The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 10 Part 1

Chapter 10: Nightmare  

As dusk fell, they finally finished digging up the sweet potatoes.  

Aunt He sorted through the half-basket of sweet potatoes that Fang Zichen had damaged earlier that day, picking out a few "misshapen and ugly ones" and handing them to Zhao Ger: "These are for you."  

Zhao Ger accepted them with both hands and said thank you.  

Aunt He wore an expression of someone bestowing charity, while Zhao Ger acted as though he should be endlessly grateful.  

Fang Zichen frowned at the sight. The exhaustion from the day’s labor made his whole body ache, intensifying his discomfort.  

Aunt He was pleased with Zhao Ger’s attitude. "I still have a plot of land on the southern slope. If you have time tomorrow, you could—"  

Fang Zichen cut her off coldly: "No time. From now on, dig your own sweet potatoes."  

"Ah! This, this—"  

"Aunt He," Fang Zichen locked eyes with her and asked quietly, "Are your father aware of your generosity?"  

Aunt He: "..."  

Her expression turned awkward. "Taxes were heavy this year, and we had to pay a lot of silver. The harvest wasn’t good either. How about I give you a few more? I just wanted to help Zhao Ger."  

Fang Zichen replied, "No need. If the harvest is bad, then Zhao Ger definitely shouldn’t help you. Otherwise, giving away a few more sweet potatoes might starve your whole family to death."  

Aunt He flushed with embarrassment.  

"Guaizai," Fang Zichen called to the boy picking wild vegetables by the field ridge. "Let’s go home."  

On the way back, Zhao Ger stole glances at him.  

Fang Zichen walked leisurely, his posture straight. After a day of labor, his face, neck, and the back of his hands—exposed to the sun—were slightly reddened. A mosquito had also left a small red bump on his cheek.  

"What are you looking at?" he suddenly asked.  

Caught off guard, Zhao Ger quickly averted his gaze. "N-nothing."  

"Let’s go to town tomorrow. I want to find work," Fang Zichen said.  

"But," Zhao Ger bit his lip, "jobs in town are hard to come by."  

Fang Zichen sighed, a rare occurrence, his expression sour. "Hard or not, I have to try. I don’t want to eat wild vegetables every day, or just sweet potatoes."  

Zhao Ger’s steps faltered. His hands, holding the sweet potatoes, clenched slightly... Fang Zichen looked down on the best he could offer, the fruits of his sweat and toil.  

At that moment, the sweet potatoes in his hands seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, pressing down on him until he could barely breathe.  

He watched as Fang Zichen walked ahead, quickly putting distance between them. Fang Zichen was still moving slowly, his figure shrouded in the dimming light.  

Once again, Zhao Ger was trapped in a suffocating sense of helplessness.  

He had felt this way countless times before.  

When that person disappeared, and no matter how hard he searched, he couldn’t find him. When he was pregnant, lying alone on damp straw in a broken shed, biting down on a stick as he gave birth to Guaizai. When Guaizai cried from hunger or cold. When Guaizai was sick, he knelt at the doctor’s doorstep, only to be chased away with a stick.  

That deep, inescapable helplessness clung to him no matter how hard he tried to shake it off. No matter how much he struggled, nothing ever changed.  

He was terrified that because he had nothing to offer Fang Zichen, Fang Zichen would grow tired of this life and leave him too.  

Fang Zichen, holding Guaizai’s hand, walked ahead. When he turned back, he saw Zhao Ger standing still, head bowed, staring at his toes.  

"Did you step in shit? Or is there gold on the ground?" he asked.  

Zhao Ger looked up, answering a different question entirely. "You... don’t like sweet potatoes?"  

His voice carried unmistakable disappointment. Fang Zichen studied him silently before finally saying, "I do. But you and Guaizai can’t live on just sweet potatoes every day." He scowled, looking genuinely irritated. "That stingy Aunt He, I refuse to let you help her again. I’ll find work in town, earn some silver, and buy meat for you and Guaizai. That’s way better than sweet potatoes."  

Zhao Ger’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly as he froze in place.  

He opened his mouth to speak, but Fang Zichen beat him to it. "Are you touched?"  

Zhao Ger had received so little kindness in his life that even empty words—unproven, possibly insincere—made his heart tremble. He nodded honestly. "Yes."  

"It’s nothing, really," Fang Zichen grinned, pushing his bangs back. "What can I say? I’m one in a million—a truly exceptional man. Your ancestors must’ve set the family grave on fire to land someone like me as your... brother."  

[Ancestral graves emitting blue smoke, meaning incredibly lucky. Here FZC says ancestral graves on fire to exaggerate how ‘lucky’ Zhao Ger is to have him]

Zhao Ger stiffened, his face draining of color.  

Brother?

That word cut deeper than any insult ever hurled at him.  

Fang Zichen noticed Zhao Ger had gone silent again, his eyes slowly reddening. His brow furrowed instinctively.  

