Fang Zichen set down the washbasin, walked over, and waved his hand grandly: "Step aside."
Guaizai was shaping 'glutinous rice balls' and had mud all over his hands: "Father, do you want to play with mud too?"
"...No," Fang Zichen said, not minding the dirt at all. He looked left and right, dug up a piece of clay with good consistency, and said: "I'm going to show you what real skill looks like."
The women and fulangs by the river soon saw him squatting together with the group of children, and before long, exclamations of amazement rose from the kids.
"Wow... Uncle Fang is so amazing!"
"Such a cute doggie!"
Fang Zichen skillfully molded a small, delicate figurine of a teacup poodle. With its oversized eyes and precise form, the clay dog was remarkably vivid and lifelike.
Guaizai was utterly captivated, hopping up and down with uncontrollable excitement: "Father! Guaizai wants it! Please, can Guaizai have it?"
"Okay, for you." Fang Zichen didn't play favorites. His long, pale fingers pinched and shaped the clay, moving deftly. In just a moment, he had molded a fat pig for Liuliu.
Liuliu grinned: "Thank you, Uncle Fang."
The other children watched enviously but didn't dare to ask for one themselves.
Fang Zichen asked: "What do you all like?"
"Ah?" Seemingly surprised that they might also get one, the children were stunned for a moment before eagerly naming their favorite little animals.
They were all things like sheep, cows, horses, tigers, and so on.
Only the two little gers said nothing.
Their knowledge of animals was limited, and everything they could think of had already been named by the other children. They racked their brains but couldn't come up with anything else.
Fang Zichen looked at these two little ones. To be honest, if Guaizai hadn't told him, he wouldn't have been able to tell they were ger. They really weren't much different from boys, perhaps with slightly softer facial features at most. But delicate-looking boys also looked like that, so how could anyone tell them apart?
Little gers weren't much different from daughters. After thinking for a moment, Fang Zichen molded a plump little bunny and a little kitten for them.
The little animals he molded were endearingly cute and charmingly proportioned. Had they been painted, they would have looked astonishingly real.
The children carefully held their little animals, cherishing them and unable to put them down. They formed a long line and followed Fang Zichen back.
It was almost noon now. Zhao Ger had already returned home earlier. Seeing no one was home and the dirty clothes were gone, he guessed where they had gone.
He had just finished cooking the rice when a noisy commotion arose in the yard. He went to the door and saw Fang Zichen surrounded by a group of children, like a king among kids.
"Uncle Zhao," the children called out.
"Mm!" Zhao Ger went to meet them. Although he had guessed, he couldn't help but feel surprised: "You really went to wash clothes?"
"Mm!" Fang Zichen handed him the washbasin: "No need to be so surprised. I'm just doing what a good man ought to do."
Zhao Ger smiled and went to hang the clothes to dry.
The clothes didn't carry the scent of soap. Fang Zichen had chosen the wrong time to secretly observe and learn. By the time he arrived, everyone had already finished scrubbing their clothes with soap and was only on the final step: pounding and rinsing them.
Fang Zichen had copied their actions, imitating the superficial form without understanding the substance.
As a result, the sleeves on Guaizai's clothes, which had been folded, were still folded. The grease stain on the chest hadn't been washed out. Even more exasperating was that his old work clothes actually had a new tear in them.
He had probably used too much force when pounding them with the washing paddle.
Zhao Ger was already content and satisfied that Fang Zichen had the intention to help. However, seeing the results, he resolved never to let him wash clothes again.
The cost of replacing damaged fabric was simply too high.
But, worried about discouraging Fang Zichen's helpful spirit, Zhao Ger kept these thoughts to himself.
When lunchtime arrived, the children played in the yard for a while before returning home.
After the meal, Zhao Ger planned to take Guaizai up the mountain to gather firewood. His initial thought was to let Fang Zichen stay home and study seriously. The prefectural exam was in a few days, and they couldn't afford carelessness. Guaizai, being so young, was noisy and could easily be disruptive. But Fang Zichen picked up the firewood knife, carrying Guaizai, and came over.
"I'll go with you."
"Don't you need to study?" Zhao Ger pressed his lips together. "I've heard the prefectural exam is quite difficult."
Fang Zichen: "I know, but it's fine."
Zhao Ger couldn't persuade him otherwise, so he had to let him come along.
The mountain path was truly difficult to walk. It was not only steep but also overgrown with weeds, some of which were sharp enough to cut skin. Fang Zichen carried the basket on his chest with Guaizai nestled inside, and carried Zhao Ger on his back.
Zhao Ger was unwilling, having long been accustomed to the path himself. In the past, when Fang Zichen was not present, he had managed alone. But now that he was here, Fang Zichen couldn't bear to let Zhao Ger get tired or hurt in the slightest.
Despite his tall and slender build, Fang Zichen carried the combined weight of Zhao Ger and Guaizai with surprising ease. For an ordinary person, such a burden would have made the path nearly impassable, yet Fang Zichen moved with unerring stability, as if walking on flat, even ground.
To shield himself from the cutting grass, Zhao Ger pulled his garment over his head. Enclosed in that narrow, dim space, his mind was flooded with memories.
He had long been accustomed to it. He had walked this path countless times. In the past, it was always him carrying his son. He had been cut by the grass, had fallen, had been so exhausted carrying firewood that he couldn't get up. No matter how hard or tiring it was, he had to endure it alone. But now, he had found someone to rely on.
He wrapped his arms around Fang Zichen's neck and, without realizing it, tightened his grip, as if he wanted to firmly, tightly, bind him and never let go.
Fang Zichen didn't know how to chop wood. Furthermore, chopping wood was strenuous work, but he didn't use this as an excuse to be lazy. Instead, he took the hatchet and chopped wherever Zhao Ger pointed.
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