Zhao Ger motioned for Xiao Feng to follow inside, dug through a box under the bed, and handed him some watercolors.
The moment Xiao Feng saw the watercolors, all his sulking about being left behind vanished. He beamed. "Thank you, Uncle Zhao."
"Your Uncle Fang made extra last time. You should thank him."
Xiao Feng pouted. "Last night, he said he was going to—marry me off, to Wang Mazi, for two jin of rice. Uncle Fang is mean."
Zhao Ger laughed.
"Honestly, I think Wang Mazi is pretty cute too!"
Xiao Feng's eyes went wide.
Wang Mazi was actually a kid from the Wang family in Hezhou City. The Wangs were grain merchants. Wang Mazi was only seven, with a big round head and thick, dark brows like caterpillars—he was actually quite handsome. But for some reason, his completely illiterate family had named him Wang Mazi (Pockmarked Wang). Even worse than Fang Zichen's naming sense.
Xiao Feng looked unhappy. "Uncle Zhao... do we gers really have to—get married someday? Can't we... not?"
Back when his father died, his mother had to remarry. Partly it was because his uncle was pressuring them, trying to seize their land, but partly—his mother wanted to, and made excuses for herself: "Xiao Feng, this is just our fate in life."
What fate? The fate of serving a man.
"A family can't get by without a man. Your mother marrying Uncle Liu is for your own good too. We have to marry—we need a man—that's the only way to get through life."
Why did she have to marry at all!
Wasn't home good enough?
Zhao Ger ruffled his hair and smiled. "If you don't want to marry a man, you could marry a chicken! Though I suppose marrying a chicken or a dog doesn't sound very exciting either."
Xiao Feng: "......"
Uncle Zhao learned bad habits from Uncle Fang.
Xiao Feng turned a bit more serious. "Uncle Zhao."
"What is it?"
"Is Uncle Fang thinking of building a factory in Beihe County?" Xiao Feng asked. He'd overheard something about it—probably a noodle factory, because he'd caught the word "noodle" in there.
Zhao Ger told him truthfully: "Mm—instant noodles. I've been thinking of trying to make some these next few days. If we succeed and they taste good, then we'll build it."
Same as with the sweet potato noodles—make them first, taste them, and only if they're good enough to sell would the factory go up.
Fang Zichen had eaten instant noodles several times before, but the auntie at home said they weren't healthy and strictly limited them. His second brother used to take him out to eat them in secret. The ingredients were listed clearly on the package, and Fang Zichen had a sharp memory—he knew exactly what went into them. But as for the actual process of making them? Don't even ask—because he didn't have a clue.
He loved instant noodles himself. He figured there was no need to question it—if they weren't tasty, they wouldn't be so popular. His classmates ate them all the time, often for breakfast. The cup kind. The whole classroom would smell like them afterward. In the dead of winter, they'd rather run up to the rooftop, shivering in the cold, just to slurp down those noodles. Some bought the bagged kind, dumped in the seasoning, crushed the block, shook it up, and ate it dry.
But sweet potato noodles were different—if it weren't for his grandmother loving them, he'd never have even heard of them.
Xiao Feng then said he wanted to join Zhao Ger in trying to make them. If a factory really got built and they needed more hands, he'd go over and help.
He wanted to do something for the family too.
Zhao Ger certainly didn't object. The kids were growing up—they couldn't stay by his side forever. It was good for them to get some practice.
Fang Zichen took the kids out for a whole day's play and didn't come back until evening. The little ones had been out all day and weren't tired at all—still laughing and cheerful, their cheeks rosy from the cold wind.
Fang Zichen had only brought forty copper coins with him. Each kid got a candied hawthorn stick and a big flatbread—nothing more. The children were starving by the time they got back and wolfed down their dinner the moment they sat at the table.
Later that night, back in their room, Zhao Ger was drying his hair when he saw Fang Zichen tucked under the covers like a tight silkworm cocoon, looking half-asleep.
"That tired already?"
It wasn't that late yet—his husband usually stayed up much later, and on days when he was especially worn out, he'd fall asleep faster.
Fang Zichen grunted in response. "Those two little rascals couldn't even make it down one street before they were begging to be carried. They weigh a ton—like carrying two little piglets. I'm dead tired. Next time, I really need to rein them in and not let them eat so much."
"Then why did you keep going? Why didn't you bring them back earlier?" Zhao Ger hung up his drying cloth and slipped under the covers, bringing a gust of cold air with him. Fang Zichen immediately pulled him close to warm him up.
"The kids like looking around!"
Zhao Ger wrapped his arm around Fang Zichen's waist. Under the quilt, it was warm and cozy—Fang Zichen was like a walking furnace. In the dead of winter, Zhao Ger loved snuggling up against him to sleep. Fang Zichen instinctively tightened his arms and rubbed his cheek against the top of Zhao Ger's head, which smelled softly of soapberry.
Zhao Ger tilted his head back to look at him. "Why didn't you take Xiao Feng along today?"
Xiao Feng hadn't looked too happy about it.
Fang Zichen's mind cleared a little. "Your son wouldn't let me."
Zhao Ger propped himself up, suddenly wide awake. "Did they have a fight?"
"No!" Fang Zichen pulled him back down and tucked the quilt around them again. "Xiao Feng's birthday is in a few days. Your son wanted to buy him a gift, so we spent the whole day shopping!"
Zhao Ger smacked his forehead—he'd completely forgotten about that, what with all the hustle and bustle these past few days.
Thank goodness Guaizai still remembered!
He had everyone's birthdays memorized, just like his father—always wanting to surprise people. Otherwise, not just in the village, but even in wealthy families, children and elders didn't always celebrate every year. Usually, they'd only hold a ceremony at coming-of-age, and later on, only for milestone birthdays, like turning twenty, thirty, forty, and so on.
The boy was thoughtful, though. Two years ago, on Zhao Ger's birthday, Guaizai had given him a gift too—a hand-drawn family portrait and a bowl of longevity noodles. That noodle had been as thick as an arm, and the soup was pitch-black—either from too much soy sauce or from cooking at the bottom of the pot. Zhao Ger had taken one bite and nearly ascended to the heavens on the spot. The memory still made him shudder. "Did he buy flour?"
Fang Zichen was already worried for Xiao Feng. "Bought a catty today. Your son said a birthday isn't proper without longevity noodles, and I couldn't talk him out of it."
When Fang Zichen tried to stop him, Guaizai got upset and said that without his longevity noodles, Brother Xiao Feng's birthday wouldn't be complete, and Brother Xiao Feng would definitely be sad.
Zhao Ger muttered, "Xiao Feng's in for it..." Sometimes, having a son who was too loving didn't seem like such a good thing.
After catching up on family matters, Zhao Ger brought up Yu Ger and Xiao Feng's plans.
Fang Zichen had no objections.
"If he wants to go, let him go. Kids need to spread their wings and be tested. When I was his age, I'd been living on my own for years."
"Really?"
"Would I lie?"
Zhao Ger looked at his smug expression and couldn't help but say, "But I seem to remember a certain someone couldn't even stir-fry vegetables before..."
"..."
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