Chapter 57
The next day, Fang Zichen went to work, and Zhao Ger ate breakfast before heading to Aunt Liu’s house.
Her millstone was made by Uncle Liu himself. It had originally been used to grind beans, but ever since Liu Xiaowen joined the army, it had been left unused in the backyard.
Liu Xiaowen loved tofu, but tofu required oil effort to make. After he left, the family was too busy with chores to spare the effort. Meals were just about filling their stomachs—who had time to make tofu?
[Old-fashioned grinding methods (using millstone) could require lubricating the equipment with oil to reduce friction]
Since it wasn’t being used anyway, and the millstone was heavy, Uncle Liu personally carried it to Zhao Ger’s home.
Zhao Ger fetched water and scrubbed the millstone clean inside and out. Then he went to the Liu family’s vegetable field to dig up some ginger—this time, he paid with silver.
The tasks were all trivial and scattered, but as he busied himself, the day seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.
That evening, Fang Zichen returned with pig's blood and cornmeal. Without even eating first, the two of them started working in the yard before it got dark.
Fang Zichen was strong and had no trouble pushing the millstone. Zhao Ger, however, was out of breath after just a few rounds.
Guaizai sat quietly to the side, not causing any trouble. Only when the cornmeal had been ground fine enough did Fang Zichen call it quits.
Guaizai ran to the kitchen to fetch water. He carried a full ladle, though half of it spilled along the way. "Father, Daddy, drink water!"
Fang Zichen patted his face. "You’re so good."
The water was pure mountain spring water. At first, Fang Zichen had been afraid to drink it straight, worried it might contain insect eggs or leeches. But the villagers had been drinking it this way for decades, even centuries, without issue. With only one pot in the house, boiling water was inconvenient, and besides, it was the middle of summer. Following the principle of "enter a village, follow its customs," Fang Zichen started drinking it too. After a month or two, he was still healthy and had no problems.
He tilted his head back and gulped down most of the water, then handed the rest to Zhao Ger. "We’re about to eat, so don’t drink too much," he reminded.
After finishing the water, Zhao Ger went into the kitchen to cook. The porridge had been prepared earlier in the evening.
The summer heat was unbearable—even lying still on the bed could make you sweat buckets. Now, after working, sweat poured off them like it was free.
Guaizai imitated Zhao Ger, squeezing into Fang Zichen’s arms and using his sleeve to wipe his sweat. "Father, are you tired?" Then he dashed back into the house and returned holding something.
It was a fan woven from bamboo strips, round in shape with cloth wrapped around the edges.
The fan hadn’t been in the house before. Fang Zichen asked, "Where did this fan come from?" It was quite well-made.
Guaizai stood beside him, fanning diligently like an attentive little servant. "I asked Grandpa Liu to make it for me! I’m fanning Father, fanning big big wind!"
What a filial child.
Fang Zichen looked at Guaizai and suddenly remembered what Zhao Ger had said the night before.
"I want to give you a son."
Truthfully, it didn’t matter whether it was a son, a ger, or a daughter. The Qing Dynasty had fallen long ago—he wasn’t so feudal as to demand a son for the sake of carrying on the family line. But if any child they had turned out like Guaizai, then having one or two more wouldn’t be so bad.
One could fan him, another could massage his shoulders, and another could pound his legs…
Fang Zichen got lost in the thought, grinning to himself.
Zhao Ger called out from the kitchen twice but got no response. When he came out, he saw Fang Zichen staring at Guaizai with a silly smile.
"What are you laughing about?"
Fang Zichen coughed and took Guaizai’s hand, leading him into the kitchen. "Nothing. Zhao Ger, you said last night—when is that bed supposed to be delivered?"
Zhao Ger ladled him a bowl of porridge. "Probably the day after tomorrow."
Fang Zichen groaned. "That long? I can hardly wait."
Zhao Ger’s face flushed, and his hand trembled so badly he nearly dropped the bowl into the pot. "It’s broad daylight—stop talking nonsense."
Fang Zichen glanced outside. It was almost dark—what "broad daylight"?
Just after dinner, while Fang Zichen was washing dishes, Zhou Ger’s voice came from outside.
Villagers usually didn’t visit at night unless it was urgent.
Zhao Ger hurried to open the gate. Outside, Zhou Ger’s eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.
"What’s wrong?" Zhao Ger stepped aside to let him in.
They sat in the main room, and Zhao Ger lit an oil lamp. A yellow glow brightened the room.
These two best friends probably had private matters to discuss. Fang Zichen tactfully picked up Guaizai and went outside.
Zhou Ger wiped his tears. "My mother came to see me today."
"…" Zhao Ger didn’t understand.
Xiaohe Village wasn’t particularly large, but by Fang Zichen’s standards, it was small. Among the villages under Fu’an Town, Xiaohe and Xiaorong village were medium-sized. Smaller ones, like Jiuli Village or Shili Village, were truly small—nestled deep in the mountains, some still lacked proper roads.
Zhou Ger had married within the village—his parents lived in the west end, his in-laws in the east. Everyone was busy with their own work, so they didn’t see each other daily. But the village was small enough that they’d inevitably cross paths while working. Besides, it wasn’t far—wasn’t it normal for a mother to visit her ger?
