The Jia family's vegetable plot was right next to Old Man Qin's place, where Zhao Ger was staying. Fang Zichen passed by the Jia plot often, and every time he saw the cucumbers growing there, he'd swallow hard. If he hadn't worn a red scarf back in his youth, he might have considered sneaking in at night to steal some.
Old Madam Jia knew he had a taste for them. These past few days, she'd been picking cucumbers and bringing them over to his house.
"My lord, if you ever want some, don't just crouch by the roadside staring. Go pick them yourself—don't be shy."
Zhao Ger overheard this and felt his face grow hot, a blush creeping across his cheeks.
He knew Fang Zichen loved cucumbers, so he'd bought some in the village. But apparently, store-bought cucumbers just weren't the same—Fang Zichen remained utterly devoted to Old Madam Jia's cucumbers. Every single day, he'd take Guaizai and sit outside her vegetable patch just to watch them, looking pitiful as could be.
Fang Zichen, utterly without shame, took the cucumbers with a cheerful grin: "Granny, you really know how things work! You're my favourite kind of person to deal with."
Old Madam Jia laughed heartily.
At first, everyone had been afraid of Fang Zichen. But after he'd lived in the village for over a month, they'd come to see that this prefect had absolutely no airs about him—he was easygoing, and in many ways, he had the heart of a child. If they hadn't seen him conduct official business with soldiers, and seen those soldiers bow and salute him with deep respect, they'd never have believed that this man was the prefect of Hezhou—second only to the governor himself.
The villagers sent over so many vegetables that they couldn't eat them all, so Zhao Ger took the extras to the paper mill.
The paper mill was now more than half built—it looked like it would be finished in another month or so.
Silver was flowing out like water. Even though it wasn't his money, Fang Zichen still felt a pang of heartache.
Word had spread that he was staying here, and villagers from Ronghe, Xiaxing, and Fangniu often made the arduous two-hour journey on foot just to bring him eggs.
To show their gratitude and repay his kindness.
The prefect had brought them water and built them roads—these weren't small favours. They would benefit generations to come. No amount of thanks could ever be enough.
But aside from eggs, they had nothing worthy to offer.
Fang Zichen knew exactly how difficult life was in those villages, so receiving these eggs made him a little embarrassed.
But turning down a gift that came to his door was not his style. Besides, refusing would have been rude.
He could see the relief on their faces when he actually accepted the eggs.
These eggs gave Fang Zichen a small measure of comfort. At least he had recouped a tiny portion of his investment.
Lao Wang had come too, and Fang Zichen exchanged a few words with him.
Lao Wang's wrinkled face broke into a smile. "We've dug little irrigation ditches in the fields now," he said. "Everyone's been going out regularly to water, so the soil isn't dry anymore. The day before yesterday, I tried digging some up." His eyes grew hot and stinging as he spoke, his voice catching in his throat—with joy. "The sweet potatoes are this big." He held his hands apart to show—roughly the size of two eggs.
They weren't huge, by any means. But this was only the latter half of the eighth lunar month, and this place was different from Xiaohe Village. Over there, the sweet potatoes grew fast—they could start digging them as early as the sixth month. Here, they usually didn't mature until the end of the ninth month or the start of the tenth.
They still had over a month to grow. By then, they'd definitely be a bit larger.
Either way, it was far better than before.
In the old days, as soon as summer arrived, the fields turned bone-dry. The sweet potato vines would wilt and droop, and vegetables wouldn't grow properly either—just tiny little stunted things. Now that they'd channeled water right to the fields, every night after sunset, everyone ran out to the vegetable plots to water. The vegetables were growing incredibly well now—just a delight to look at.
And with water in the fields, they could plant whatever crops they wanted, no longer limited to just one kind. For every household, washing clothes, drinking water, and watering vegetables had become so much easier.
All of this was thanks to the prefect.
They truly didn't know how to express their gratitude.
The villagers had sent over a big batch of eggs, so Zhao Ger boiled a bunch of them, just like he used to do back in Xiaohe Village. He packed them into little net bags that had been sewn specially for this, and hung them around Guaizai's neck. As Guaizai trotted around the village, he looked like someone who'd suddenly struck it rich—a total nouveau riche.
All these eggs had been saved up by the villagers and sent over together. They wouldn't keep long. Zhao Ger gave some away, but kept quite a few at home. Afraid they'd go bad, he cut off Guaizai's steamed buns entirely—breakfast was eggs, lunch was still eggs, and dinner was eggs again. The only difference was the preparation: boiled in the morning, fried at noon, scrambled at night. For the first few days, Guaizai ate them happily. But after that, he finally reached his limit. His face turned green at the sight of eggs. The yolks were so dry that he could barely get them down his throat, and if he tried to spit them out, he felt guilty and queasy. Every meal turned into a struggle—he'd squat there, crane his neck, screw up his whole face, and choke each bite down like it was pure torture.
By evening, he'd rather eat plain vegetables than scrambled eggs.
Fang Zichen patted his head. "These are from your favorite little chickies. You used to love them too. What, you've switched your affections? Not going to be a devoted, one-hearted man anymore?"
Guaizai said gloomily, "Guaizai gonna turn into egg-boy soon. Eat egg every day—cannot do it. Chicken meat good, egg not so good. Daddy, Guaizai wanna eat steamed bun."
He never got tired of chicken meat or steamed buns.
Zhao Ger laughed and put some vegetables in his bowl. "Once you speak properly, I'll give you some."
"Aiyo, why gotta be like that? Daddy's so mean!"
---
Zhang Quan was a man who didn't like to think for himself—he only moved when Fang Zichen pointed. Now that he'd been sent down to each village to check on progress, he obediently went. Fang Zichen took Zhao Ger, Guaizai, and Xiao Feng to Anping County. Zhao Ger wanted to buy some gifts; in a few days, they'd be heading back to Hezhou to visit Xie Xiaoyu.
They'd been busy all this time and hadn't had a chance to properly look around. But there really wasn't much to see—small-town streets all looked the same. There wasn't even a decent-sized shop anywhere.
In the end, they didn't buy a single thing—except Guaizai, who dug into his own pouch and bought two chickens.
Just then, the family was buying fried pancakes by the roadside when a carriage came charging down the street at full speed. The road was narrow and crammed with small stalls on both sides, so the carriage barely had any room to pass. It whooshed by so close that it nearly scraped Fang Zichen's backside.
Before Fang Zichen could even say a word, Guaizai let out a heart-wrenching wail.
"Ahhh—Guaizai's chickies!"
He'd set the little bamboo cage on the ground just moments ago. Now it was crushed flat under the carriage wheels. The chicks inside, each no bigger than a fist, had been squashed into mush.
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