In the end, Zhao Ger was the one to speak first. "It’s getting dark. Let’s go home."  

Fang Zichen exhaled, inexplicably relieved. "...Alright."  

Back home, Zhao Ger busied himself again, his expression normal as if the incident on the road had already been forgotten. Fang Zichen watched him for a long moment before finally relaxing.  

But by midnight, something was clearly wrong.  

Zhao Ger seemed to be having a nightmare, muttering and thrashing in his sleep.  

The commotion was loud enough to wake both Guaizai and Fang Zichen.  

Sweat beaded on Zhao Ger’s forehead as he cried out and struggled, trapped in some delirium. Fang Zichen was startled, but Guaizai acted as though this were familiar—wiping Zhao Ger’s sweat with his sleeve before shaking him. "Daddy, Daddy, wake up~"  

"Is your dad having a nightmare?" Fang Zichen asked.  

Guaizai nodded. "Mhm!"  

Zhao Ger remained lost in the dream, still pleading, "Don’t go... please don’t..." Fang Zichen heard him repeat these words over and over, arms flailing as if trying to grasp something.  

Normally, calling his name a few times would wake him, but now nothing worked. Guaizai’s eyes reddened with panic as he turned to Fang Zichen, silently pleading for help.

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 9 Part 2

Zhao Ger felt like his ears had been sharply pricked. Fang Zichen, seeing him suddenly go quiet, chuckled.  

The sound was low, muffled, yet pleasant, carrying a hint of amusement.  

Zhao Ger was just too innocent, wasn’t it just a slightly suggestive and somewhat vulgar remark? Look, it had already stunned him into silence.  

Tsk...  

Around mid-afternoon, Aunt He finally arrived, carrying a basket on her back.  

From a distance, she could see two people standing in her field.  

The one digging was the familiar Zhao Ger, while the other, lazily wandering around the field, was that Fang Zichen from overseas.  

The matter between Fang Zichen and Zhao Ger had been the talk of the village these past two days, its popularity not waning. Village Chief He Zhi and Aunt He Ying were siblings, and since Fang Zichen had saved her father, Aunt He recognized him as their benefactor.  

Even setting that aside, Fang Zichen was the only one in the village with short hair - an oddity that made him stand out.  

Aunt He approached with a grin, "Young Fang, you’re here too! Oh, you really know how to dote on someone."  

Back then, she hadn’t had the chance to speak to Fang Zichen, only catching a glimpse of him from afar before rushing off to fetch a doctor for her father. At the time, she hadn’t seen him clearly, only thinking how tall he was. Now, up close, he was truly striking.  

Fang Zichen’s exposed neck and cheeks were fair and translucent, his nose bridge tall and straight, beads of sweat glistening on the tip. His brows and eyes carried a heroic air—undeniably top-tier looks.  

Goodness, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone this handsome even across ten villages.  

That skin... even her own daughter, He Xiaoyu, who spent all day lounging indoors, couldn’t compare.  

Fang Zichen tossed a sweet potato playfully and called out, "Aunt He."  

"Aye~" Aunt He beamed, but when she turned and saw the small basket left in the field, half-filled with rotten sweet potatoes, her smile froze on her face.  

"...Zhao Ger," she instinctively wanted to scold him, but then she felt a gaze slide over her—dark, fierce, like a lion lurking in the grass, eyeing its prey’s neck... a gaze of death. She slowly looked up and saw Fang Zichen staring at her without blinking.  

"...Y-Young Fang?"  

Fang Zichen said nothing.  

The atmosphere grew heavy. Zhao Ger dropped his hoe and moved behind Fang Zichen, quietly tugging at his sleeve.  

"I was the one who accidentally ruined these," Fang Zichen pointed at the small basket, his expression shifting back to a cheerful grin. "I’ve never done this kind of work at home, so I’m not skilled yet. My apologies."  

Aunt He’s scalp was still tingling. Looking at Fang Zichen’s gentle smile, she could only think that what she’d just sensed must have been an illusion. "N-No worries, just a few sweet potatoes. It’s nothing."  

After a while, Aunt He’s husband and son arrived. They brought carrying baskets and, after exchanging brief greetings with Fang Zichen, began loading the sweet potatoes he had gathered into the baskets to carry them back.  

Once they were gone, Zhao Ger whispered, "Uncle He and Big Brother He seemed a little afraid of you."  

Aunt He was digging on the other side. Her husband also shared the surname He. Fang Zichen shrugged. "Aren’t you afraid of me too?"  

"I-I’m not."  

Fang Zichen, still hung up on the matter of losing face, brought it up again. "Oh, right! You really aren’t, you even dared to hit me with a rock."  

Zhao Ger: "......"  

It wasn’t a rock!  

