"Alright," Yang Mutao said: "I'll give you a day off on the 26th. It's two days after the prefectural exam ends. Come find me then, and I'll take you to the main residence. But I must make this clear to you, my wife has invited several painters, two of whom are quite famous. I've heard their painting skills are remarkable. If you make a trip for nothing, don't come crying."
Fang Zichen shot him a look, his expression arrogant: "Don't make me laugh."
Yang Mutao: "..." These days, is this how employees act towards their employers?
After work in the evening, as Fang Zichen was heading home, Shopkeeper Yang called out to him. He said a guest had hosted friends at the restaurant today and ordered many dishes, but the friends didn't show up. The guest couldn't finish all the food alone, so a lot was left over, some dishes almost untouched. He asked if Fang Zichen wanted them.
Fang Zichen stopped in his tracks.
If someone had asked him that four months ago, he would have thrown a brick at them and retorted, "The hell? Who the hell do you think you're looking down on!"
But today...
The corner of his mouth twitched. He rubbed his hands together, pleased: "That's great..."
It wasn't that there hadn't been leftover dishes before, but Shopkeeper Yang hadn't called him previously. First, because those dishes had been mostly eaten and didn't look presentable, so they were shared among the junior staff. Second, he thought Fang Zichen was a scholar, his conduct and style resembling a fallen young master, so he didn't ask. But after getting along these past few months, this fallen young master, apart from having some peculiar confidence and a particularly bold tone, had a pretty good temper.
On the counter in the back kitchen were over ten plates of food left by the guest, along with some pastries, arranged in three full rows.
Fang Zichen thought about the lives of the villagers. For them, stewing meat or a whole chicken for the New Year or festivals could earn them the title of "wealthy family." Then he thought about his own initial days here, eating coarse grains, wild vegetables...
It was a perfect case of the drought-stricken dying of thirst while the flood victims drowned, and the frustration of comparing one's lot with others was utterly maddening.
He picked two plates of barely-touched Scallion Oil Chicken and one plate of Crispy Five-Spice Pork Belly. He also had a clerk pack a plate of pastries for him, then headed home.
Guaizai was squatting in the yard playing with stones. As soon as he saw him, he immediately smiled, rushed over, hugged his leg, and looked up, shouting, "Father, you're back!"
"Mn!" Fang Zichen rubbed his head. "What did you do at home today? Did you listen to your daddy?"
"Yes, yes," Guaizai said, holding Fang Zichen's hand and following him into the house. "I went with Daddy to gather firewood. I carried a bundle back myself, this big!"
Fang Zichen saw him gesturing with his hands, estimating it was about the size of a plate. Seeing his expression begging for praise, he played along: "Amazing! My son is so capable!"
Guaizai was immediately happy: "Mn! Guaizai thinks so too. Guaizai is the most capable!"
Fang Zichen: "..."
Fang Zichen felt a bit stuck. If not for this bizarre time travel, at his age in the modern era, he'd still be a kid himself.
He wasn't very good at giving praise. He had always been top-notch, excelling in looks, grades, and family background. Others had always praised him. But honestly, he considered himself a humble person. Whenever people praised him, he would politely reply, "Where, where. I just skipped a few grades, often got full marks on exams, it's really nothing."
He was never like Guaizai.
"Humility is a virtue", he would have to educate his son about it later, lest Zhao Ger scold him again.
Zhao Ger had stir-fried two dishes and was just bringing them out. Fang Zichen glanced over and his eyes immediately lit up. It was sour bamboo shoots.
He hadn't eaten this in a long time. The last two months had been too hot, and Zhao Ger's cooking had been very light. The silver in Fang Zichen's purse had long been spent, so they rarely bought meat.
He had spent a large sum the day before yesterday, and Zhao Ger was heartbroken, now being very frugal. After selling the chili paste, he came straight back. Those sixty jin of meat hanging from the beam were just for show. He planned to make one jin last two days. Today's dishes had more vegetables and less meat. That plate of green vegetables was lush and green, with no piece of meat in sight.
He had eaten pork ribs just yesterday, but Fang Zichen selectively forgot that. He only felt that at home, it was vegetables every single day, truly without a drop of oil. After a meal, if he wiped his hands, they might even squeak.
Four months!
He hadn't even eaten chicken or beef. Fang Zichen still couldn't imagine he had such a healthy living day.
Fortunately, he was a man who knew how to roll with the punches—able to swallow his pride when necessary and accept life's ups and downs with equanimity. And today, that adaptability had paid off: he was bringing meat home.
"Go get two plates. I brought some dishes back."
Zhao Ger had also seen the three packages in his left hand. "Did you buy them?"
Fang Zichen explained: "No, packed them from the restaurant. The guest barely touched them, they're clean. Don't mind it."
Zhao Ger said: "I don't mind."
He turned to go back to the kitchen to get plates. That last sentence just now was something Fang Zichen had said specifically while looking at him. Fang Zichen seemed careless, but sometimes he was very considerate. Some of his seemingly offhand remarks were actually meant to protect Zhao Ger's remaining self-respect.
In the eyes of a young master like Fang Zichen, eating someone else's leftovers might be seen as something that made one feel looked down upon and insulted. But Zhao Ger was no young master—he was just a fool's child-bride who'd endured a life of hardship and deprivation in the Ma family. He had eaten leftovers for over ten years. He hadn't minded the leftovers from the whole Ma family back then, so why would he mind now?
Only a young master like Fang Zichen would mind.
He brought out the plates. Fang Zichen opened the oilpaper packages. Looking at the meat inside, which still smelled delicious even though cold, Guaizai stood on tiptoe, leaning on the table, extremely happy: "Wow, it's meat!" He unconsciously swallowed. "Guaizai missed meat!" He pointed at the chicken, looked up puzzled, and asked: "Father, what meat is this?"
Fang Zichen was taken aback, astonished. "You can't tell? You've never eaten it before?"
"No." Guaizai shook his head.
Zhao Ger watched him, drooling slightly, staring eagerly at the meat with a look of novelty and anticipation. His heart ached with a pang of guilt. He explained softly to Fang Zichen: "Our life at the Ma family before wasn't very good. The Ma family was poor and rarely ate meat. On the rare occasion they cooked meat, they would drive us back to the woodshed."
Fang Zichen: "..." Ma family again.
And this was only 'not very good'? What would 'very bad' have been like?
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