Xiao Feng kept thinking, kept feeling lost, until he came back with Zhao Ger, lying in the warm, cozy bedding, breathing in the clear fragrance of soapberries on it, each breath feeling precious. His emotions uncontrollably welled up, and bean-sized tears rolled from his eyes.
His heart felt at peace.
The room was warm; he should have slept soundly, but in that half-awake, half-dreaming state, he kept dreaming of Liu Gouzi.
Having just eaten the noodles, he was still quite weak after all, and now felt a bit drowsy. When the door was knocked, the sound startled him reflexively.
"Xiao Feng, are you still sleeping?"
It was Fang Zichen's voice. After hearing Xiao Feng's reply, he pushed the door open and entered.
He was still holding a bowl in his hand. He had initially meant to sit right on the edge of the bed but, seeming to remember something, he instead took a seat on a small stool nearby.
"Your Uncle Zhao told me," he spoke first. "He said you are a ger."
Xiao Feng's face turned red again.
Fang Zichen pretended not to see it, took a sip of porridge: "That, about last time, I apologize to you."
Zhao Ger had told him to forget it, to act as if it never happened, saying that bringing it up would make both of them embarrassed.
Yesterday Fang Zichen thought it made sense, but upon further thought just now, it seemed wrong again. Now that he knew Xiao Feng was a ger, and they would be living under the same roof from now on, this matter couldn't possibly be treated as if it never happened. He at least had to apologize to Xiao Feng, to express his stance on this matter, to let him know that his Uncle Fang was actually a righteous and handsome man, not some creepy guy who tries to take advantage of people.
As the head of the household, he needed to maintain a dignified and respectable image.
"N-no n-need t-to a-apologize." Xiao Feng looked at him: "Uncle F-fang w-wasn't d-doing it o-on p-purpose. It w-was m-me w-who d-didn't s-say."
Fang Zichen slapped his thigh: "Exactly! Why didn't you say it back then? If you had said it, I wouldn't have flicked your little birdie."
Xiao Feng couldn't help but clamp his legs together, his face reddening, and again felt the urge to hide under the quilt.
"M-mother t-told me n-not to t-tell o-others. Sh-she said i-if o-others k-know, th-they w-would b-bully me. B-but I w-wanted t-to t-tell U-uncle Z-zhao. I th-thought h-he w-would pr-protect me."
Fang Zichen felt tired just listening to him talk, and didn't even have the strength to drink his porridge.
"You could have told me too. I could have protected you as well. Ah, you not saying anything caused me to worry for nothing. Since you are a ger, then I won't save the bull p*nis for you."
Because Fang Zichen's appearance was too striking and sharp, combined with a demeanor quite different from that of the villagers, people tended to be a bit intimidated by him. Xiao Feng, however, had never been afraid of him.
Back during their first meeting, when Fang Zichen helped him move the firewood away, he had already concluded he was a good person. Add to that his relationship with Zhao Ger, Xiao Feng wasn't afraid of him.
"I, I d-don't e-eat b-bull p-p*nis. E-even i-if I w-were a m-man, I w-wouldn't e-eat it."
"If you were a man and you didn't eat it, you'd just be waiting to be cuckolded." Fang Zichen saw him pouting without speaking and said, "Don't you not believe it." Seeing it was getting late, he changed the subject, saying he wanted to give him a gift, both as an apology and as a welcome. He asked him what he wanted.
Xiao Feng had never received a gift before. He asked happily: "R-really?"
Fang Zichen: "No, I was tricking you."
"C-can I r-really h-have a-anything I w-want?"
"Wishful thinking." Fang Zichen shot him an annoyed look: "Your Uncle Zhao is stingy. I only have a few hundred coppers in my pocket. If you want a big gemstone, I can't afford it."
"I, I d-don't w-want a g-gemstone." Xiao Feng was so excited his face turned red: "I w-want, w-want a r-rabbit."
Just a rabbit!
Fang Zichen agreed immediately. He went back to the kitchen, drank two more bowls of porridge, then closed the door and went out.
It had drizzled on and off for a few days recently. It wasn't heavy rain, but it was overcast, cold, and damp. Some households in the village had grass sheds. Although mixed with mud they didn't leak, the dampness was noticeable.
Fortunately, the sun came out today. Families throughout the village carried their quilts outside to air them on the fence railings around their yards.
When a quilt was used for a long time, the cotton filling inside would harden, making it less effective at retaining warmth. After being aired in the sun, it improved considerably.
As he passed by a dilapidated thatched hut, Fang Zichen’s footsteps paused for a moment. Inside lay an old man, covered only by a worn-out, tattered, thin quilt, curled up and shivering.
Fang Zichen had heard Aunt Liu mention this person in passing; he seemed to be He Er'gou's father.
A couple of years ago, he heard the old man had taken a bad fall while chopping wood on the mountain. The injuries seemed severe, leaving him paralyzed on one side. Eating, drinking, and relieving himself were all done in bed. His son, He Er'gou, had cared for him at first, for about half a month, but likely grew impatient soon after. Finding the room foul-smelling as well, He Er'gou built a straw shack on a vacant plot not far from home, moved the old man there, and gave him just a bowl of wild greens each day—enough to barely keep him alive.
They say have sons to provide for old age, but what a load of crap that is.
Seeing him, Fang Zichen suddenly thought of his own old age. If he were treated like this by his child, he'd rather leave this world decently early.
But a living dog is better than a dead lion!
Zhao Ger always said he wanted to have another child for him. Originally, he also thought it sounded nice, but now he didn't think so anymore.
When it came to children, quality mattered far more than quantity. Guaizai alone was sometimes enough to exhaust him completely.
It was still necessary to educate Guaizai well, to strive to develop him into a well-rounded individual, much like himself.
Fang Zichen sighed. Remembering there was still a bundle of dry straw at home, he went back, carried it over, and covered the old man with it.
Giving him a quilt would be useless. He Er'gou would probably take it away if he saw it.
Just as Fang Zichen stood up to leave, the old man suddenly stretched out a sallow, withered hand and grabbed him, opening his clouded, dim eyes.
Fang Zichen shuddered violently.
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