That evening, the three brothers sat together, faces practically buried in their bowls, both hands grabbing at the food, grease smeared all the way to the backs of their heads.
Three gluttons sat in a row — quite a fearsome sight. In no time at all, they'd devoured pork leg chunks the size of fists.
Gungun stared longingly at Zhao Ger beside him: "Daddy, want more."
Guaizai never had to ask. The moment his bowl was empty, Xiao Feng used his chopsticks to fill it again.
This kid could eat a lot. He didn't just eat chicken well, he could finish a whole plate of pork leg by himself too.
The village chickens were fed on greens, so their meat was delicious. The older chickens were especially tasty and a bit chewy. Zhao Ger often bought chickens for Guaizai in the village — the poultry in all of Pingxiang Village and the neighboring Anping Village was nearly wiped out by Guaizai.
The villagers watched them eat a whole chicken every day and clicked their tongues in amazement.
Lord Fang must be rich, they thought, to spend so much money like this every day.
Though Fang Zichen had only three children, he felt the pressure of raising thirty.
Uncle Tang and Zhao Ger watched the three kids eat with such relish that their eyes crinkled into slits, their hearts full to the brim.
In the end, not a single scrap of the two pork legs remained.
---
The rice straw in the fields had dried, so the villagers bundled it up and, along with what they'd gathered earlier, carried it to the paper mill, earning several dozen copper coins. Everyone was delighted.
By the middle of the eleventh lunar month, Fang Zichen still hadn’t heard back from Yang Chengfeng. He decided the man was useless.
Fang Zichen had hired some people over a month ago. Yang hadn’t sent a single person, and he hadn’t even replied.
If Fang Zichen had a choice, he would have sent Yang Chengfeng home to retire long ago.
Everything was ready, and Fang Zichen was getting anxious. He figured if there was still no news, he'd just take his own men and figure things out themselves. It would be more exhausting, sure, but his three sons were crying out for food — they were counting on him to provide food!
Fang Zichen had someone hitch up the carriage, intending to buy some tools in town so he could start work himself. But on the way back, a heavy downpour struck.
The weather had already turned quite cold by then — usually requiring a light jacket — and after this rain, it seemed winter was about to set in.
On the road back from town, he spotted several people carrying large bundles, soaked to the bone like drowned rats, standing at an intersection glancing around helplessly. Among them were elders and children. Fang Zichen sighed and told Zhang Quan to stop the carriage.
He lifted the curtain: "Where are you headed? I'll give you a ride."
A middle-aged man hurried over, his face streaked with rain: "Many thanks, young master. My family and I are heading to Pingxiang Village. We're much obliged."
Since it was on the way, there was no trouble at all.
There were six of them, plus their luggage. Fang Zichen was about to step outside and squeeze in with Zhang Quan, but the middle-aged man sat outside first.
After all, Fang Zichen hadn't even asked questions before offering help — his whole family was dripping wet, and Fang Zichen hadn't minded them dirtying his carriage. How could he possibly let Fang Zichen sit outside instead?
Once they were settled, they all thanked Fang Zichen.
They appeared to be one family.
Fang Zichen waved his hand: "Visiting relatives, are you?"
"No," the old man replied. "We heard that the prefect had built a paper mill here and was hiring, so we came."
Fang Zichen: "..."
The paper mill shouldn't be hiring yet, right? And earlier, I made sure my subordinates spread the word that we were only hiring locals.
It wasn't that he discriminated against outsiders — he just worried about situations exactly like this: people dragging their entire families across great distances at great expense, only for him to have to turn them away or take them in.
If he refused, they'd come all this way — possibly spending their life savings on the journey — and sending them back would be no different from driving them to despair.
If he took them in, where would they stay?
His "budget" was tight. He hadn't built any dormitories — just two small rooms next to the mill for the master craftsmen to rest in.
The old man and the woman noticed his expression darken and grew uneasy, unsure if they'd said something wrong.
Fang Zichen sighed. "You came all this way — did you check first? What if you came at the wrong time and the mill had already hired everyone? What would you do then?"
Hearing the concern in his voice, the old man relaxed a bit. After a moment, he said, "The Chu family in Shunan knows how to make paper, but they run their own business. They won’t come here. If there were any papermakers around here, the prefect wouldn’t have had to recruit from Shunan. We just came to see if we’d get lucky."
Fang Zichen's face lit up: "Oh! You know how to make paper?"
"My son and I know a bit."
"Why didn't you say so earlier!" Fang Zichen was delighted.
Better to arrive late than not at all, as they say.
This family's surname was Zhang. The old man was a widowed ger, the man outside was his son, and his daughter-in-law had previously worked in a brothel.
The Zhang family had once been in the paper business too—rivals of the Chu family. As the saying goes, two tigers can't share one mountain. If the market had been big enough, there'd have been room for both. But the market was small—only so much business to go around, and one family could barely make a living. How could they let another cut in?
Earlier, when Zhang Fan had gone to a neighboring county to deliver goods, a business associate invited him for drinks — such was the life of a merchant — and Zhang Fan accepted. Only later did he learn the meeting was at a pleasure house. He didn't think much of it and went, where he met Madam Wei.
Madam Wei was strikingly beautiful and fairly well-known. The merchant, who had a good business and plenty of money, called her over to keep them company.
The moment Zhang Fan laid eyes on Madam Wei, he was smitten.
His own circumstances weren't exceptional, and there were plenty of wealthy men vying to buy out her contract. But Madam Wei had a daughter — a six-year-old who did odd jobs around the pleasure house. When those would-be patrons saw the girl in her room, some immediately waved her away with disgust, not wanting to be bothered. Others treated her like a pet — coaxing her with snacks and asking how old she was, whether she wanted to leave this place, and if she did, she should tell her mother to agree to their terms.
In their eyes, Madam Wei was merely entertainment, and her daughter was no different. They showed the girl no genuine affection — feeding her treats when in a good mood, or barking at her to get lost when irritated. Only Zhang Fan was different. When he looked at her daughter, his eyes held nothing but real care.
Madam Wei knew he had feelings for her. Besides, she was already in her twenties — her beauty wouldn't last much longer, and this line of work had a short shelf life. When no more customers called for her, she would end up like those before her—serving rough, low-paying customers, and eventually even they would stop calling for her, leaving her relegated to the back quarters. But that wasn't her greatest fear. Her real fear was for her daughter.
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