Chapter 139
"Daddy, get up······" Guaizai pulled his hand, tugging hard: "Daddy, get up quickly, get up quickly."
"Get up for what?" Zhao Ger clutched the ground tightly, the gaps between his fingers filled with coarse grit and stones. He didn't feel the pain, only muttered, his voice as faint as a mosquito's hum: "He doesn't want me anymore, he... abandoned me again."
The wind was blowing fiercely, and Guaizai didn't hear him clearly, thinking only that he was tired from running and couldn't get up.
"Daddy, get up, not here. Let's go home, go home and wait for father."
These words seemed to ignite something.
"Wait for who? He doesn't want us anymore!" Zhao Ger suddenly roared: "He doesn't want us anymore, he's not coming back."
Zhao Ger's emotional outburst was without warning, even he himself couldn't control it. It was like a spark falling into a pile of dry tinder, a great fire blazing up in an instant. He looked at Guaizai, whose features were growing increasingly similar to Fang Zichen's. At this moment, they were like a sharp blade, cutting a gash in his heart. All the negative emotions surged out in an instant.
His fingers pressed even harder into the ground, the veins on the back of his hands bulging, his eyes bloodshot. The ground was covered with scratch marks.
Guaizai was frightened. He let go of the hand, pressed his lips tightly together, then made a small fist and hit Zhao Ger once.
He didn't use much force, just a light hit, landing on Zhao Ger's shoulder.
"Daddy is talking nonsense, Daddy is talking nonsense." He raised his arm to wipe his tears, but no matter how he wiped, they wouldn't dry. Tears kept falling drop by drop. Zhao Ger's state scared him. The tip of his nose was red, and he cried until he hiccupped, saying intermittently between sobs: "Daddy, don't talk nonsense... Father is just lost. He doesn't not want us. Guaizai has been obedient, Guaizai has been good! Father loves Guaizai the most, how could Father not want us? Daddy, you are talking nonsense. Talking nonsense is wrong, it's not good. When Father comes back, I will tell him to spank your bottom."
Zhao Ger's eyes trembled, and he didn't speak again.
Guaizai cried to the side, not making a single sound. His small, thin figure stood in the dark night, like a rock.
Drip... drip...
Who knows how much time passed before rain began to fall from the sky.
The village was hushed, blanketed in the deep silence of the late hour when all were presumed to be asleep.
A poor village nestled against green ridges, not even a dog in sight.
Lying in their beds, even though life was bitter, as long as the family was healthy and always together, a little bitterness didn't matter.
No one knew what was happening not far from home.
Zhao Ger lay prone on the ground, his eyes vacant.
He suddenly remembered that time, right after Fang Zichen had just left, he had also felt sad like this.
But that sadness hadn't been intense then, just faint. Or perhaps it wasn't sadness at all—to be more precise, it was disappointment.
Back then, he and Fang Zichen had only spent one night together. He didn't know his name, where he came from, where his home was, or how old he was. He was just passing by, saw him leaning against a tree panting, seeming unwell, and wanted to go over and ask if he needed help. But when Fang Zichen saw him, he stared blankly for a few breaths, then suddenly grabbed him, firmly holding him captive in his arms, and then... he was forced.
Fang Zichen had asked him tenderly, does it hurt? He cupped his face and said he was sorry.
Just those two sentences made him feel cherished.
So he gave up resisting.
He was too desperate, too desperate for that trace of tenderness in his eyes.
From the day he was kidnapped, no one had ever asked him like that again. He was clearly alive, clearly a person, yet he was lowly and humble, like an ant that anyone could step on, without a shred of human dignity.
The Ma family always called him only after they had finished eating. Sometimes, if they cooked a lot, he could eat a few mouthfuls. If they cooked little, and he was starving, he would pick up the grains of rice left on the table.
Back then, Madam Ma's foolish son was still around. He ate like a child, always unable to hold his food properly, dropping it on the table, and never finishing what was in his bowl. After the Ma family finished eating and told him to clear the table, he would pick up the leftovers to eat.
Before the age of seven, he was the treasured darling of his parents, a child cherished and protected like others. His eyes were innocent, his manner straightforward, unaware of the ways of the world.
Eating like that, he didn't feel there was anything wrong with it. When he was starving badly, he couldn't afford to think about such things.
It wasn't until he was nine, when he passed by He Daleng's house. Their family was eating in the yard. His little son dropped a piece of food on the table while serving himself. He Daleng stopped the boy from picking it up, saying it had fallen and was dirty—not for people to eat, but to be saved for the pigs.
A single bite of vegetable—something most farming families wouldn't think twice about, with plenty more growing in the fields.
Yet in that moment, the truth struck Zhao Ger with painful clarity... If it fell and was dirty, it was no longer fit for people. It was meant for the pigs.
But he had eaten it.
So, he was living a life worse than a human's.
When he realized this, he almost broke down.
He was clearly... a person!
But he couldn't change his circumstances.
If he didn't eat, he would starve.
The feeling of a hungry stomach was the hardest to bear.
Before he understood, eating like that didn't burden him at all.
But once he knew, when he picked up those vegetables that had fallen on the table, or even on the ground, and put them in his mouth, it was like chewing sharp blades. His tongue felt numb, he couldn't taste anything. After swallowing hastily a couple of times, the blades seemed to cut his throat and scrape his internal organs, hurting so much that his tears fell.
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