"Father, Daddy," Guaizai rubbed his eyes as he walked over, his hair sticking up in all directions, looking like he hadn’t fully woken up yet. He swayed as if he’d drunk two pounds of erguotou. Spotting Aunt He at the edge of the field, he called out, "Grandma He."  

[Erguotou (二锅头): a strong Chinese liquor, typically around 50-60% alcohol by volume. It's a clear, distilled spirit made from sorghum and is one of the most popular and affordable baijiu (Chinese white liquor) varieties.] 

Zhao Ger crouched down. "Still sleepy?"  

Guaizai had never had the habit of taking naps before. When Zhao Ger was with the Ma family, aside from when it was too dark to work at night, he was almost always busy. Guaizai, still small, would get covered in mosquito bites when gathering firewood in the mountains or suffer under the sun in the fields, yet he never complained, following Zhao Ger everywhere.  

At first, Zhao Ger hadn’t taken Guaizai with him everywhere. Before he turned one, Guaizai couldn’t be left alone, so Zhao Ger carried him all day. Later, when he got a little older, Zhao Ger would lock him in the woodshed. Once, while Zhao Ger was working in the fields, someone came running to tell him, "Zhao Ger, you’re still working? Hurry back!"  

"What’s wrong?"  

"Your son, Ma Dazhuang shoved his head into a water vat."  

Zhao Ger’s mind exploded. He sprinted home. The yard was crowded with people, and Guaizai lay on the ground, pale and dripping wet.  

Zhao Ger’s legs gave out on the spot.  

Fear, panic, terror—all the worst emotions surged over him at once.  

That feeling... Zhao Ger never wanted to experience it again in his life.  

The reason Ma Dazhuang had attacked Guaizai was simple.  

That day, Zhao Ger had forgotten to latch the door. Guaizai, thirsty, had tried to fetch water from the kitchen. Still unsteady on his feet, he fell in the yard, cutting his head. The pain made him cry out twice. The weather was sweltering, and tempers ran short. Ma Dazhuang, annoyed by the noise, knew Guaizai wanted water, so he grabbed him by the collar, dragged him to the kitchen, and shoved his head into the vat. "You want water? I’ll give you water."  

The commotion was so loud that even the neighbors heard it. An old man from next door, unable to stand it, sent someone to fetch Zhao Ger while he pushed Ma Dazhuang aside and pulled Guaizai out of the vat.  

Zhao Ger knew the Ma family was cruel, and since Guaizai wasn’t one of theirs, if Ma Dazhuang could hurt him once, he’d do it again. Guaizai wouldn’t always be so lucky.  

After that incident, Zhao Ger took Guaizai with him everywhere.  

Guaizai was sensible. Even in the hottest afternoons, he’d follow Zhao Ger around, rarely resting.  

This was practically his first time taking a nap.  

"My head feels dizzy," Guaizai said. "I see two Daddies now."  

Zhao Ger touched his forehead - no fever. After a moment’s thought, he said, "I’ll take you to wash your face. You’ll feel better after."  

"Okay!"  

Washing up did help. Once refreshed, Guaizai ran all over the field.  

One moment, he was picking up sweet potatoes near Aunt He. The next, seeing Fang Zichen falling behind, he rushed over to help, as if he’d taken some miraculous energy-boosting medicine, his stamina endless.  

Aunt He praised him with a smile, "Our Guaizai is so well-behaved!"  

She used this as an opening, hoping Fang Zichen would respond and warm up the conversation. But Fang Zichen ignored her.  

How strange!  

According to He Xi, Fang Zichen didn’t seem to dislike Guaizai and treated him quite well.  

Fang Zichen was picking sweet potatoes behind Zhao Ger, chatting idly.  

"She only paid you three copper coins before too?" Fang Zichen tilted his chin toward Aunt He, keeping his voice low.  

"Yeah," Zhao Ger matched his tone. "Most folks in the village aren’t well-off. They do their own chores. Aunt He has a kind heart. She pitied me and wanted to help, otherwise her family could’ve managed on their own."  

Fang Zichen curled his lip.  

Kind heart? More like black-hearted.  

Zhao Ger said daily wages here ranged from nineteen copper coins (with a meal) to twenty-three at most.  

If Aunt He truly pitied him and wanted to help, even paying eight or ten copper coins would’ve been understandable. But three? What was that?  

A single egg cost two copper coins.  

This wasn’t charity, it was exploitation! Taking advantage of Zhao Ger’s desperation under the guise of kindness.  

Xiaohe Village was poor, but Aunt He’s family was relatively well-off. Outside of harvest season, her two sons worked at the docks in town, earning twenty-five copper coins a day. Their family never went hungry.  

With that kind of income, couldn’t they afford to pay half the usual wage?  

That black-hearted old woman.

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 9 Part 1

Chapter 9: Past Events  

Zhao Ger was also a bit dazed. Fang Zichen frowned, looking at the spot on his chest where he had been hit—still smudged with bits of mud. He seemed to be deep in thought, visibly unhappy.  

