Chapter 202
Fang Zichen did not know how to do the task of scraping the pig's hair. Everyone thought he was a scholar; the fact that he had just helped carry the pig was already quite remarkable. The scraping work was too dirty, so they didn't let him do it.
Fang Zichen was left to himself. Old Master He called him into the house. Fang Zichen already knew what the old man was going to say – it was nothing more than asking him to forgive Aunt He, not to bother arguing with a woman of her sort.
Fang Zichen didn’t say he forgave her, nor did he say he wouldn’t. Seeing his expression, Old Master He knew that pushing the matter further wouldn’t get his daughter forgiven – if anything, it might even turn Fang Zichen against him too. He sighed helplessly and changed the subject to chat about other things.
The pig-slaughtering meal was simple: pig's blood stewed randomly with cabbage, and pig's liver and lungs stir-fried together.
Zhao Ger was washing scallions. They didn't usually eat many of these—just a little to add flavor when stir-frying a dish. But with so many people today, and since pig offal was quite fishy, they naturally needed more. Fang Zichen found him and crouched down to help. His hands kept busy while his mouth kept up a playful banter, teasing Zhao Ger until he couldn't stop smiling.
The woman washing vegetables nearby couldn't quite describe the feeling in her heart, only that it felt sour.
Aunt He had also come today, but she had slipped into a room as soon as she arrived and hadn't come out. She stared at Fang Zichen through a small window, her eyes gloomy and resentful.
That day, seeing her daughter verbally attacked so harshly by Fang Zichen, she had spoken recklessly in her anger, just wanting to save some face. She had said that He Huihui was good-looking and could marry into any family she wanted; choosing him was doing him a favor.
Here, it was believed that for a woman, lack of talent was a virtue. Being good-looking was indeed an admission ticket into wealthy families. Back then, the reason He Huihui could marry into the town was precisely because people fancied her looks!
Fang Zichen retorted, "Any household she wants? With a family like yours, I doubt she could even make it into a pigsty."
The moment those words left his mouth, everyone present laughed. She still felt humiliated to this day, not daring to go out. Her husband scolded her, Old Master He scolded her. In her heart, she felt wronged that no one understood her. Aunt He hated Fang Zichen to the bone.
...
Washing the scallions, Zhao Ger smiled and asked, "Where are the children?"
"Outside looking for mouse holes!" Speaking of this, Fang Zichen felt he had committed a sin. He truly felt a bit sorry for the village mice. The mouse holes in Xiaohe Village had probably all been blown up clean by the children.
Sigh, these mice are pitiful. In the middle of winter, what had they done to deserve this?
The village chief's family was considered old locals, with plenty of relatives and friends. Several tables of people had come. Fang Zichen sat at the same table as the village chief with the three children. It was a bit crowded, so he lifted Guaizai onto his lap.
Feeding a child while eating was mostly something women did; men never bothered with such things. Guaizai pointed at what he wanted, and Fang Zichen picked it up for him, feeding him until he was full before picking up his own bowl to eat.
The meal was simple village fare—rice and dishes cooked in large pots, nothing fancy. Yang Mingyi, however, was dressed finely. Wang Damei knew he was the young master from the family Fang Zichen worked for. Worried he might find the food too plain, she even considered cooking a separate dish just for him. To her surprise, Yang Mingyi didn’t seem to mind at all, eating whatever was on the table without any pickiness.
Just after leaving the village chief's house, He Daleng's family came to call them. After leaving He Daleng's house, Aunt Liu came.
Aunt Liu's family hadn't slaughtered a pig, but they had prepared a chicken and invited them over for the evening meal.
From morning till night, they spent the whole day eating at other people's houses. Still, they couldn't turn down the invitations—to do so would be seen as not giving face.
The twenty-ninth was a rare fine day. The sun was out. Zhao Ger got up early and took the soaked glutinous rice to Aunt Liu's house, saying they were going to make glutinous rice cakes.
