Old Madam Qin returned after a good while, the corners of her eyes slightly red and damp.
Everyone discussed things together for a long time. Though the fog was thick and some things were completely inexplicable, they couldn't suppress their curiosity about Fang Zichen.
They had only heard about him from the shadow guards and Guaizai. They'd never had contact with him, and now they were intensely curious.
Old Madam Qin already considered Fang Zichen her grandson. She called Zhong Momo to bring Uncle Tang over and asked him, "What kind of person is that Fang boy?"
Uncle Tang said, "The master looks very much like Zhujun, but he's taller than Zhujun."
Meng Ruqing wasn't short among gers—one meter seventy-six.
Qin Hengxuan asked, "Is he the same as me?"
Uncle Tang said, "Even taller than you, Eldest Young Master."
Qin Hengxuan was over eight chi (185 cm) tall—practically head and shoulders above everyone else. Old General Qin slapped the bed frame hard. "That height—that's our Qin family's blood."
Qin Hengxuan was speechless.
Meng Ruqing asked Uncle Tang how Fang Zichen had been doing these past years, whether anyone at Hezhou bullied him, what he liked, what he liked to eat.
Uncle Tang's eyelids twitched. What was Zhujun thinking? How could anyone possibly bully the master? It was always the master doing the bullying. He answered each question one by one. "The master likes his fulang and the three children the most. Next is silver and taking advantage of people. He's not a picky eater, but he doesn't much like ginger..."
He spoke in detail. Last time when they'd sent someone to the capital to investigate, the shadow guard had also said Fang Zichen loved taking advantage of people. Now Uncle Tang said the same. Meng Ruqing asked, "How does he take advantage of people?"
Uncle Tang hemmed and hawed, too embarrassed to say.
Later they called Zhang Quan over. When they heard what he'd been up to in Shunan — making Guaizai carry a sack to patrol the streets just to swindle two handfuls of vegetables out of people, then not being able to finish them, refusing to throw them away, and insisting on having them shipped all the way back from Shunan, only for most of them to rot on the way, and then finding all sorts of excuses to reward Guaizai with public funds and secretly split the spoils with him... item after item, too many to count.
The Qin family fell silent for a long while after hearing this. They felt somewhat embarrassed, faces burning, yet also somewhat amused. After sending Zhang Quan out, Old General Qin said mournfully, "Did this child suffer too much when he was little?"
Uncle Tang shook his head. Though Fang Zichen was a bit stingy, he didn't seem to have been raised in poverty. On the contrary, his manner was even more brazen than a crown prince's. As for why he was so greedy for money and so stingy, Uncle Tang didn't know either.
But Qin Hengxuan could probably guess. With Guaizai's appetite, when they'd lived in the village back then, if he hadn't been greedy and stingy, how would they have fed the child? His son had really suffered.
That night, the Qin family barely slept. Their hearts were shaken to the core—excited, happy, missing Fang Zichen. They listened all night and still couldn't get enough.
Uncle Tang and Zhang Quan's back-and-forth was dry and dull. It really had to be Guaizai. Once you asked him what kind of person his father was, he could talk for three days and three nights without running out of things to say.
He'd guarded a funeral hall, robbed people, even dressed up as a ghost and scared someone so badly they wet their pants. He'd gone up the mountain to pick pears and been chased around by villagers with hoes—but they hadn't caught him. He and his father ran super fast.
Guaizai kept giggling as he told the stories. He described things in such detail that everyone could picture the scenes and couldn't help laughing. Guaizai was this mischievous—it was clearly Fang Zichen's influence.
Old Madam Qin was holding Gungun and tying up his little topknot. She'd just laughed until her stomach hurt. She said, "This kid—one mischievous idea after another."
"Exactly." Old General Qin said, "Just hearing this, you know he's our Qin family's blood. He may be a top scholar, but look at him—does he seem like a scholar? I really want to meet that boy right now."
Meng Ruqing was laughing too, his mind constantly sketching out what Fang Zichen looked like. This child's temperament wasn't like his—it was like Brother Xuan's. He didn't like doing serious things, but his mind was sharp.
"Does your father really look like me?" Meng Ruqing couldn't help asking again.
Guaizai nodded. "Yes! But Pretty Uncle, why are you asking? Haven't you already met Guaizai's father?"
Meng Ruqing paused. "No, I haven't."
"Ah!" Guaizai scratched his head. "But Father said he's seen you! Back then you were sitting in a big, big carriage. Father said he was scared silly—seven souls gone, six spirits missing. He also said your horses were super cool, and the ones Grandpa Yang hired were lame."
Meng Ruqing suddenly remembered.
It was four years ago, on the way back to Hengyang from the capital. At some point on the road, for some reason, his heart started pounding violently. He'd lifted the carriage curtain and seen a young man. Their eyes had even met. Afterwards, he'd instinctively looked back, but the young man was gone.
At that moment his chest had felt swollen and tight, and he couldn't identify the emotion. So it was...
They had already met. But he hadn't been able to recognize his own son.
Meng Ruqing clutched his head and crouched down in pain.
Though they wanted to hear more, there was much to do. Meng Ruqing and Qin Hengxuan still had to go attend to business, so the three little ones stayed with Old General Qin.
Perhaps good news lifted the spirits, because when Lao Jiang came to change Old General Qin's bandages, he found his high fever had broken. He let out a breath of relief.
Old General Qin asked how the wounded soldiers were doing. Lao Jiang's tone was heavy. He said most of them were gone.
Initially there were two thousand nine hundred and thirty-plus casualties. Over one thousand eight hundred had died in the canyon. Of the wounded brought back, fewer than a hundred would pull through.
Old General Qin felt like he couldn't breathe. His clenched fists went white at the knuckles, the veins on the backs of his hands bulging, his chest feeling as if something were lodged inside.
Lao Jiang said, "General, this is not your fault."
It was he who had failed to judge people clearly; he bore most of the responsibility.
Old General Qin could not speak. It took him a great deal of effort just to nod.
The day Guaizai arrived, he had seen quite a few people being carried out. They had passed right by him at the time, and the bodies weren't covered with white cloths. After overhearing the conversation between Old Jiang and Old General Qin, he immediately said, "I'll write to Father and have him send Sister Tang and the others over."
Old General Qin didn't even get a chance to ask for details before Guaizai went pattering off to find Meng Ruqing, borrowed a brush, and personally wrote a letter, telling Zhang Quan to find someone to deliver it back to Hezhou.
Qin Hengxuan and Meng Ruqing also wanted to write a letter to Fang Zichen, but once they picked up their brushes, they didn't know what to write.
After working day and night for several days and then being hit with such an enormous surprise, a whole night had passed and the two still couldn't believe it. They were beside themselves with excitement, their minds stuck in a hazy, dreamlike state of unreality. At this moment they were as jumpy as startled birds, their brush-holding hands trembling uncontrollably.
Moreover, they were gripped by that timid feeling of being close to home. They were afraid of being too abrupt and frightening the child, or saying the wrong thing and upsetting someone. And somehow, just sending a single letter didn't feel serious or proper enough.
The child knew nothing of what had happened back then. For twenty years, they had neither asked nor cared. When he most needed his father and dad's protection, they had failed to appear. They didn't know what kind of life the child had lived before. If he had lived unhappily, had there ever been a moment when he bitterly resented them?
Now the child had grown up, had made something of himself, could do everything well, no longer needed his father and dad, no longer needed protection—and yet they had suddenly appeared. Could he accept it?
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