Zhao Ger grew anxious, his heart pounding. He was just about to open his mouth to apologize when, unexpectedly, Fang Zichen once again defied expectations.  

"You threw a rock at me from so far away. If I’d been standing right in front of you, would you have just slapped me instead?"  

Zhao Ger secretly sighed in relief: "......That wasn’t a rock."  

A rock could kill someone.  

"And yet you still did it," Fang Zichen brushed off the mud. "Don’t they say around here that 'the husband is greater than heaven'? How dare you hit me! Absolutely lawless."  

Having hit him once, Zhao Ger seemed to have gained some boldness. Seeing that Fang Zichen didn’t seem truly angry, he pointed at the clump of dirt which was still intact after hitting its target, lying at Fang Zichen’s feet and argued, "It was that thing that hit you, not me."  

"Oh, ohoho!" Fang Zichen hadn’t expected the previously obedient, timid Zhao Ger to suddenly pull such a stunt. Like a rogue spotting a beauty, he circled Zhao Ger once, scrutinizing him up and down. Zhao Ger tensed under his gaze, his fingers gripping the hoe so tightly his knuckles turned white.  

Only when Zhao Ger was on the verge of cracking did Fang Zichen finally speak: "If you’re this good at shifting blame, you might as well be called 'Blame Ger' instead of Zhao Ger."  

"You were the one spouting nonsense first," Zhao Ger muttered under his breath.  

Fang Zichen, standing close, heard him: "When did I spout nonsense?"  

"You said, you said..." Zhao Ger couldn’t bring himself to repeat it.  

He was too embarrassed to mimic it.  

First calling it a "little bird," then a "little brother"—wasn’t that nonsense? And on top of that, insinuating that he was the perverted one!  

And now he was pretending innocence.  

"See? You can’t even say it yourself," Fang Zichen said. "Next time you dare throw a rock at me—"  

"It wasn’t a rock."  

"I don’t care what it was. If you dare hit me again, I’ll hit back." Fang Zichen threatened, trying hard to salvage his dignity. "You were there when I beat up Ma Dazhuang and the others. When I hit someone...tsk, it’s truly something to behold." He pinched Zhao Ger’s thin arm, so frail it seemed like a light squeeze could snap it. "With just one punch, I could knock down ten of you. And that’s not an exaggeration or a boast."  

Zhao Ger, as if he’d truly grown a spine, said, "But that day, you told the village chief that you don’t hit women or ger."  

So that’s why you’re acting so bold?  

Fang Zichen choked for a second before replying with a roguish grin, "Ah, that’s why women and ger are so naive. A man’s words are a devil’s lies, only a fool would believe them."  

Zhao Ger seemed to have an obstinate trust in him and didn’t buy it, but he still asked, "So would you really hit me?"  

Fang Zichen couldn’t be bothered to argue. Instead, he suddenly smacked Zhao Ger’s backside - whack! The sound crisp and loud. "What are you standing around for? Ugh, if you don’t get back to work, see if I don’t beat you to death."  

"Give you an inch, and you’ll take a mile."  

Zhao Ger: "......"  

Zhao Ger’s face instantly flushed crimson, steam practically rising from his head as his entire body burned. He twisted away and hurriedly put distance between himself and Fang Zichen, moving to the other side of the field.  

Fang Zichen assumed he’d finally scared him and felt secretly pleased.  

Just yesterday, Zhao Ger had been so nervous around him he could barely stand being in the same space. And now, after just one day, he was bold enough to throw dirt at him? If this continued, would he be stabbing him next?  

Fang Zichen was no pushover.  

Last time, when he’d saved Zhao Ger and ended up getting hit for no reason, he’d wanted to retaliate on the spot. But seeing it was a woman, he’d held back. While it was true he never laid hands on the weak, elderly, women, or ger, a little intimidation was still fair game.  

Coming from the modern era, he hadn’t given much thought to the future, but he also didn’t believe in controlling Zhao Ger, making him orbit around him and report his every move. People were born free. Marriage shouldn’t mean trapping someone in a cage. The ideal dynamic was one partner being strong-willed and the other gentle and accommodating. If both were domineering, they’d just end up bickering every day, with frequent trips to the hospital.  

Now that Zhao Ger was showing signs of rebellion, daring to act out and even throw things, he couldn’t let it slide. He had to nip it in the bud. Otherwise, if things escalated to the point where he couldn’t even discipline him, how were they supposed to live together?  

Fang Zichen finished gathering the sweet potatoes he’d dug up earlier and headed over to Zhao Ger’s side.  

Guaizai had already been tricked into napping under a tree.  

Standing behind Zhao Ger, Fang Zichen’s steps faltered as he caught sight of the sunburnt nape of Zhao Ger’s neck, glistening with sweat.  

