Zhao Ger had Uncle Tang give out red envelopes to Yu Ger and the others, telling them to go enjoy themselves outside after the meal, since they'd be back on the road tomorrow.
Yu Ger and the others were thrilled—they were still young and loved joining in the festivities.
Feng momo and Uncle Tang chose not to go, staying behind at the inn to watch the little ones. So Fang Zichen took Zhao Ger and the two children out instead. Xiao Feng was led by Zhao Ger's hand, while Guaizai rode as usual on Fang Zichen's shoulders. As Xiao Feng looked ahead, he suddenly recalled the days back in Xiaohe Village. His first New Year at the Fang family had been just like this—but back then he was so short that, holding Zhao Ger's hand, all he could see were people's backsides. Now, in the blink of an eye, without needing Fang Zichen to carry him, he could already see the scenery ahead clearly.
If Zhao Ger and Fang Zichen hadn't gone up the mountain to find him back then, he'd probably be nothing but bones by now.
His grip tightened unconsciously. Zhao Ger looked down and noticed Xiao Feng's eyes had turned red.
"What's wrong?"
Xiao Feng's dark eyes revealed no hint of what he was feeling. "Uncle Zhao," he said, and nothing more—just that one call, as he held Zhao Ger's hand firmly.
Zhao Ger didn't press further either, and squeezed his hand back. Meanwhile, Fang Zichen was digging into his carefully saved private stash of money, buying all sorts of things for the two little ones and the big one—mostly snacks. Guaizai was over the moon, shouting all the way, "Father is the best! Guaizai wants to give Father a kiss!" The two of them were so clingy that Zhao Ger almost couldn't bear to watch.
When they returned, Yu Ger and the others had also come back. Zhao Ger hadn't given them much in their red envelopes—just one or two taels each—but they also received monthly allowances regularly, and they'd barely spent any. They'd bought only some dried fruits and candied pastries. Zhao Ger had assumed they'd bought them for themselves, but later on the road, he saw them giving the treats to Guaizai—and then he understood.
They were all people who knew how to be grateful.
Early the next morning, they set off again. By the time the county magistrate received word and rushed over, the inn was already empty.
"Why did they leave so fast?" the magistrate lamented, beating his chest in regret.
The clerk didn't understand, only hearing from his subordinates that the procession had been grand—Imperial Guards and Qin family soldiers flanking both sides. Even just hearing about it made him shudder. "My lord, who exactly were these people?"
"They must be Lord Fang, heading to take office in Hezhou."
Hezhou was a place that even many southerners might never have heard of—but a few months ago, Xia Jinghong had flown into a rage and purged the court, all because of Hezhou. News of that had filtered down through official channels, and every official in the realm had heard about it. For a while afterward, they all kept their heads down and stayed out of trouble.
The clerk, out of the loop, said, "My lord, in that case, you needn't be too disappointed. Hezhou is what it is—Lord Fang is going there, and he might never come back for the rest of his life."
Never coming back—what use would there be in currying favor with him?
The magistrate looked at him with frustration. "You old fool. They say some people know nothing—I say you don't even know nothing."
The clerk: "..."
Why the personal insult?
Staying cooped up in the carriage all the time got stuffy, so on the road Fang Zichen would occasionally call Zhao Ger out and teach him to ride. Zhao Ger picked it up quickly—within a few days he'd learned. Though it was cold outside, the view was wide open, and the scenery kept changing along the way. Leaving Xiayang, the roads were still covered in white snow as far as the eye could see. But the closer they got to Hezhou, the more rocky hills appeared on both sides, and the weather wasn't nearly as frigid as in the capital or Xiayang. Gradually, wild grass began to appear by the roadside.
Zhao Ger didn't want to sit in the carriage anymore. However, worried that Xiao Feng and Guaizai would struggle to look after the two babies by themselves, he reassigned Feng Momo and Uncle Tang to help out.
Traveling with all due haste, by the end of the second lunar month, they finally reached Hezhou.
Their route led to the southern part of Hezhou. The south and central regions of Da Xia were richer than the north, and Zhao Ger knew Hezhou was poor—but he'd assumed that meant the northern part was poor, and that the south would at least be on par with Fu'an Town. Yet now, looking at the villages along the roadside, they were even worse than Xiaohe Village.
Everywhere he looked—mud huts, thatched cottages. Occasionally they passed peasants hurrying along the road, dressed in the most pitiful manner. In the dead of winter, they wore only straw sandals, their bare toes purple from cold, clad in thin, faded brown garments patched all over.
There was no snow here—it was southern weather—but southern winters were still bitterly cold. Though free of ice and snow, the wind and rain brought a damp, gloomy chill that seeped into the bones. Seeing these people dressed like that made Zhao Ger feel even colder himself, and he instinctively pulled his cloak tighter.
The pounding of hooves drew curious stares.
Back in Xiaohe Village, though poor, people at least had some meat on their bones and didn't seem so lifeless. But these folks—they wore nothing but numbness on their faces, utterly spiritless.
Fang Zichen's party was richly and warmly dressed. The roadside peasants knew at once that these must be either wealthy merchants or high-ranking officials, and hastily scrambled to the side in fear, not daring to breathe loudly or lift their heads. Only after the procession had passed did they steal curious glances.
The convoy was about to head toward the town when suddenly a burly man dashed out from ahead, brandishing a hoe. Fang Zichen quickly reined in his horse and stopped.
The man saw the large group ahead—all riding tall, fine horses—and noticed that at his sudden appearance, half the swords at their waists had already been drawn. Dozens of eyes fixed on him. His stomach clenched with sudden fear, and he froze on the spot.
What's going on?
This isn't right!
The officials who'd come to take office before hadn't brought this many people with them!
In this situation, the enemy outnumbered him—he couldn't win.
He drove his hoe into the ground and pretended to be doing farm work, playing deaf and mute as if he hadn't just charged out to attack, but had been laboring there all along. Just as Fang Zichen and Zhao Ger were about to laugh, more than thirty people burst out from the roadside thicket—each carrying some kind of weapon: sickles, wooden clubs, and Zhao Ger even spotted one holding a pan.
They charged out for barely a second, then, seeing how many people Fang Zichen had behind him, immediately darted back into the grass and ran off.
Their entire appearance lasted no more than three seconds.
This group clearly knew when to cut their losses.
The first man, however, was too deep in character to follow his comrades. He kept "weeding" by the roadside. His buddies ran far off, then hurried back, jumped up, and smacked him on the head.
"You blockhead! Still not running? You want to eat prison food, do you?"
Zhao Ger watched them scramble frantically into the woods and couldn't hold back his laughter anymore.
Fang Zichen couldn't help it either—and once he started, all the men behind him joined in. These folks were acting like they were in some kind of farce.
They encountered eight or nine such ambushes along the way, but no one dared to actually pick a fight.
After reaching Hezhou, they traveled another two days and finally arrived at Hezhou City.
They were far too conspicuous. At the city gate, they had to submit to inspection. Zhang Quan knew exactly how to put on airs—he never said a word, just flashed his badge, and the entire procession was waved through.
The deputy prefect was a gaunt old man past fifty. He'd received word long ago and had been waiting for some time. He gave the group a quick, sweeping glance and was greatly startled. Swallowing hard, he clasped his hands in salute and called out: "Greetings, Lord Fang."
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