Chapter 59
Fang Zichen's smile froze on his face, barely holding on. He casually asked, "Have you eaten breakfast yet?"
Xiaofeng shook his head, lowering his eyes to the ground. "Not yet... no."
He was skin and bones, pitifully thin. Zhao Ger had brought him three eggs and had just finished eating one. Fang Zichen handed the remaining two to him. "Here, eat."
Eggs weren’t cheap, and Xiaofeng didn’t dare accept them. "N-no, it’s fine."
"Take them if they’re given to you," Fang Zichen said, stuffing them into his arms. "This bundle of firewood is heavy. You’re still young—don’t carry too much at once. Be careful. I’m in a hurry to get to work, so I won’t chat anymore."
Xiaofeng clutched the two eggs, flustered, and wanted to chase after him. But Fang Zichen’s long legs outpaced even a horse’s, and he walked too fast—Xiaofeng couldn’t catch up.
Because of the delay, Fang Zichen rushed as fast as he could. The moment he stepped through the door, the owner, Yang Mutao, entered right after him, leading a young boy by his side.
The shop assistants and kitchen staff were all standing in the main hall. The scene bore an uncanny resemblance to a modern company’s morning meeting.
The big boss, Yang Mutao, began speaking.
Perhaps ancient people were just naturally long-winded. He rambled on for nearly half an hour. Fang Zichen grew drowsy listening, but when summarized, the main point was that Yang Mutao would be going away on a trip, and until he returned, Shopkeeper Yang would be in full charge of the restaurant.
Once dismissed, Fang Zichen was about to return to his post to shine in his duties when Yang Mutao called him aside.
"Zichen, come with me."
He turned and headed upstairs. The third floor had his private "resting room," which Fang Zichen had been inside a few times before.
After closing the door, Fang Zichen noticed someone else in the room—the young boy who had arrived with Yang Mutao earlier.
He hadn’t looked closely before, but now that he did... the boy was quite remarkable.
Though young, the boy was strikingly handsome—sharp brows, long and narrow phoenix eyes, a straight and refined nose bridge. He looked scholarly and elegant, like a refined literati lost in his books. Yet his eyes carried a hint of coldness, making him seem particularly unapproachable.
"Zichen," Yang Mutao said, pulling the boy forward, "this is my child, a ger named Yang Mingyi. He’s eleven. Mingyi, this is Brother Fang."
"Brother Fang," Yang Mingyi greeted first. "Hello."
Fang Zichen nodded. "Hello."
He had heard a thing or two about Yang Mingyi.
Whether in ancient times or modern, people loved gossip. The women in the kitchen who washed dishes and vegetables had mentioned that Yang Mutao kept several beautiful concubines at home, but for some reason, he only had one ger as his child.
Yang Mingyi rarely came to Zuixiao Restaurant. The women had gushed about how good-looking he was, praising him as if he were heaven-sent—as if they’d been paid to do so. Fang Zichen, curious, had once asked, "That good-looking? How does he compare to me?"
Whether out of politeness or honesty, the women had replied, "Young Master is good-looking, but compared to you, he’s still just a tiny bit behind."
Now, after nearly a month at Zuixiao Restaurant, Fang Zichen finally saw him in person. He concluded that the women had been truthful. Yang Mingyi was indeed handsome, but compared to himself, he was still slightly inferior.
It seemed Yang Mutao wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk. He gestured for Fang Zichen to sit across the table. Yang Mingyi poured him a cup of tea and handed it over with both hands. Though his demeanor remained cool, his manners were impeccable. "Brother Fang."
"Thank you."
Yang Mutao said, "Zichen, you’ve probably heard about my situation. Right now, Yi Ger is my only child. Zuixiao Restaurant will undoubtedly be left to him in the future. He’s eleven now, and I’d like him to learn bookkeeping from you. What do you think?"
Fang Zichen was good at calculations. Before he started working here, Shopkeeper Yang had briefed him—the previous bookkeeper had embezzled hundreds of taels from the restaurant. After that lesson, Yang Mutao didn’t dare hire just anyone. He had investigated Fang Zichen’s background thoroughly. His past as a dockworker showed he was diligent and honest, never slacking off. His performance over the past month had also been solid.
Perhaps because he came from overseas, Fang Zichen’s bookkeeping methods were different from theirs, but they were highly efficient—fast and accurate.