Zhao Ger was truly small and thin. His ill-fitting clothes hung loosely on his frame, now clinging damply to his slightly protruding spine as he bent forward, his shoulder blades becoming more pronounced with each movement.  

When the Ma family had caused a scene before, the village chief had told Fang Zichen about Zhao Ger’s past.  

Zhao Ger had been sold to the Ma family at the age of seven, he was originally meant to be a child bride for Ma Dazhuang’s second son, Ma Tao - a boy born with intellectual disabilities. The plan was for Zhao Ger to grow up and marry him, taking care of him. But Ma Tao drowned at the age of ten.  

Back then, the Ma family’s circumstances were still decent, but they didn’t want to keep feeding an extra mouth. They considered selling Zhao Ger again, but Ma Wen - Ma Dazhuang’s eldest son, threw a fit, insisting he liked Zhao Ger and refusing to let them sell him.  

Ma Wen was the favorite, evident from how his and his brother’s names (Ma Tao (涛: waves) and Ma Wen (汶: river)) stood out among the village kids’ nicknames like "Gouzi (dog child)," "Niudan (ox egg)," "Dahu (big tiger)," and "Erwa (second chile)." With Ma Wen blocking the sale, Ma Dazhuang had no choice but to relent.  

However, there was an old saying: "The wealthy do not marry ger." Though the Ma family wasn’t rich, they still put on airs, telling outsiders that Zhao Ger was just Ma Wen’s concubine.  

A concubine in a poor family was no different from a slave. The Ma family was inherently cruel, treating Zhao Ger like livestock, berating and beating him at every turn. The villagers all saw it. Even if they lied through their teeth, none could claim the Ma family had treated Zhao Ger well.  

The village chief sighed deeply as he spoke, saying Zhao Ger had endured a great deal. Most others would have drowned themselves in the river long ago.  

And it was true.  

Twelve years of abuse would twist anyone’s personality beyond recognition. Facing endless whippings and curses day after day, who’d want to keep living?  

The village chief lamented, but Fang Zichen, having grown up sheltered, couldn’t even imagine such a life. People who suffer long-term abuse usually become insecure, introverted, fearful yet unstable, timid and weak-willed - some even grow emotionally numb or mentally impaired. But he felt Zhao Ger was resilient, like a vine growing in a dark well. Unafraid of the darkness, it would climb toward any sliver of light.  

Zhao Ger’s temperament was still decent. Otherwise, Fang Zichen would’ve worried that one day, over a single word or incident, he might wake up to a knife in his gut.  

Fang Zichen kept staring intently, and even Zhao Ger - normally so slow to notice things, eventually became aware of it, growing inexplicably flustered. His hoe strokes became clumsier, and after nearly striking his own foot for the sixth time, he finally turned around and asked, "W-why are you staring at me?"  

"Because you’re beautiful," Fang Zichen blurted out without thinking.  

Zhao Ger pressed his lips together, about to retort that his face wasn’t on his back, when Fang Zichen suddenly backpedaled, his mouth running off again: "Which eye of yours saw me looking at you?"  

Then, derailing completely: "Your asshole?"  

Zhao Ger: "......"  

Was this really a young master raised in a wealthy family?  

How could his mouth be so foul?  

Even the village men probably couldn’t compare

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 8 Part 2

Fang Zichen's tone had been off from the start, sounding displeased.  

Zhao Ger pinched the remaining half of the sweet potato and stayed silent.  

Fang Zichen had a soft heart and cared deeply for others. Zhao Ger wasn’t foolish, he knew Fang Zichen was upset that he was working himself to the bone. Just last night, Fang Zichen had comforted him with kind words. But the family didn’t have much to eat, and Fang Zichen was picky, he couldn’t stomach wild herb porridge. Sweet potatoes tasted better, so Zhao Ger had thought to bring some back after helping out. He hadn’t expected to make Fang Zichen unhappy.  

"Why aren’t you saying anything?"  

Hesitantly, he mumbled, "Aunt He said if I worked more, she’d give me a few extra."  

But Aunt He’s original words had been more than that.  

She had meant for Zhao Ger to finish digging this entire field by noon.  

This wasn’t Zhao Ger’s first time working for her family. They’d agreed on three copper coins a day, but she wanted him in her fields before dawn and wouldn’t let him leave until the moon was high.  

Her skill in exploitation was top-notch.  

Hearing this, Fang Zichen almost laughed out loud.  

Were sweet potatoes so precious these days that they were worth working oneself to death for?  

"Take a break. I’ll help you later," Fang Zichen said. "That Aunt He or whatever her name is, she’s no decent person, squeezing people dry like this. Back when I had money, I’d have fed her a slap for sure."  

Outside, the heat was unbearable. Even under the shade of a tree, sweat poured out like it was free. Truthfully, Fang Zichen wanted to drag Zhao Ger back right now. But since they’d already worked all morning and half the sweet potatoes were dug up, leaving now would mean all that effort was for nothing - just free labor for Aunt He.  

