Chapter 58
When Zhou Ger was talking about this matter, Fang Zichen was right outside the door. Zhou Ger didn’t avoid him, and Fang Zichen wasn’t some gossipy busybody, so Zhao Ger ended up telling him the whole story.
Fang Zichen clicked his tongue, folding his arms behind his head. He might not understand much about human relationships, but his mind was sharp: "Why do you think Zhou Ger’s mother chose now of all times to call him back home?"
"Before, Uncle Liu helped with the work at home, but now that he’s injured his leg and can’t work the fields, Zhou Ger has been running himself ragged. He’s lost a lot of weight in just half a month," Zhao Ger guessed. "Uncle Zhou and Aunt Li must feel sorry for him."
That was a naive way of thinking. Fang Zichen said, "I don’t think so."
Zhao Ger stared at him.
Fang Zichen explained, "If they truly cared about Zhou Ger, they’d understand him—their own child. They’d know how important his child is to him as a father. Zhou Ger only has Liuliu. Anyone with eyes can see how much he loves him. Telling him to abandon Liuliu and remarry is like cutting out his heart. If I were Uncle Zhou and really loved my child, I wouldn’t do that to him. Besides, Uncle Liu’s leg has been injured for over half a month now. Why didn’t they come to persuade him earlier? Why now?"
Zhao Ger thought about it and realized Fang Zichen had a point.
Moreover, from what Zhou Ger had said, Aunt Li wanted him to come home first and take his time choosing a new husband—there was no urgency at all.
But Zhou Ger wasn’t young anymore. Ger who were older had trouble getting pregnant, and remarrying was already difficult. The older he got, the harder it would be.
What was Aunt Li thinking?
Fang Zichen tapped Zhao Ger’s forehead. "Stop frowning. It’s ugly."
"Are you tired of me now?" Zhao Ger pinched his Adam’s apple and asked, "Husband, what do you think Aunt Li is really after?"
"Zhou Ger delivers vegetables to Zuixiao Restaurant. His family must be jealous." Fang Zichen said.
Zhao Ger froze. "N-no, that can’t be!"
"Why not? He’s close to you, and now the whole village says I help him because of you, right?" Fang Zichen analyzed. "Zhou Ger delivers vegetables to restaurant every day, making thirty to forty copper coins a trip. At the very least, that’s one tael of silver a month. How could his parents not be jealous? Shopkeeper Yang originally hired him because he trusted him. If he goes back to his parents, the Liu family won’t be able to supply the restaurant anymore—that business would shift to the Zhou family. If Zhou Ger divorces and returns home, he’d be considered ‘unmarried’ again. If he uses the Zhou family’s land to grow vegetables, the profits would naturally go to them."
The Zhou family wanted Zhou Ger back so he could be their cash cow.
Zhao Ger was stunned. "How could they do that?!"
But thinking about it, there were signs.
Before Zhou Ger married out, Uncle Zhou and Aunt Li had never paid him much attention. In the years since, when Zhou Ger struggled, they never lifted a finger to help. Now, suddenly, they were showing concern—clearly, they had ulterior motives.
Still, one tael of silver a month was more than most men in the village could earn even if they worked themselves to death. It was no surprise they were jealous.
"Let’s sleep." Fang Zichen pulled him into his arms. "We have to get up early tomorrow. Zhou Ger isn’t stupid. Whatever path he chooses—east or west—is up to him. We can’t interfere."
"He’s my best friend," Zhao Ger said quietly, wrapping his arms around Fang Zichen’s waist. "When I was first sold into the Ma family, none of the village children would play with me."
He spoke softly about his childhood.
Back then, Zhao Ger was only seven—an age when children love to play. Whenever he saw other kids playing together in groups, he couldn’t help but envy them. At six or seven, village children were already helping with light chores—cutting pig grass, digging wild vegetables, washing clothes. The girls and gers always went together, but Zhao Ger was always alone.
He had tried talking to them, but they ignored him. Only Liu Xiaowen and Zhou Ger were willing to speak to him. They were both older than him. Zhao Ger had never done chores before, so at first, he wasn’t very good at them. If he didn’t fill his basket with pig grass, he’d get beaten when he returned. Liu Xiaowen and Zhou Ger would finish their own work and then come help him.
Liu Xiaowen and Zhou Ger were his only friends during his entire childhood. Being with them was his only respite from the backbreaking labor. They were the only light in his dark days.
Now, Liu Xiaowen was far away at the border—no one knew if he was alive or dead. The only friend Zhao Ger had left was Zhou Ger.
Fang Zichen sighed, his chest aching uncontrollably.
When you love someone, you can’t bear to see them suffer even the slightest grievance.
Even if these things happened in a past he wasn’t part of, listening to Zhao Ger recount them one by one in the quiet of the night—being excluded, enduring hardship—felt like needles pricking his heart. Not enough to kill, but the pain was everywhere.
He slid his hand down Zhao Ger’s slightly protruding spine, stopping at his waist. Fang Zichen held him tighter, pressing his face against his, his breath warm as he murmured, "It’s all in the past. It’s okay. Just give Zhou Ger a heads-up."
