Today happened to be market day. Zhou Ger wanted to go to town to buy some salt and thread, so he waited at the village entrance to go with Zhao Ger.
The village chief drove his ox cart to the village entrance. People came one after another, and the ox cart was soon full. He saw Zhou Ger not getting on and asked why.
Zhou Ger said he was waiting for Zhao Ger and would walk later, not take the ox cart.
Just as he said this, Zhao Ger walked over leading the goat.
The people on the ox cart were stunned.
They saw Guaizai sitting on the goat's back, munching on a bun as big as his face.
Such a big bun must cost at least four copper coins!
Those who often did needlework to sell in town saw the shoes on his feet and were envious.
The shoes people in the village wore were generally made from old clothes. But the pair on Guaizai's feet were made from new fabric, and the material looked better than what they wore themselves, costing at least eighty or ninety copper coins.
The villagers didn't know yet that Fang Zichen had bought a goat. Zhou Ger was a bit surprised: "Where did the goat come from?"
Zhao Ger replied: "My husband bought it."
Apart from being raised for meat, goats were incapable of bearing heavy loads or plowing fields. For farming families, these animals were typically only sold at market, not purchased for use.
Those who bought goats were mostly town folks.
Zhou Ger seemed to understand a little but still asked uncertainly: "Did he buy it for Guaizai to ride?"
"En!" Zhao Ger nodded.
Guaizai laughed, calling out sweetly: "Uncle Zhou."
Zhou Ger loved patting his head the most: "Is riding a goat fun?"
"Fun," Guaizai said. "When I go back, I'll let Liuliu ride too."
Zhou Ger didn't know what to say, finding it somewhat amusing.
Who ever heard of riding a goat!
Guaizai sat on the goat's back, blinking his big eyes, looking utterly comical.
The people on the ox cart overheard and gasped in admiration, thinking Fang Zichen really doted on this stepson.
Just a bit of walking, and he was afraid the child would get tired. The village children all ran around the village and fields all day.
A goat must cost over one, almost two taels of silver!
Rich people really knew how to squander money.
The village chief greeted Zhao Ger and drove the old yellow ox away.
Someone was still looking at Zhao Ger: "Zhao Ger seems to go to town every day lately! What is he going to do?"
"Sell blood sausage." Those who often went to town to sell vegetables knew and said, "Lately, he seems to be selling some kind of chili sauce too."
Besides farm work, villagers lacked money-making skills. Starting a business was especially difficult. Even if they had some skill, if they did well and sold hotly, they would attract attention.
Like the old Jiang family in Xiaorong Village, who knew how to make wontons. Their stall business was good, and competitors became envious. First, they sent some ruffians to collect stall fees, then later sent people to smash the stall up. Luckily, the Jiang family knew someone—otherwise, having their stall smashed would be considered light. Being beaten half-crippled and thrown back to the village would be real bad luck.
Without influential connections or support, establishing oneself and achieving success in the town was genuinely challenging.
"Then how is his business?"
"Quite good. That chili sauce, the town people rush to buy it. A jar this big," the person gestured, dropping a bombshell: "One jar, one hundred copper coins."
Everyone gasped: "Really?"
That person said: " Definitely true. I was there at the time."
"What kind of chili sauce is it! Selling for so expensive."
Everyone chattered, wanting to see if Zhao Ger's business was really that good. Those selling things chose stalls near Zhao Ger's. Those buying things didn't go to buy yet, watching first.
Zhao Ger instructed Guaizai to take good care of the goat—it was the most valuable thing in their family and couldn't be lost.
As soon as he put down the basket, placed a plank across it, set out the chili sauce jars one by one, and placed the blood sausages to the side, people crowded around.
Eating too much chili sauce could become somewhat addictive.
One hundred copper coins for a jar, and the jar was small—few scoops and it was more than half gone. But used twice for mixing noodles or as a dip, after eating it a few times, if they didn't eat it again, it felt like something was missing, like everything tasted bland.
So even though it was expensive, some customers still gritted their teeth and bought it, thinking they could just eat less meat for a while.
The villagers watched as Zhao Ger was encircled by a throng of people. These town residents pushed and shoved, clamoring and even cursing in their urgency, all competing fiercely to obtain a single jar of chili sauce.
Guaizai grabbed a blood sausage, squeezed out of the crowd, and wanted to give it to the old beggar across the street.
That old beggar was a truly pitiful. With broken legs and clothed in rags, he pushed a cracked bowl ahead of him each day, dragging his two crippled limbs behind as he crawled along the streets. His hair was tangled and filthy, his face caked with dirt, and his body was so gaunt it seemed little more than bones draped in skin. Guaizai had quietly shared portions of blood sausage with him multiple times.
The boy believed his actions went unnoticed, but the town was a place where little escaped attention. No matter how occupied Zhao Ger became with his work, he always kept a watchful eye on his son.
It was right across the street, within sight, so Zhao Ger felt at ease letting him go.
Just as Guaizai squeezed out of the crowd, he saw the old beggar being kicked and beaten by two young men. He curled up, holding his head, his mouth trembling as he begged repeatedly, 'Please spare me, please spare me.' He looked utterly pitiful. People came and went on the roadside, yet not a single person stepped forward to stop it.
Guaizai remembered playing with Fang Zichen. Fang Zichen would roll up his sleeves and say to him: "We are men. Men must protect women and protect gers."
"En!" he said. "We must respect the elderly and cherish the young, protect those weaker than us, and also protect small animals."
"Right, that's exactly it, correct."
Then Fang Zichen would kiss him.
Performing virtuous acts earned him affectionate rewards from his father. A sudden surge of righteous indignation swelled within Guaizai. He could no longer bear to be a passive observer. With a burst of speed, he lowered his head and charged directly toward one of the men.
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