Chapter 55
Fang Zichen saw his expression and understood, laughing: "Just kidding, I wouldn’t go so far as to scam my own son."
It was good that it wasn’t true. Zhao Ger breathed a sigh of relief: "Then have you thought of a name for him?"
"I have," Fang Zichen said. "Fang Lanze, taken from the two characters 'lan ze' in the poem 'Crossing the River to Pluck Hibiscus, the Marsh Abounds in Fragrant Grass. Whom Shall I Give This To? My Beloved Far Away.' What do you think?"
[Lanze (兰泽): grace of orchids]
"Fang Lanze, Lanze, Xiao Ze," Zhao Ger repeated, feeling it was quite good. This time, he was satisfied: "I’ll leave it to you."
"He’s not just my son alone, why leave it all to me? If you don’t like it, I can pick another," Fang Zichen said.
Guaizai probably understood what they were discussing and chimed in: "Guaizai thinks it sounds nice too!"
Fang Zichen teased him: "What do you know besides farting? 'Sounds nice,' my foot."
"I think the name is good too," Zhao Ger sided with his son. "Let’s go with this one. I like it."
And so, the matter was settled.
Once in town, Zhao Ger followed Fang Zichen around, letting him decide what to buy.
Blood sausage required pig’s blood and large intestines. Afraid they might sell out if they were late, Fang Zichen immediately dragged Zhao Ger toward the pork stall as soon as they arrived.
"Hey, young Fang’s here! What’ll it be this time?" The butcher picked up his cleaver and asked.
Fang Zichen had bought meat here a few times. With his fair, handsome looks and noble bearing—rare in Fu’an Town—the butcher remembered him well.
Fang Zichen asked, "Do you still have pig’s blood and intestines?"
These were offal, usually sold cheap. Poor villagers who couldn’t afford meat would buy them as an occasional treat.
Town folks didn’t care for them, and since it wasn’t market day, there were still some left.
Since this was just for practice, Fang Zichen didn’t buy too much—just two jin (1 kg) of each.
They still had rice at home, so they only needed to buy some seasonings. Zhao Ger said that Aunt Liu’s family grew ginger and peanuts, and buying from them would save a few coppers compared to town.
Fang Zichen didn’t care about those few coppers, but since it was better to keep the money within their circle, he agreed.
After buying the seasonings, and despite Zhao Ger’s hesitant look, Fang Zichen also bought steamed buns and tanghulus before the family headed back.
This trip left Guaizai and Fang Zichen the happiest. Zhao Ger, who had been worrying about money before, now had something else to fret over.
Fang Zichen seemed to spoil Guaizai a bit too much. Guaizai never threw tantrums for things, but if he so much as glanced at some small trinket along the way, Fang Zichen would splurge like a nouveau riche and buy it for him. Most of the basket was now filled with snacks.
"Don’t do this next time," Zhao Ger, having known hardship, finally said. "Having enough to eat is enough. Why buy these things? They don’t fill you up and just waste money."
"It’s not just for him," Fang Zichen said. "You can have some too. They’re all sweet—you’d probably like them."
He hadn’t forgotten how much Zhao Ger had enjoyed the sweets Shopkeeper Yang gave last time, eating them in small, reluctant bites as if savoring them.
Zhao Ger seemed to recall something and mumbled, "I don’t like sweets."
"Liar is a dog."
Zhao Ger: "......"
"What’s bought is bought. It’s not like it cost much. I just wanted to get you something." Fang Zichen took his hand, wrapping it in his palm before interlacing their fingers. The warmth of their skin pressed together, and he said, "I don’t just want you and Guaizai to have enough to eat and wear. I want you to be carefree and happy, to have whatever you want. Maybe it’s my male chauvinism talking, but I don’t want to see you scrimp and suffer over a few coins. Even if I have to go hungry, I’ll make sure you have the best."
Zhao Ger stopped in his tracks. The midday sun beat down, hotter than ever. Fang Zichen stood in the sunlight holding Guaizai, looking back at him. His soft black hair gleamed, his face lit with a faint smile—so handsome, so radiant, so dazzling.
Guaizai clung to his neck, resting on his shoulder, calling out to him: "Daddy!"
These were the two most important people in his life.