Glutinous rice was not cheap, much more expensive than regular rice. The village chief's old house had stood for decades without collapsing—Fang Zichen heard from Zhao Ger that it was because glutinous rice was used when it was built.
A house made with glutinous rice mixed into the mud was exceptionally sturdy. Unfortunately, it was expensive, not something every family could afford. Most people used plain mud. When the mud dried, it would have holes and cracks. When it rained, it poured outside and drizzled inside. It also wasn't sturdy, needing to be torn down and rebuilt every ten years or so.
Fang Zichen went along to help. The three children ate breakfast and then went off who-knows-where to blow up mouse holes again. They were hardly ever home all day. Xiaohe Village was about to be flattened by them.
Glutinous rice cakes weren't hard to make. The soaked glutinous rice was steamed in a bamboo steamer. Once cooked, it was taken out. Aunt Liu's family had a large stone object, hollow in the middle like a big stone bowl. Fang Zichen saw Zhao Ger and Zhou Ger pour the steamed glutinous rice into it, then hand him a large L-shaped wooden mallet, telling him to pound it.
Fang Zichen didn't understand what they were doing, but if Zhao Ger asked him to do it, he did it.
At first, it was manageable, but the more the glutinous rice was pounded, the sticker it became, like super glue, clinging stubbornly to the wooden mallet. It really exhausted Fang Zichen. After finishing one batch, there was another.
Zhou Ger peeked outside a few times, then came into the kitchen to wrap zongzi with Zhao Ger. These sticky rice dumplings were meant for worship and offerings to the ancestors—three were enough for that purpose. Since glutinous rice was more expensive than meat, people usually didn't make many. Zhao Ger, not short on money now and thinking of the several children at home, made a few more.
[Zongzi: a traditional Chinese sticky rice dumpling, wrapped in bamboo leaves and stuffed with various fillings, which is customarily eaten during the Dragon Boat Festival]
"Your man really is strong," Zhou Ger said, gently nudging Zhao Ger with his elbow. "Is he just as strong in bed?"
Village folk were like this. Once married, their skin seemed to thicken. When they were still unmarried girls or gers waiting to be wed, mentioning men would make them blush crimson with embarrassment. After marrying, especially after having children, they became shameless.
When Zhao Ger used to go to the river to wash clothes, he often heard some women chatting about such things—how many times a night their man did it, how he looked tall and strong, probably very powerful.
Just hearing such talk was embarrassing enough. Now, with Zhou Ger asking so bluntly, his face turned red enough to drip blood.
“And here you are, already a parent, yet still so easily flustered!” Zhou Ger said with a laugh.
Zhao Ger glared at him. "Indeed not as thick as yours, daring to ask anything."
Zhou Ger giggled. "I imagine he must be quite powerful. I heard from Guaizai that the legs of your bed broke."
Zhao Ger: "..."
That silly child, telling everything to outsiders.
The bed legs did indeed break. The other day, he had found something to prop it up himself.
Zhou Ger said, "I really envy you."
Too embarrassed to answer, Zhao Ger was saved by a sudden commotion outside—chattering voices and quick footsteps. The children were back.
Having run around outside all day, they rushed into the kitchen upon returning, lining up to drink water, gulping it down. Seeing delicious food made at home, they stopped wanting to go back out.
Guaizai said goodbye to his little friends: "Come to my house to play tonight! Fireworks are more fun than firecrackers. Will you come or not?"
How could they not come? They absolutely had to come!
Before, when it got slightly dark at night, children were kept at home. Adults had to get up early to work, so naturally, they closed the doors and didn't let them go out to play. During these few days of New Year, adults were free. They didn't have to rush to work in the fields in the morning and could sleep in.
Yang Mingyi and Xiao Feng stayed behind in the kitchen to help. There wasn’t much Guaizai could manage on his own, but when he saw Fang Zichen drenched in sweat from pounding the glutinous rice, he immediately pulled the towel from his own back, saying he wanted to wipe Fang Zichen's sweat.