No way!  

Absolutely not going back.  

He’d rather die under the sun than let those sweet potatoes go to waste.  

After resting for half an hour, Fang Zichen hoisted the hoe and returned to the field.  

Aunt He had already cut away the sweet potato vines, leaving the cracked earth bare.  

Fang Zichen had never done farm work before. Holding the hoe, he had no idea where to start.  

But he was a quick learner. He called Zhao Ger over to demonstrate a few swings. After watching twice, he was convinced he’d mastered the skill.  

"I’ll take over. You go rest," he said.  

"You got it?" Zhao Ger asked doubtfully.  

"Of course!" Fang Zichen declared confidently. "It’s not like it’s some high-skill job. Easy as pie."  

Zhao Ger watched his assured expression and said, "Just don’t split the sweet potatoes—"  

Fang Zichen swung the hoe down, and impaled three sweet potatoes clean through.  

Fang Zichen: "……"  

Well, some things really did require expertise.  

After working for barely five minutes, under Zhao Ger's increasingly anxious and indescribable gaze, Fang Zichen sheepishly handed the hoe back: "……This kind of technical work is better left to professionals like you. I’ll assist from the side."  

"Go rest," Zhao Ger said, glancing at Fang Zichen’s sunburned face before pursing his lips. "If I work fast, I can finish before dark."  

Looking at the half-basket of mangled sweet potatoes and recalling Zhao Ger’s "you talked so big but you’re this bad?" expression, Fang Zichen—whether from the sun or sheer embarrassment, felt his face burn. "You dig, I’ll gather. Hurry up, don’t stare at me. I know I’m handsome."  

He tried to salvage his pride, but his voice wavered. Zhao Ger’s lips twitched, but he said nothing, just gave a quiet "Oh" and went back to digging.  

Aunt He had taken the baskets home, so Fang Zichen piled the sweet potatoes on the ground. Guaizai ran over, offering to help. Fang Zichen pinched his cheek, his own throat parched and burning: "No need. Even I can’t take this heat. If you shrivel up in the sun, who’s gonna take care of me when I’m old? Be good, go wait under the tree. When I’m done, I’ll take you to catch bugs for your frogs."  

Guaizai pouted: "I can work!"  

"Yeah, yeah," Fang Zichen brushed him off. "Look—" He picked up a large sweet potato. "This thing’s as big as your head. Go take a nap under the tree. Try to wake up bigger than it."  

Guaizai stared at the sweet potato, unmoving. Fang Zichen coaxed: "As a man, do you know which two things must never be small?"  

Guaizai touched his head: "Dunno."  

Fang Zichen smirked and raised a brow: "Your head and your little brother, of course."  

"What?" Guaizai tilted his head, confused.  

"That little bird between your legs that hasn’t even grown feathers yet," Fang Zichen said.  

What—  

Guaizai’s eyes widened. He yanked down his pants—only to find nothing inside. "…Father," he said, face falling in disappointment. "No bird!"  

Fang Zichen: "Hahahaha, how can there not be? Without it, you’d be a eunuch! Hahaha—"  

Zhao Ger held back, then finally couldn’t resist cutting in: "Stop teaching him nonsense."  

Fang Zichen denied the accusation: "How is this nonsense? I’m teaching him about family matters. This is men’s business, don’t interfere if you don’t understand. It’s slanderous."  

"Come here," Fang Zichen beckoned Guaizai closer, tugged his pants, and flicked his little thing. "See? This is your little bird. It’s a man’s pride, protect it well. It’ll be useful later, got it?"  

Zhao Ger: "……"  

"Mm!" Guaizai didn’t understand, but that didn’t stop him from nodding.  

Fang Zichen studied his obedient face, thin and sallow but still strikingly handsome. Remembering how "gers" here looked just like men, he added: "Don’t let anyone yank your pants down. If they try, call them a pervert."  

Guaizai: "What’s a pervert?"  

Fang Zichen: "A bad person who gropes others’ butts for fun."  

Guaizai frowned and mumbled: "Father and Daddy aren’t perverts."  

Fang Zichen immediately agreed: "Of course I’m not!" He grinned at Zhao Ger, who met his gaze with an innocent, round face. The longer Fang Zichen looked, the more a mischievous urge grew in him. Tossing a sweet potato in his hand, he raised a brow and said in a deliberately provoking tone: "But whether your Daddy is one..well, that I can’t say."  

Zhao Ger: "……"  

Maybe it was exhaustion, or Fang Zichen’s dazzling smile under the sun, or the brief time they’d spent together giving Zhao Ger courage—before he knew it, his hand had already hurled a dirt clod the size of his fist through the air. 

Fang Zichen: "……"  

Fang Zichen froze.  

This ruthless?!

