Ronghe Village, Rongxing Village—the nine villages were far apart. On the left side of the mountain range was the Jing River, and on the right was Xiaping Village. From there all the way down to the last village, Fangniu Village, was roughly several dozen kilometers.
If the Jing River's volume wasn't enough, the newly dug canal would absorb water, and it probably wouldn't reach Fangniu Village at all.
Moreover, after the diversion, the Jing River's flow would certainly decrease—would that affect Anping County? That factor also had to be considered.
The Jing River passed through Anping County and eventually merged into the Qin River. If they were going to dig a new canal, to avoid damaging other areas, they had to follow the principle of "different paths, same destination"—the new canal would also have to connect to the Qin River.
Zhang Quan wanted to ask several times—how exactly would they blow up the mountain? Would it work? But in the end, he never got the words out.
When they'd first come, Xia Jinghong had instructed him to follow orders without question. Besides, as he listened to Fang Zichen now, everything he said was so well-reasoned and carefully thought out that it actually sounded quite convincing. So Zhang Quan decided to keep his mouth shut.
Back at the yamen, they rested for a night, and the next day they went out again.
This time they went straight to Xiaping Village. Fang Zichen determined the terrain and the spots that needed to be blasted open, marked them, and then began inspecting village after village, plot after plot.
Where to dig the canal—that also required careful thought. It had to be convenient for the villagers to do laundry and irrigate their fields, but it couldn't take up too much good farmland.
A canal that stretched for dozens of kilometers would need a huge number of laborers to dig, and they couldn't expect people to work without pay.
So they had to carefully figure out the most cost-effective and labor-saving way to dig it.
From Xiaping Village all the way to the very end at Fangniu Village, he wrote and recorded as they went. The whole trip lasted nine days, and Fang Zichen was so sore from riding horseback that even his balls ached.
By the end of it, he couldn't even walk properly. When he limped into the yamen that day, Uncle Tang was so startled that he thought Fang Zichen's cover had been blown and he'd taken a beating. Only later did he find out it was just a sore backside—so he got some medicated wine and had Zhao Ger apply it for him.
Zhao Ger and Guaizai had stopped following him on these trips a few days earlier. Fang Zichen only took the four imperial guards with him—everyone else had been sent out to buy materials.
Guaizai had carried Gungun on his back before, and Fang Zichen couldn't bear to look at it. Now he was carrying his little brother, and Fang Zichen still couldn't bear to look at it.
Gungun was bundled up thick and heavy, a huge lump that looked twice Guaizai's size. With him on his back, Guaizai looked like he was hauling a fat pig off to market—slightly hunched over. Fang Zichen was afraid the second son would squeeze the crap out of him.
But Guaizai seemed like he'd been a father to several kids already—he'd gained experience carrying his little brother around. He'd gently pat Gungun's bottom from time to time, or give a little bounce, and make cooing sounds to soothe him.
He looked so thoroughly like a devoted little fulang.
Seeing his father return, Guaizai quickly pattered into the kitchen and brought out a bowl of water: "Father, were you tired today?"
Fang Zichen took a sip, easing his dry throat: "Not tired. But you—is he heavy?"
His second son had grown plump and sturdy, with a build like a little elephant.
"Not heavy at all! Little brother is so tiny, he's not heavy one bit. Guaizai wanted to carry both little brothers, but Daddy wouldn't let me—he only let Guaizai carry Gungun." Guaizai said, a little upset.
Not letting him carry both is definitely the right move.
If he strapped another one on the front, what would that make him—a sandwich cookie?
Fang Zichen could barely move. The insides of both thighs were red, raw, and rubbed sore from riding. He had just put on some medicine and was lying there with his pants off, letting it dry.
After days of riding in the cold wind, his face was cracked and dry too—he didn't look quite as handsome as before.
Now lying in bed, he picked up a small mirror, looked left and right, and sighed.
Zhao Ger found it amusing and leaned over: "Husband, you're still very handsome."
"I know," Fang Zichen ran a hand through his hair, his brows sharp and deep-set. "A guy like me looks good no matter what. Especially now—I'm radiating righteous glory from head to toe. Do you get that feeling?"
Zhao Ger looked at him: "Huh?"
"Like I'm especially dazzling right now—hard to look at directly."
Zhao Ger glanced down, then blushed. "It really is quite dazzling."
Fang Zichen: "…When you talk, talk. Why are you staring at my junk? Don't you dare try anything funny with this defenseless, upstanding married man!"
Zhao Ger stared wide-eyed: "What nonsense are you talking?"
"I know exactly whether I'm talking nonsense or not." Fang Zichen snorted. "When you were helping me apply the medicine just now, your eyes were like a wolf's—burning hot. If I didn't have strong mental fortitude, my little brother here would've caught fire by now."
Zhao Ger buried his face in Fang Zichen's chest and laughed softly.
Fang Zichen pinched his cheek: "My legs started hurting a couple days ago. I want to rest for a few days."
Zhao Ger's heart ached for him too—he himself couldn't stand riding for more than a few days. At first, when they'd traveled at a slow, swaying pace, it hadn't been too bad. But galloping was different—the friction was brutal.
"Then what about the canal work?"
Fang Zichen took out his little notebook from the side. Inside, everything was planned out clearly.
Where to dig the canal, how many meters wide, how many meters deep—all laid out in detail. The drawings were very realistic too, showing the entire appearance of Anhe County after the water was connected.
"You handle this. Just follow what's written here."
Zhao Ger immediately waved his hands in panic: "Husband, I can't do this."
Fang Zichen countered: "Why can't you?"
"I, I…" Zhao Ger couldn't find the words. Deep down, he just felt that this kind of big matter was something men should handle—how could a ger like him…?
"Husband and fulang are one. I think you can do it." Fang Zichen looked at him seriously, word by word: "You're not inferior to anyone."
Zhao Ger's heart trembled. He paused for a long moment before lowering his head and twisting the corner of his clothes: "But I'm a ger."
"So what if you're a ger? A ger is a person, and a man is a person too. Since both are people, what a man can do, a ger can do too." Fang Zichen said. "You were very happy when you went to the countryside with me."
"That was because I had you with me, husband." Zhao Ger said quietly.
"I know, but that's not the only reason. Everyone has aspirations—you also long to do something for the people, and you long to be recognized too, right?"
Zhao Ger didn't avoid his gaze. He nodded.
"Having an empty stomach is unbearable."
Because he had suffered hunger and cold himself and knew that pain firsthand, now that he was well-fed and warm, seeing others go through the same thing made his heart hurt.
Guaizai had been taught exactly the same way by him. Hearing those same words again now, Fang Zichen's heart still twisted.
He also hated to see Zhao Ger run around exhausted—but Zhao Ger couldn't stay cooped up in the inner courtyard forever. He was someone who could shoulder responsibility. Back when he'd managed the shop, everything had run like clockwork. And besides, Fang Zichen could tell that Zhao Ger actually enjoyed doing things. Now that Fang Zichen couldn't go himself, he could have Zhang Quan handle it—but that man only knew how to follow orders and nothing else. No good.
The deputy prefect had to stay in Hezhou to hold things down—there was too much work at the yamen, so he couldn't be reassigned.
Besides, once the materials arrived, Fang Zichen still had to separate out the useful ingredients before he could make the explosives. And high-blast explosives weren't easy to make!
If he didn't go himself, his fulang would have to go.
Zhao Ger looked again at Fang Zichen's legs, gritted his teeth, and decided: he'd do it.
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