Zhao Ger’s heart swelled. He was overjoyed, yet his eyes stung with unshed tears. How pathetic.
This wasn’t the first time Fang Zichen had said such heartwarming words, nor was it the first time Zhao Ger had heard them. Yet every time Fang Zichen sweet-talked him, he’d surrender completely, defenseless.
He had no resistance to Fang Zichen’s quasi-confessions, and he never tired of hearing them.
____
The blood sausage required filling with rice, ground cornmeal, crushed roasted peanuts, minced ginger to remove gaminess and enhance flavor, and salt for seasoning. More ingredients could be added if conditions allowed.
But right now, conditions did not allow—because they were poor.
As soon as they got home, Zhao Ger steamed the rice first. Fang Zichen still had some conscience—he wouldn’t sit idle while Zhao Ger bustled about. Wanting to help, he went to wash the intestines.
The stench of the intestines was overpowering, assaulting his senses the moment he lifted them from the basket. He gagged. Zhao Ger couldn’t stand it and figured this young master probably didn’t know how to clean them anyway:
"I’ll wash them. You go buy peanuts and ginger from Auntie Liu’s."
Fang Zichen truly couldn’t handle the smell. After just a couple of whiffs, his head spun as if he were oxygen-deprived. He staggered back and said, "Zhao Ger, I love you, so I leave this arduous task to you! I’m out!"
With that, he hoisted Guaizai onto his shoulder and bolted from the kitchen like the wind, disappearing in a flash. Zhao Ger could only smile helplessly.
The Liu family was all home at the moment. When Fang Zichen said he wanted to buy peanuts, Auntie Liu immediately went to fetch some.
They didn’t grow many peanuts—the yield was low, and they weren’t easy to sell. They only planted a little each year for Uncle Liu to snack on while drinking.
Fang Zichen asked for a jin and was about to reach for his money when Auntie Liu spoke first: "Take them! No need for payment."
Fang Zichen said, "That won’t do."
The Liu family wasn’t well-off. He wouldn’t take advantage of them over such a small thing.
Aunt Liu said, "You helped us out big last time. These peanuts are nothing. Come back for more if you want."
The "big help" referred to the vegetable-selling incident. Fang Zichen didn’t think much of it—just a few words, hardly worth calling a favor. But since she insisted, insisting on paying would only make things awkward.
"Then thank you, Auntie Liu. But I’d also like some ginger."
"Just dig some up from the field." Zhou Ger went to fetch a hoe. "I’ll get some for you."
Fang Zichen never missed a chance to joke around, nor did he hold back: "Oh, I’d feel bad. Just a jin will do."
Zhou Ger: "......"
Auntie Liu and Uncle Liu nearly laughed out loud.
Zhou Ger chuckled. "Then I’ll dig some up and bring it to you later."
Fang Zichen was about to leave when Guaizai, who had been playing with Liuliu, hurried after him.
He was an eager helper, having declared at home that he’d pitch in. But with his small frame, aside from tending the fire and washing vegetables, he wasn’t much use in the kitchen. A few days ago, the pot at home had developed a hole. When Zhao Ger told him to buy a new one, Fang Zichen had been puzzled, wondering how it broke so quickly.
Zhao Ger explained that Guaizai had been feeding the chickens and wanted to help cook. Standing on a small stool, he’d "stir-fried" the dish so vigorously that he broke the pot.
Now that the house was busy, Fang Zichen coaxed Guaizai into staying at the Liu family to play with Liuliu while he returned alone.
Cleaning the intestines was no easy task. Zhao Ger hadn’t returned yet when Zhou Ger arrived with the washed ginger.
With Fang Zichen home alone, Zhou Ger didn’t linger, exchanging a few words before leaving.
Once the rice was steamed, Fang Zichen removed it from the heat, drained the water from the pot, and began frying the peanuts.
He wasn’t very skilled at this, fumbling through the process. After roasting them fragrant, he took them out and crushed them with a bamboo tube.
After working for a while, Zhao Ger returned.
Fang Zichen had never made blood sausage before—he’d only seen an old man do it once and remembered the gist of it.
With all the ingredients prepared, they began stuffing the sausages.
The two worked busily until the sausages were boiling in the pot. Only then did Zhao Ger ask, "Will this really taste good?"
He’d never seen anyone make it this way before and was uneasy.
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