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 8 Part 1

Chapter 8: Recognizing Family  

Three people squeezed onto one bed, Fang Zichen half-hanging off the edge, unable to turn over all night. Combined with the earlier beatings from the wooden stick, by morning, there wasn’t a single spot on his body that didn’t ache.  

Zhao Ger and Guaizai had gotten up before dawn. Fang Zichen scooped water from the jar to wash his face and sat bored on the doorstep.  

He had originally planned to go to town today, but after last night’s incident, Zhao Ger suggested waiting until the day after tomorrow - market day, so they could go with others. Fang Zichen didn’t mind and agreed.  

Having fallen asleep early, he woke up fairly early too. The sky was tinged with red, the sun just beginning to rise.  

On a summer morning, the mountain mist was thick. There was no land to tend at home, and the water jar was full. He had no idea where Zhao Ger had taken the boy so early.  

After about ten minutes, Zhao Ger returned with a bundle of firewood on his back.  

Guaizai walked beside him, arms full of muddy wild vegetables. Both their pant legs were soaked.  

Seeing the large bundle of firewood on Zhao Ger’s back, Fang Zichen knew he must have left at the crack of dawn.  

"Father!" Guaizai called out first.  

He ran over, pinched Guaizai’s cheek, and, ignoring Zhao Ger’s refusal, he took the firewood from his back. "Why go gather firewood so early?"  

Zhao Ger’s breathing was uneven from carrying the load all the way from South Mountain. "We ran out at home."  

"You could’ve called me. It’s so heavy, aren’t you exhausted?" Fang Zichen carried the firewood effortlessly, his steps light, his tone casual but warm.  

Zhao Ger’s tired, chilled body gradually warmed, his heart aching with unspoken emotions.  

"Not tired," he murmured, lowering his gaze as he held Guaizai’s hand and walked beside Fang Zichen. "I’m used to it."  

Fang Zichen glanced at him. "You’re not made of iron. That bundle was so big. From a distance, I only saw it, not you." He freed a hand to ruffle Guaizai’s dry, coarse hair. "Working so early, look—Guaizai’s pants are soaked. People will think I’m abusing my stepson!"  

Zhao Ger: "..."  

Fang Zichen: "I’m a good stepfather, you know."  

"..."  

The west room was empty and unused. Last time, the village chief had torn off the door to use as a bed plank, leaving a cracked piece about the width of a calf, which Hexi had tossed inside. Fang Zichen wanted to use that small plank to widen the bed. As he tinkered with it, Zhao Ger mentioned going out to work. Fang Zichen didn’t think much of it and just hummed in response.  

By mealtime, the bed was fixed, but Zhao Ger still hadn’t returned. Fang Zichen decided to cook porridge first. With little food at home and no breakfast, his stomach growled loudly. Just as he added water to the pot, Guaizai ran in from outside.  

His little face was sweaty, his clothes bunched up to form a pouch, revealing a small, soft, slightly sunken belly.  

"Father!" Guaizai called.  

Fang Zichen accepted it naturally, his gaze landing on the child’s flushed face without any discomfort.  

Human adaptability was damn strong. After just a few calls, he’d already settled into the role.  

Pointing at the bulging pouch, Fang Zichen asked, "What’s in there?"  

"Sweet potatoes," Guaizai said, his speech mostly fluent now, save for a few mispronounced words. "Daddy helped Grandma He with work, and they gave us sweet potatoes."  

"Sweet potatoes are yummy. For Father to eat."  

Fang Zichen laughed. "Not wasted catching frogs for you, then."  

Guaizai opened his makeshift pouch, revealing five fist-sized sweet potatoes - all damaged by the hoe, missing chunks, none of them intact.  

Sweet potatoes weren’t unfamiliar to Fang Zichen. Vendors outside his school used to sell roasted ones, fragrant and delicious. His second brother had bought some for him before—soft, sweet, and tasty.  

But with limited resources at home, Fang Zichen decided to wash them and toss them all into the pot.  

Boiled ones should be good too... right?  

Outside, the sun blazed at its peak. Guaizai had returned, so Fang Zichen assumed Zhao Ger would be back soon. But even after the sweet potatoes were cooked, there was no sign of him.  

Fang Zichen ate one, peeled another for Guaizai, and after the boy finished, packed the remaining ones into Zhao Ger’s old, broken vegetable basket.  

Squatting down, he asked Guaizai, "Shall we go find your daddy?"  

"Okay!" Guaizai looked at the basket. "Bring sweet potatoes for Daddy."  

"Remember where he is?"  

"Remember!"  

Though only three, Guaizai had been taken everywhere by Zhao Ger—gathering firewood, farming, foraging. If he were a bit stronger, he'd have trampled every inch of Xiaohe Village by now. There wasn’t a spot in the small village he didn’t know.  

Walking along the path, Fang Zichen soon felt dizzy from the heat, the air scorching his lungs. The wild grass on the roadside wilted under the sun, and the fields were empty. No one else was foolish enough to work in this weather.  

