Fang Zichen realized he misspoke, laughed, bounced the son in his arms, and asked him: "Son, come, tell your daddy, will you learn bad habits?"
"No!" Guaizai said righteously, very seriously clenching his fist: "Guaizai doesn't want to be a bad egg. Bad eggs are bad, they love to hit people, and they also scold people and steal things. Bad eggs have to go to jail, they get beaten, it hurts. Guaizai is a good child, Guaizai will be a good egg."
Hearing this, Fang Zichen swelled with pride: "Look, look, what high ideological awareness. Just like me."
Zhao Ger: "..."
Seeing that Zhao Ger still seemed shaken, Fang Zichen held his hand, gently squeezed it, and comforted him: "Don't be afraid. I've already talked to people on West Street. You and our son can walk sideways on this street, no one dares to provoke you. If there are any more blind fools like today, you take our son and run to find me. See if I don't chop their legs off."
These words were a bit thuggish. Zhao Ger opened his mouth but couldn't speak.
On the way here this morning, Zhou Ger asked him if he had ever been given trouble while selling things in town for so long.
The blood sausage sold very well at first, and many people were jealous. Once, a man came to buy some. After eating it, seeing Zhao Ger shabbily dressed and a ger, he bluntly asked him how the blood sausage was made? Besides peanuts and ginger, what else was added?
Zhao Ger just wanted to sell blood sausage to earn some silver for Fang Zichen's studies, how could he tell him? The man directly threatened him, saying if he didn't tell, he would smash his stall and beat him.
But just as the man uttered his threat, a group of people rushed up and dragged him away!
That group of men were the subordinates of the boss who had helped Guaizai earlier. Zhao Ger had originally assumed they intervened simply to keep order on West Street. It never occurred to him that their protection was arranged specifically for him.
A warmth spread through Zhao Ger's chest.
Although his husband could often be unreliable, in matters like this—in ensuring their safety—Fang Zichen provided him with an absolute and unshakable sense of security.
Seeing there was no trouble, the gambling den boss said something to Fang Zichen and left with his subordinates.
Fang Zichen pinched Guaizai's little nose, talking to him.
"How dare they touch my son? Guaizai, do you remember what those two men looked like?"
"Remember!"
"Good. Next time you see them, come tell Father. See if I don't slice them up."
Such cruel words!
Old Man Wu overheard the conversation. He had initially imagined that this "Brother Fang," whom Yang Mingyi had spoken of—the one so skilled at accounts and such a strong chess player—would be a man in his twenties. He never expected him to be so young, likely not even twenty years old yet.
He had wanted to get to know Fang Zichen a bit, to discuss chess techniques together. Now, hearing Fang Zichen teach his son, he just wanted to go down and educate Fang Zichen a bit.
The middle-aged man, however, laughed out loud, thinking Fang Zichen was quite arrogant. Having been an official for many years, he was considered the top boss in Fu'an Town, but he didn't even dare to tell his son 'this is my turf, you can walk sideways here from now on.' This young man was quite arrogant.
Fang Zichen didn't care what they thought. Holding Zhao Ger's hand and carrying Guaizai, he walked towards East Street.
There was an old man there selling tanghulu. Today his son performed excellently, he'd buy him two sticks of tanghulu to praise him.
Zhao Ger carried the basket on his back. Surrounded by people, Fang Zichen quietly asked him: "Does your waist still hurt?"
Zhao Ger's gaze fell on their joined hands. As Fang Zichen drew closer, his clean scent subtly enveloped him, wrapping around him bit by bit, inexplicably making him feel completely at ease.
"It doesn't hurt anymore," Zhao Ger said.
East Street wasn't far, and the tanghulu seller was still there. Fang Zichen bought four sticks, intending to give two to Zhao Ger and two to Guaizai.
Zhao Ger didn't want them and tried to decline: "Why waste money on this? I'm a grown-up, I don't eat these kinds of things."
"Then you've been eating rice since you were a child—why do you still eat it as an adult?" Fang Zichen insisted, pressing the sticks into his hand. "Take them. Last time, I noticed you seemed to really enjoy eating them."
Zhao Ger had sold all his goods. Fang Zichen still had to work in the afternoon, so he could only see them to the town gate.
They had been up making noise for most of the night before finally sleeping and then got up so early this morning. Fang Zichen was afraid Zhao Ger was tired and instructed him: "Go back home, eat something, and rest first. Leave any work for me to do when I get back tonight."
Zhao Ger smiled: "I know."
Guaizai sat obediently on the goat's back: "Father, Guaizai will miss you!"
Fang Zichen kissed his forehead, then planted a kiss on each cheek: "I will miss you too."
"Father, Guaizai can't bear to leave you."
"Son..."
"..." Zhao Ger felt like sighing: "That's enough from you two."
They swayed leisurely back home. Zhao Ger rubbed his waist. Last night Fang Zichen had taken him twice. Fang Zichen asked if his waist still hurt, him saying it didn't was actually a lie. The dining table was so hard, and it had been too long since he last experienced this, how could it not hurt?
But even if it hurt, he couldn't rest. There was simply too much work to do at home.
There were two buns left from the morning. Zhao Ger heated them up and shared them with Guaizai, making do with a meal.
It was the middle of the tenth lunar month. The mornings and evenings were starting to carry a chill, but the noon hours could still grow quite warm. The buns were very dry after being warmed up. With every swallow, Guaizai's eyebrows would knit together, and his little neck would stretch out long.
Zhao Ger fetched a bowl of water for him to eat the buns with.
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