Eyelashes fluttering, Zhao Ger kissed his chin. "Mm."
Every family sweeps the snow from their own doorstep—no one bothers with other people’s problems. That was all the help they could offer.
The next day, before dawn, Zhao Ger got up. The moment he moved, the king of sleeping in also stirred.
"Did I wake you?" Zhao Ger pressed him back down. "Sleep a little longer. It’s still early."
Fang Zichen was still half-asleep, propping his head up with one hand and rubbing his temples with the other. "I’m helping you."
Making blood sausage alone was inconvenient—it was hard to manage without an extra pair of hands.
Zhao Ger’s heart warmed. He handed Fang Zichen his clothes. "Get dressed first. I’ll fetch water for you to wash your face."
The morning temperature wasn’t as hot. Splashing cold water on his face woke him right up.
Guai Zai was still asleep. It was probably around yinshi (3-5 AM). Fang Zichen and Zhao Ger worked by the light of the stove fire.
With experience, they moved quickly. By the time everything was prepared and boiling in the pot, the village roosters had just started crowing.
Zhao Ger washed his hands. "There’s no time to make porridge today. How about noodles?"
Fang Zichen, exhausted from working since he got up, waved it off. "No need. We’ll eat blood sausage later." But then, ever the gentleman, he asked, "Do you want some? If you do, I’ll cook it for you."
The young master Fang had never cooked noodles before coming here—he’d never even held a spatula. But he figured, given Zhao Ger’s personality, if he refused, Zhao Ger would too...
"Sure!" Zhao Ger smiled sweetly.
"..." Fang Zichen’s brain short-circuited. "You actually want to eat it?"
"Mm!" Zhao Ger grinned. "I do."
Fang Zichen’s lips twitched. His bluff had failed. Coughing tactically, he admitted honestly, "Noodles aren’t nutritious if you eat them every day. Let’s skip them today, okay? Be good. Your husband will make you eggs instead."
The blood sausage was still boiling. He washed the eggs and tossed them into the pot. Done. Super simple.
Zhao Ger pressed his lips together, holding back a laugh.
Fang Zichen couldn’t cook noodles to save his life—he couldn’t even make smashed cucumbers. Last time, he brought some back from Aunt Liu’s house and insisted on doing it himself. One whack with the knife, and the cucumber went flying. They searched everywhere before finally finding it in the firewood pile.
Blood sausage took a long time to cook. After joking around, Fang Zichen remembered the important matter—Shopkeeper Yang had said the shop owner was coming today and wanted him there before chenshi sanke (7.30 AM). He couldn’t wait for Zhao Ger. After washing his hands, he prepared to leave. Zhao Ger fished out the eggs, wrapped them in vegetable leaves, and handed them to him.
"Eat these on the way. There’s still time—no need to rush."
It was a little past maoshi (5-7 AM), so there really was no hurry. Fang Zichen reminded him, "Sell at West Street today—it’s crowded. Don’t go anywhere else, got it?"
Zhao Ger nodded. "I know. Don’t worry."
Fang Zichen left with the eggs.
Just as he reached the village entrance, someone came down from the mountain on the left. The person was carrying a huge bundle of firewood. They were so short that the roadside weeds hid them—Fang Zichen didn’t even see them at first.
So hardworking. They must’ve gone up the mountain before dawn.
The scene reminded him of when Zhao Ger first arrived—also rising early to gather firewood, his clothes damp with morning dew.
"Ah—!"
Lost in thought, Fang Zichen heard a cry. The person slipped and tumbled into the ditch, the firewood landing on top of them.
Xiaofeng saw stars dance before his eyes. It took him a while to regain his senses. The ditch was uneven, his back aching from the bumps. The firewood was too heavy—he couldn’t push it off. After struggling uselessly a few times, he lay there exhausted.
"You okay?" A voice came from the road.
Fang Zichen moved the firewood aside and was surprised to find a thin child lying in the ditch.
The child was dressed in tattered, ill-fitting clothes that were far too short, his mud-stained legs as thin as twigs.
Fang Zichen wasn’t a soft-hearted person, but the sight reminded him of Zhao Ger and Guaizai. His chest tightened with an indescribable ache.
Xiaofeng climbed out and bowed to Fang Zichen. "Th-thank… thank you… U-Uncle... Fang."
Fang Zichen paused, startled. "You know me?" He didn’t recognize this child.
"Mm!" Xiaofeng nodded, seeming nervous and embarrassed. His right shoe was torn, toes peeking out. He kept trying to hide them, fidgeting. "You… you’re… Uncle Zhao’s… husband."
So he knew Zhao Ger. But listening to him talk like this—Fang Zichen didn’t know how others felt, but it was exhausting just hearing it. He smiled, trying to put him at ease. "No need to be nervous."
Xiaofeng said, "I-I’m not… n-nervous."
Fang Zichen smiled again. "Not nervous? Then why are you stuttering?"
Xiaofeng replied honestly, "I-I’ve always… been… a stutterer."
Fang Zichen: "..."
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