Chapter 67
The coarse rice was truly hard to eat, nearly impossible to swallow. After finishing a bowl, Fang Zichen felt like his neck had grown three centimeters longer. But wasting food was shameful, so in the end, not a single grain remained in his bowl.
He Daleng, dressed in mourning clothes, happened to walk by and asked if he wanted another serving. Fang Zichen quickly declined.
It was around 2:30 in the afternoon now, and by the time everyone finished eating, it would likely be 3 or 4. After the guests left, they still had to clean the tables, wash the dishes, and return all the borrowed items one by one. Zhao Ger would stay behind to help the He family. "You go back first. Guaizai is at Aunt Liu’s."
Fang Zichen gave an "Mhm." The place was noisy, and a few girls—whether intentionally or not—kept glancing at him, then turning away to whisper to their friends.
They must be talking about how good-looking I am!
Zhao Ger shifted slightly, using the pretense of adjusting his collar to block the girls' line of sight. Fang Zichen noticed and pinched his nose, smiling. "Alright, I’ll head back first."
Uncle Liu and Aunt Liu were older, so they usually avoided funerals. The villagers were superstitious—elders and children had weak constitutions and low yang energy, making them more susceptible to unclean spirits.
Guaizai and Liuliu were playing in the yard, and the moment Fang Zichen reached the gate, Guaizai spotted him.
"Father~"
Fang Zichen patted his head and, seeing Liuliu’s eager expression, patted his head too.
"What are you two up to?"
Guaizai was holding a small stick. "We’re studying!"
"Oh my, so diligent! What good kids."
Guaizai beamed.
Aunt Liu heard his voice and came out from the main room. "Fang boy’s here."
"Mhm!"
Aunt Liu waved him in. "Come sit."
The house didn’t have many snacks, so she grabbed a handful of peanuts and set them on the table. "Have some."
"Thanks, Aunt Liu." Fang Zichen took two peanuts and fed them to the two little tails following him.
"Were there many people at the He family’s today?" Aunt Liu asked.
"Quite a few," Fang Zichen said. "About a dozen tables!"
The He family had been rooted in Xiaohe Village for generations. Their ancestral graves took up half a hillside, and they had many married-off daughters. If someone were to go out now and slap a random passerby while demanding, "What the hell is this person's relation to He Daleng?"
The likely retort would be, "I'm the son-in-law of He Daleng's cousin's daughter! Got a problem with that?"
Everyone within ten miles was somehow related—definitely not people to mess with.
After chatting for a while, Uncle Liu returned, limping with a pumpkin in his arms. He smiled when he saw Fang Zichen and said he’d come at the perfect time—they were cooking pumpkin for dinner, so he should stay and eat.
The He family was providing dinner, so Zhao Ger wouldn’t be back. Fang Zichen couldn’t be bothered to cook for himself—mostly because he didn’t know how.
He agreed cheerfully. "Sure!"
There was a pile of firewood in the yard that hadn’t been split yet. Zhou Ger was busy, and the two elders couldn’t handle heavy labor now, so Fang Zichen stepped in to help.
One swing of the axe, and the thigh-thick log split cleanly in half. Uncle Liu praised him enthusiastically.
The two kids clapped and cheered, making the yard livelier than usual.
Aunt Liu watched for a moment, feeling happy, and decided to cook a few more dishes. Unfortunately, her cooking skills were… questionable. There was no meat at home today, so she added extra oil to the stir-fry, but somehow, the dish ended up tasting heavily of smoke.
The pumpkin, cut into chunks and boiled, turned out soft and sweet. Seeing Fang Zichen favoring it, Aunt Liu said, "We planted a lot this year. If you like it, you can go pick some from the field later."
The pumpkins had been grown in the cornfield—corn above, pumpkins below. In the past, when food was scarce, they’d relied on pumpkins and sweet potatoes to fill their stomachs. Now, conditions were slightly better, and they had enough grain, but as farmers, they couldn’t bear to leave the land unused. As a result, when harvest came, they ended up with more than they could eat. Many just rotted in the fields or were gnawed by rats.
"Mhm!" Fang Zichen picked up a piece of pumpkin, about to eat it, when Aunt Liu added, "Sows love this pumpkin too. Too bad we don’t have any pigs at home."
Fang Zichen: "......"
After that, life returned to normal. Fang Zichen and Zhao Ger followed the same routine every day. The He family’s affairs became just a brief interlude. Still, that day in the yard, many people had greeted Fang Zichen, finding him easy to talk to. He didn’t look down on them, and though he wasn’t skilled at heavy or dirty work, he still pitched in where he could.
Fang Zichen worked during the day, and when business was slow at noon, he’d go upstairs to tutor Yang Mingyi. Zhao Ger’s blood sausage business was also starting to stabilize.
It was the busiest farming season now, the hottest time of the year. The blood sausages had to be made early in the morning. Fang Zichen, a notorious late riser, yawned endlessly while stuffing the casings. After just a few days, dark circles appeared under his eyes. Zhao Ger’s heart ached seeing him like this and tried to stop him from helping, but Fang Zichen refused. In the end, Zhao Ger scaled back production, selling roughly a hundred coppers’ worth daily. After deducting costs, he still earned over ninety coppers—a decent profit.
Once winter came and the weather turned cold, the food wouldn’t spoil as easily. They could prepare it at noon or in the evening, which would likely increase their earnings.
By the second month next year, Fang Zichen would take the county-level imperial exam. If he passed, he’d have to go to the prefectural city in the fourth month for the next stage. The city was more expensive than the town, and they’d need a lot more silver. Right now, their savings didn’t even amount to one tael. Zhao Ger couldn’t help but feel anxious.
The county exam tested eight-legged essays, poetry, classical analysis, legal compositions, and policy discussions. Fang Zichen had piles of books to study, a job to work, and a student to teach. He was exhausted, but Zhao Ger wasn’t idle either. After selling blood sausages, he still had to chop firewood, fetch water, wash clothes—handling all the household chores. Seeing how busy his parents were, Guaizai followed them around, helping where he could—digging up earthworms to feed the chickens, sweeping the yard, scrubbing clothes.
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