Fang Zichen laughed, leaned on the desk, and because he was almost a head taller than the other, looking at him now had a bit of a condescending air.
His eyes slightly lowered: "Are you saying that women in inner chambers and village wives are all stingy?"
Their voices weren't low, patrons in the main hall all looked over.
Among them were several young women whose expressions darkened upon hearing this.
The scholar frowned. Although he had meant a little bit of that, the other party stating it so bluntly was simply creating hostility for him.
"Young Master Fang lacks literary education, misunderstands my meaning, and has no martial prowess. You have clearly misinterpreted my words, I..."
"I don't know if all young ladies and women are as you say," Fang Zichen interrupted him, smiled, and said: "But your mother must certainly be stingy."
The scholar: "..."
"Look at you. Your external appearance—small eyes, small nose, small mouth. Can't see what's inside, but I imagine, the face reflects the heart. Inside, you must certainly have a small liver, small heart, small lungs." Fang Zichen's gaze fell on the other's lower region, glanced very quickly, and said with ambiguous meaning:
"You, this person, must be small everywhere. Your mother really doesn't know better, giving birth to you like this. People, tall ones with big eyes, seem more magnanimous. Short and stunted, skinny, with bean-sized eyes and a chicken's mouth, looking shifty-eyed—it makes you seem both petty and vulgar."
The scholar: "..."
These scholars could compose essays with great speed, but when it came to verbal disputes, it was truly a case of 'a scholar meeting a soldier—impossible to reason clearly.'
Especially since the other party had no reason, was empty-headed, and didn't react quickly enough.
Shopkeeper Yang pursed his lips, sparing the other's face, too embarrassed to laugh.
Wang Xiaoji, Sun Dahu, and the others stood not far away. Hearing this, they laughed heartily, giving no face at all.
Hao Desheng's face turned ashen. The scholar still wanted to say something but was stopped by him.
He threw a piece of broken silver over. As if on purpose—the counter was so big, even someone with poor eyesight could throw it accurately, but he seemed to have no strength, the silver landed on the ground.
"Ah, so sorry, a mistake, a mistake." Hao Desheng used his toe to kick it, the silver was kicked to the edge of the table.
Fang Zichen stared at him for a couple of seconds, then gently raised an eyebrow and suddenly smiled. He put down the wolf-hair brush and came out from behind the desk.
If Zuixiao Restaurant were his own, he would have considered the table of dishes Hao Desheng just ordered as fed to the dogs. There was really no need to pick up this silver.
Although Young Master Fang was poor now, he wasn't so poor as to bend his principles for 'not bowing for five pecks of rice.'
[不为五斗米折腰 (bù wèi wǔ dǒu mǐ zhé yāo): lit. not bowing for five pecks of rice; fig. Refusing to compromise one's principles or dignity for meager material gain or a petty official position.]
But Zuixiao Restaurant wasn't his!
Right now, he was just an 8-to-5 worker, living under someone else's roof, trembling with fear—a wage earner.
A wage earner must take the 'company's' interests as his own responsibility.
He bent down, picked up the silver, and tossed it backward. The silver landed squarely on the table with a 'thud.'
He didn't straighten up immediately. Shopkeeper Yang saw him take off his shoe, jump up, and with lightning speed, smack it hard onto Hao Desheng's head.
Shopkeeper Yang: "..."
A resounding 'smack' echoed.
The sound was very crisp.
Shopkeeper Yang felt his own head hurt just hearing it.
The principle was three strikes and you're out. He had yielded to them multiple times and given them plenty of face, but this bunch simply did not know what was good for them. They refused the respect offered and, with 'itchy skin,' were practically begging for a beating right in front of him. If he didn't retaliate now, he would be nothing but a turtle shrinking back into its shell.
"Goddammit," Fang Zichen said coldly, looking at him, then slowly scanned the crowd who were still in shock, dumbfounded. His angry mood hadn't been relieved in the slightest. His voice, when he spoke, was steady and magnetic, each word hitting everyone's ears painfully: "I've given you face, haven't I? You know a couple of characters and think you're so damn awesome, capable of heaven and earth, is that it?"
Although Fang Zichen was occasionally unreliable, he had a firm grasp on two things: his irascible temper and the nation's essence—curse words.
The shoes he was wearing now were specially made for him by Aunt Liu. She thought he walked back and forth every day, if the soles were thin, the road bumpy, his feet would probably hurt and suffer. So she layered the soles several times, making them very hard.
He originally wanted to grab a brick to smash over, but after looking around, there wasn't a handy 'weapon,' so he had to use his shoe.
Hao Desheng disliked him and deliberately made things difficult for him—naturally, he also disliked the other.
No one liked being targeted for no reason.
"You, you dare hit me?" Hao Desheng widened his eyes, his face full of disbelief.
Fang Zichen: "So what if I hit you? Out of millions, hundreds of millions of people in Da Xia, I only hit you. Such an honor, don't be ungrateful."
The crowd: "..."
After all, he had been a young master before. When Fang Zichen put on a stern face, he was quite imposing. The others were intimidated by his frightening presence and for a moment didn't know what to retort.
Hao Desheng was burning with rage, his face flushed red. He felt all the chattering voices in the main hall were laughing at him. Fang Zichen hitting his head with a shoe sole was no different from directly stepping on his face and grinding it into the ground.
Hao Desheng threw away his fan, raised his fist, and swung at Fang Zichen.
Fang Zichen dodged to the side, grabbed his arm, and flung him directly to the ground.
Hao Desheng was thrown until he saw stars. Before he could recover, Fang Zichen was on top of him, throwing several punches at his stomach.
"Ah..." Hao Desheng cried out, feeling the other's fists seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. His body hurt to the point of numbness. He wanted to fight back, but Fang Zichen dodged every time.
"You... you all... still not coming to help..."
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