Why was he crying?
Zhou Ger was quite thin, his shadow on the ground a small, hunched figure. He hugged his knees, burying his face in them, his voice muffled. "She wants me to go back."
Zhao Ger was speechless.
Liu Xiaowen had been conscripted to the border years ago, with no word since. But what kind of place was the border? The border was a meat grinder—send ten men, and maybe two would come back: one missing an arm, the other a leg. Liu Xiaowen had been just a seventeen-year-old boy when he left. Most villagers assumed he was already dead.
But no one dared say that to the Liu family’s faces. Liu Dazhi was a simple, honest man—even if he heard such talk, he wouldn’t pick a fight. Still, people ought to have some conscience.
With Liu Xiaowen gone, to put it bluntly, Zhou Ger was practically a widow now.
Aunt Liu’s health was poor, limiting her to light chores. Uncle Liu could still work, but what about when he grew old?
What would Zhou Ger do then?
Wouldn’t it be better to return home now, while he was still young, and remarry? Though he was no longer an untouched ger, making it harder to marry into a good family, there were still widowers in the surrounding villages who might take him.
"My mother wants me to remarry. She says even if I don’t, staying at home would be better than this." Zhou Ger’s voice was thick. "But I don’t want to."
Historically, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law relationships were fraught, but Uncle and Aunt Liu had always treated Zhou Ger well—like their own child.
When he married Liu Xiaowen, it hadn’t been arranged by parents or matchmakers. He had chosen it himself.
The villagers speculated Liu Xiaowen might be dead. Zhou Ger had considered it too.
Even if Liu Xiaowen really was dead, it had only been three years—his bones weren’t even cold yet. The mourning period alone was three years. How could he leave now?
And besides…
"My mother told me to go back but not to take Liuliu. She said Liuliu is a Liu, a boy—bringing him would make remarrying harder. He’d be a burden."
At those words, Zhou Ger had lost his temper and argued with her. "I can’t abandon my parents—they’re adults, they can take care of themselves. But Liuliu is so young. He’s my flesh and blood, born from me after ten months of pregnancy. How could I ever leave him behind?"
Zhao Ger asked gently, "Then what do you want to do?"
"I want to stay and wait for Xiaowen to come back." Zhou Ger’s voice cracked under the weight of his sorrow. "Even if he never does, that’s fine. This is my home now. I don’t want to go back, and I don’t want to remarry. And I don’t think my life is hard right now."
"If I remarry, how could I face him in the afterlife? I can’t bear to leave my parents-in-law, and I can’t bear to leave Liuliu. If you want to talk about hardship, things are much better now. With your husband’s help, I can focus on growing vegetables and earn forty or fifty coppers a day!"
Then his expression darkened. "And even if I went back, do you think my two sisters-in-law would tolerate me? Before I married, they wanted me to sleep in the woodshed so their sons could have my room. You know how my mother is—sons are heaven, ger are dirt. She never stood up for me. Now that I’m doing fine here, why would I go back?"
Zhao Ger said, "If you’ve already made up your mind, why were you crying?"
"I just felt wronged," Zhou Ger admitted.
"You’re married now. The Liu family is your home. If Uncle and Aunt Liu treated you poorly, I’d support you going back. But they treat you well. If you remarry, there’s no guarantee you’d find another family like this." Zhao Ger spoke frankly. "Liuliu is only three, but he’s sensible. In a few years, he’ll be able to help you. We know what our circumstances are—rich families wouldn’t want someone like us. Whether you’re working here or somewhere else, what’s the difference?"
Zhou Ger nodded. "That’s what I think too."
Zhao Ger glanced distractedly toward the door. Moonlight faintly illuminated the yard, where Fang Zichen and Guaizai were still outside, singing by the gate.
"In the happy pond, there’s a little frog."
"When it dances, it’s like it’s possessed by a prince."
"With its cool, cool eyes, no other frog compares."
"One day, it’ll be awakened by a princess."
"La la la… "
The lyrics were strange, nothing like the children’s rhymes in the village ("Wang Er’gou marries a little dog, they have a litter of puppies"), but somehow catchy. Just as Zhao Ger was about to look away, Fang Zichen seemed to sense his gaze and glanced over. His eyes, warm and affectionate when looking at Guaizai, turned playful when they met Zhao Ger’s, flashing a roguish wink.
Zhao Ger coughed and, with ruthless efficiency, began ushering Zhou Ger out. "It’s getting late. You should head back, or Aunt Liu will worry."
Zhou Ger had just needed to vent. The weight of his emotions had been crushing, and he couldn’t discuss this with Aunt Liu. In the village, Zhao Ger was the only one he could confide in.
Before he knew it, night had fallen. Just as Zhou Ger stood to leave, Aunt Liu’s voice came from outside.
"Fang boy, is my Zhou Ger here?"
"Yeah, he’s inside talking with Zhao Ger."
After bathing and lying in bed, Zhao Ger felt downcast over Zhou Ger’s situation. He needed to wake up early tomorrow to make blood sausage for the market stall, so he forced himself to sleep—but no matter how he tossed and turned, sleep wouldn’t come.
Fang Zichen wrapped an arm around his waist. "What’s wrong?"
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