheaper?”
The clerk smiled. “With a little over one tael, you can buy two.”
No wonder it’s hard for poor families to produce scholars, there’s a reason for it.
When Shopkeeper Yang saw him return with two books and place them on the counter, he glanced at the titles and looked surprised. Remembering Fang Zichen’s questions from the day before, he asked:
“Are you preparing for the Tongsheng exam?”
Fang Zichen picked up Thousand Character Classic, flipped through a few pages, and skimmed them quickly, finding no difference from what he had studied before. “Yes,” he said with an air of seriousness. “Once I get my wages this month, I’ll go to the yamen to register my household and identity documents. Then I’ll officially be a subject of the Daxia Dynasty. I must study hard to serve my country!”
“Good!” Shopkeeper Yang patted his shoulder, looking genuinely pleased. “Work hard, and don’t forget your uncle when you make something of yourself.”
Fang Zichen was full of righteous fervor. “Of course!”
“Studying is a huge expense.” Though Shopkeeper Yang hadn’t known him long, such determination was rare. After some thought, he added, “If you ever run into trouble, you can come to me.”
For the next half-month, Fang Zichen lived a life of routine—work and home. By then, the two books had been worn ragged from handling. It wasn’t that he hadn’t finished reading them—he had, long ago. But his wages hadn’t been paid yet, so he couldn’t afford the remaining required books.
One noon, the restaurant only had a few tables of customers. Fang Zichen lounged lazily against the counter when Shopkeeper Yang sat beside him and tapped the table with his knuckles. “Not reading today?”
Fang Zichen lifted his head, propping his chin on his hand. “Finished long ago.”
“Really? Both of them?”
“Yeah.”
He only read during breaks at noon—how could he finish two books in half a month?
Shopkeeper Yang chose his words carefully. “Reading isn’t just about finishing the books. You need to understand and memorize them.”
Fang Zichen couldn’t help rolling his eyes.
After over a decade of schooling, do I not even know that?
“Not only have I understood and memorized them, I can recite them backward.”
“That impressive? Let me test you, then.”
Fang Zichen grabbed the nearby book and tossed it onto the table. “Go ahead. Let me show you what a real academic prodigy looks like.”
“……” Shopkeeper Yang flipped to a random page and read a line: “‘Taibai’s study hall, the waterfall cascades three thousand feet.’ What’s the previous line?”
As everyone knew, reciting passages was easiest when continuing from the previous line. Recalling the line before was much harder.
Fang Zichen frowned in thought for a moment, then answered: “‘Rais a cup to invite the moon to drink, ride a horse to tread on flowers returning.’ ‘Huang Gai secured victory at Chibi, Chen Ping excelled in breaking the siege of Baideng.’”
Shopkeeper Yang was stunned. He flipped to another page and picked another line: “Previous line.” Fang Zichen seemed to have activated some kind of genius mode—he answered effortlessly.
After testing him on over a dozen lines without a single mistake—even explaining the meaning of each, Shopkeeper Yang closed the book, impressed.
“You’re incredible. I probably wouldn’t remember even half after a month.”
“That’s normal for most people,” Fang Zichen said.
“Then how did you manage it?”
Fang Zichen shrugged. “Because I’m a genius.”
“……”
Fang Zichen’s handwriting was excellent. Though Shopkeeper Yang was just a restaurant shopkeeper, he’d seen his fair share of the world. “I don’t think you need to practice calligraphy. I don’t know how those tongsheng and xiucai write, but yours is the best I’ve seen.” He gave a thumbs-up.
Fang Zichen nodded solemnly. “Shopkeeper Yang, you have excellent taste.”
“You rascal.” Shopkeeper Yang laughed. “Not a hint of modesty.”
Fang Zichen ate well at the restaurant. After spending most of his silver on books last time, he hadn’t felt right asking Zhao Ger for more. With only sixty-some copper coins left in his pocket—not enough for another book, he decided to keep the money. Every few days, he’d buy some meat for Zhao Ger and Guaizai.
Eggs in the morning, meat at night—no other household in the village ate like this. Zhao Ger tried to persuade him to save money, saying he and Guaizai didn’t need such rich food—eggs were enough. But every time he started, Fang Zichen would cut him off mid-sentence.
“If I buy it, you eat it.” Fang Zichen had figured out Zhao Ger’s nature, this person was too good at pretending to agree while doing the opposite.
Since Fang Zichen wasn’t home for lunch, Zhao Ger would cook wild greens porridge. Fang Zichen wasn’t familiar with kitchen matters, but he wasn’t stupid.
Zhao Ger always claimed they ate well at home, but six catties of lard had barely been touched in nearly a month, and the rice supply hadn’t dwindled much either. When Fang Zichen coaxed Guaizai into talking, he learned they only had wild greens porridge at noon.
“Guaizai and I don’t do any heavy work at home. We don’t need such good food. We should save silver…” Fang Zichen set down his bowl and glared. Zhao Ger’s voice grew smaller and smaller.
Soft words wouldn’t work here. Fang Zichen raised his left palm. “Look at this and say that again.”
Zhao Ger clutched his chopsticks, blinking at Fang Zichen but not daring to speak.
“Is your backside itching for a spanking? If you say that again, don’t blame me for not holding back.” Fang Zichen was dead serious. “I’m not joking.”
Even Guaizai, who loved meat more than anything, abandoned his meal. He scrambled off his stool, ran over, and hugged Fang Zichen’s arm, pleading in a sweet, childish voice:
“Father, don’t hit Daddy! Daddy will hurt! Don’t hit Daddy!”
Fang Zichen said, “But Father is very angry right now. What should we do?”
Guaizai tilted his head, pondering this great dilemma. His little brain worked so hard it seemed about to smoke, his face scrunching up like a little old man’s. Fang Zichen suppressed a laugh and was about to say “I’m just teasing” when Guaizai suddenly ducked between his legs, planted his hands on Fang Zichen’s thighs, pouted, and stood on tiptoe:
“Guaizai give kisses! Kisses make anger go away!”
Fang Zichen grinned and bent down. Guaizai wrapped his arms around his neck and planted two loud, smacking kisses on his cheeks.
Having just eaten meat, Guaizai’s mouth was greasy. Fang Zichen wiped his face, his expression darkening.
“You little brat!” He stood up, pretending to chase him. Guaizai raised his hands and shrieked as he ran circles around the table.
“The big monster is hitting the baby! Help! Run awaaay~”
The meal wasn’t even finished before they were playing again.
The noisy, lively scene was something Zhao Ger had never dared to imagine. He couldn’t help but smile.
Guaizai grew livelier by the day. To Zhao Ger, Fang Zichen treated Guaizai less like a son and more like a younger brother with a slight age gap.
No other man in the village played with children the way he did.
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