When Yang Mutao checked the accounts, he found that Fang Zichen hadn’t made a single mistake in a month. That gave him the idea to have Yang Mingyi learn from him.
A ger would eventually marry, and mastering this skill would be useful, whether for managing Zuixiao Restaurant or handling household finances in the future.
Yang Mutao had once been younger, thinking that if he worked hard enough, his concubines would bear him more children. But now, nearly a decade later, he was in his forties. Back then, he could go seven rounds in one night without breaking a sweat, switching rooms for another three hundred bouts. Now, just once left his back aching. The old ox was tired, nearing its end, and the seeds he sowed never bore fruit. Now, he could only focus on raising Yi Ger properly.
Fang Zichen hesitated. "I’d be more than willing, but the shop is really busy. I’m afraid I won’t have the time."
But... money could make the ghost turn millstones.
"......"
Yang Mingyi pursed his lips, silent and introverted.
Yang Mutao, shrewd from years in business, could tell Fang Zichen wasn’t playing games—he spoke plainly. So he said, "It won’t take much of your time—just one shichen (two hours) at noon. Even brothers must settle accounts clearly. I won’t make you teach for free. I’ll give you an extra three taels a month. How does that sound?"
"How embarrassing," Fang Zichen said with a bright smile, though his face showed no trace of actual embarrassment.
This kid... Yang Mutao shook his head in amusement. "Then I’ll take him home first and bring him back at noon."
Fang Zichen nodded. "Sure thing."
____
Once the blood sausage was cooked, Zhao Ger fished it out and placed it in a basket lined with oil paper to prevent leaks.
Guaizai was already up. He usually woke up early, and every time he opened his eyes, Fang Zichen would still be there. But this time, not seeing him, Guaizai pouted, climbed out of bed by himself, rubbed his eyes, and toddled to the kitchen.
"Daddy~"
Zhao Ger took him to wash his face, then cut a piece of blood sausage, blew on it to cool it, and handed it to him.
The sausage was round, thicker than his mouth and longer than his face. Guaizai had never eaten it before. He held it, examining it carefully, then took a small bite. His sleepy eyes immediately lit up.
"Is it good?" Zhao Ger asked.
"Yummy! What’s this?" Guaizai grinned at the tasty treat. "Daddy eat yet?"
"Daddy’s eaten. It’s blood sausage. Do you want to go to town with Daddy today to sell it?"
"Okay~"
Zhao Ger hoisted the basket onto his back, covering it with a half-meter-long wooden board. After locking the courtyard gate, he held Guaizai’s hand and walked toward town.
Guaizai’s legs were short, and Zhao Ger offered to carry him, but the boy refused stubbornly. "Daddy carry heavy thing. Guaizai is man. Guaizai can walk self."
Zhao Ger smiled helplessly and slowed his pace.
Guaizai was sensible, afraid of delaying him. His little legs, no longer than chopsticks, moved so fast they nearly blurred, his chubby cheeks jiggling, flushed pink.
No one in Fu’an Town had ever sold blood sausage before. Zhao Ger placed the wooden board across the basket and set the sausage on top. Passersby glanced curiously, and some even approached to ask, but no one bought any.
Cold blood sausage didn’t give off any aroma. A palm-sized piece cost three copper coins—more expensive than a meat bun. Ordinary folks could afford it, but no one wanted to spend money on something they’d never tasted and couldn’t even smell.
Zhao Ger was shy and didn’t dare call out to attract buyers. He stood there dumbly, growing increasingly anxious as the sausage remained unsold.
Fang Zichen spotted them from afar, then turned back. Since it wasn’t busy, he called over two waiters—both smooth-talkers who knew how to work a crowd.
"Brother Fang, need something?" Sun Dahu asked.
"Yeah," Fang Zichen said. "Can you two do me a favor?"
He was well-liked in the shop, so Sun Dahu and Wang Xiaojiu agreed immediately, boasting, "Just one favor? Brother Fang, just say the word. We’d go through fire and water for you!"
"......" No need to be so dramatic.
Fang Zichen waved them closer and whispered, "Go... like this... then like this..."
After listening, Wang Xiaojiu grinned and thumped his chest. "Brother Fang, didn’t expect this from you! Don’t worry—we’ll handle it beautifully."
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