Fang Zichen stopped working, bent down, and offered his face. After wiping, he pounded a couple more times, and sweat appeared again.
Guaizai frowned. It seemed like he couldn’t be apart from his father, but if he kept making him stop to wipe sweat, they’d never finish. His eyes rolled thoughtfully, then lit up with an idea. He told Fang Zichen to squat down, clambered onto his back, wrapped his small arms tightly around his neck, and held on tightly.
This work only required arm strength; the body didn't need to move much. But with slight swaying, it felt like sitting in a rocking chair, quite comfortable. Seeing Fang Zichen sweat again, Guaizai freed one hand to wipe his sweat, then pursed his pink little mouth to give him a loud kiss on the cheek: "Father, you can do it! Guaizai gives you energy."
Fang Zichen: "..."
Whether it was energy or not, he didn't know, but carrying a child on his back definitely made the work seem even more tiring.
Son, thank you very much.
After pounding for nearly two shichen (4 hours), the glutinous rice was finally done. Aunt Liu kneaded the dough like making buns, pinched off pieces, rolled them into fist-sized balls, and stuffed them with a filling mixed from brown sugar, peanuts, and sesame seeds. After all the sweat and tears he poured into pounding it, as soon as they were shaped, Fang Zichen ate one. Soft, sticky, fragrant, and sweet—quite tasty. It was worth the blood, sweat, and tears.
Each of the four children held one, sitting under the eaves and eating with great relish.
In the afternoon, He Xi came over, saying the clan's fishpond was being drained and asking if he wanted to catch some fish to eat, as they were selling very cheaply.
Whether they ate fish or not wasn’t the point—Fang Zichen wasn’t particularly craving it. But at just a few copper coins per jin, it was a special New Year’s discount. A bargain like that simply couldn’t be passed up.
Fang Zichen hurried home to grab a bucket, trailed by the four children in a noisy, excited line. Zhao Ger watched with amusement. Aunt Liu chuckled too and remarked, "Look at this lad—just a moment ago he said he was exhausted to death, wouldn't recover without resting for two days. Now look at him, isn't he full of energy again! Young people, after all."
Zhao Ger put the zongzi in the pot, covered it, wiped his hands, and said he wanted to go take a look. The clan's fishpond was large, with all kinds of fish inside. Fang Zichen couldn't tell one grain from another; he was afraid Fang Zichen would just catch whichever looked biggest. Although all were called fish, their meat texture wasn't the same. Some had lots of fine bones, tough flesh, and a strong fishy taste—not very tasty. With several children at home, it was best to choose fish that had mostly large, easy-to-remove bones.
"Go ahead!" Aunt Liu said. "I'll watch things here. Zhou Ger, you go too. Catch a couple to keep for eating."
The clan's fishpond was wide and large, with some withered, rotten lotus stems inside. The water wasn't completely drained; some was left. If drained completely, the fish would die from lack of water. Although villagers weren't very picky, if they could eat fresh, who would want to eat dead fish?
By the time Fang Zichen arrived carrying a large wooden bucket, there were already quite a few people inside.
Cooking fish used a lot of oil. If cooking skills were poor, the cooked fish would be quite fishy. To save money and oil, people usually didn't eat it much. But this was New Year; the table needed a meat dish. Not just for the family to eat, but also to have a decent dish to entertain relatives when they visited. Fish wasn't as tasty as pork, but it was certainly more satisfying than plain cabbage.
Normally, fish sold for seven copper coins per jin, but today it was only five. Everyone was eager to catch as much as they could. Whatever couldn't be eaten fresh could be dried or salted for later.
Whoever wanted some had to catch it themselves. The pond had tilapia, perch, grass carp, bighead carp, and so on. They could choose whichever fish they liked, and with the water now shallow, catching them was much easier.
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