Well, almost no one.  

Fang Zichen picked up Guaizai, broke off a tree branch to shield them, and before long, spotted Zhao Ger toiling in the field.  

"..."  

...So there was someone that reckless.  

"Daddy’s there!" Guaizai called out. "Daddy~!"  

Zhao Ger, swinging a hoe, wiped his sweat and turned. Seeing Fang Zichen, he didn’t seem surprised.  

His sun-darkened face glistened with sweat, dripping steadily. His back was soaked, clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The relentless work had left him weak.  

Leaning on the hoe, he swayed unsteadily.  

Fang Zichen rushed to support him.  

"I’m fine," Zhao Ger rasped, voice hoarse from thirst.  

Fang Zichen draped Zhao Ger’s arm over his shoulder and dragged him firmly into the shade, uncharacteristically angry. "Fine? You call this fine? Do you have to collapse and die before it counts as not fine?" He pulled out a bowl of water from the basket. "Drink. If something happens to you, I’ll be a widower. A newlywed, and my fulang drops dead, people will say I’m cursed!"  

Zhao Ger’s hand trembled as he took the bowl, staring wordlessly.  

"Why look at me? Will staring quench your thirst?" Fang Zichen urged. "Drink!"  

"Daddy~" Guaizai offered a peeled sweet potato. "Eat."  

"Good boy." Zhao Ger noticed two sweet potatoes left in the basket and glanced at Fang Zichen. "Have you eaten?"  

"Yeah," Fang Zichen said. "We cooked them, but you didn’t come back, so Guaizai and I ate first."

Zhao Ger lowered his eyes and took a bite. The sweet, sticky fragrance instantly filled his mouth: "I won't be back until evening. Aunt He’s family planted a lot of sweet potatoes this year."  

Most of Xiaohe Village bore the surname He. Fang Zichen had only been here for two days and, aside from the village chief and the Ma family, he hadn’t interacted with anyone else. He couldn’t tell who was who.  

Who exactly is this Aunt He?  

His tone turned heavy as he asked, "Where are they, then?"  

"It’s hot, so they went back," Zhao Ger replied. "They won’t return until the afternoon."  

Fang Zichen: "Then why didn’t you go back?"

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Seeking Affection  

Zhou Ger sent a basket of vegetables. Fang Zichen gnawed on the two cucumbers that came with it but didn’t touch a single bite of the porridge Zhao Ger had cooked.  

Guaizai held his bowl and ate with great relish. Fang Zichen watched and sighed again.  

It was just too deceptive.  

If he hadn’t already eaten a bowl at noon, he would have suspected Guaizai was eating some kind of abalone porridge with chicken broth.  

The house lacked everything. In the evening, the three of them simply washed their feet and, having nothing else to do, went to bed.  

The bed the village chief and others had temporarily set up wasn’t very big—after all, they had originally planned for only Fang Zichen. Who knew he would be so capable, acquiring a fulang and a child to warm the bed the very next day?  

Fang Zichen had shared a bed with his eldest and second brothers when he was young, so he wasn’t opposed to sleeping beside someone. Even if he were, there was only one bed in the house, and he couldn’t be so heartless as to make the father and son sleep under the eaves.  

With three people, it was a bit crowded. Zhao Ger lay on the innermost side, pressing himself as close to the wall as possible. When Fang Zichen got into bed and lay down, Zhao Ger’s heart pounded wildly. For some reason, he felt inexplicably nervous, not even daring to breathe too loudly. Even though Guaizai was between them, he could still seem to feel Fang Zichen’s body heat through the coarse fabric. The scent drifting over was dry, warm, and intoxicating, making him flustered for no reason.  

He heard Fang Zichen talking to Guaizai, the voice close at hand.  

“Are you well-behaved when you sleep at night? You’re not going to shove your feet in my face, are you? Did you wash your feet properly tonight?” Fang Zichen fired off three questions in a row.  

“Washed them clean,” Guaizai replied obediently, lying flat on his back with his hands resting neatly on his little belly, blinking his eyes as if not yet ready to sleep.  

Fang Zichen lay close to the edge of the bed. Having napped earlier in the day, his mind was restless now, his stomach empty, making it even harder to fall asleep. He asked, “Can’t sleep?”  

“...Mm.” Guaizai nodded.  

“So young and already learning to lose sleep like an adult? How impressive,” Fang Zichen chuckled, then turned onto his side to face Guaizai. “How about I tell you a story?”  

Guaizai had never heard a story before and immediately grew more excited. “...Okay.”  

“Once upon a time, there was a child who couldn’t sleep at night. He closed his eyes and wondered, ‘Why can’t I sleep?’ He thought and thought, and then...”  

“...And then what?” Guaizai pressed.  

Zhao Ger also pricked up his ears.  

Fang Zichen, being utterly shameless, made up the story on the spot without a shred of effort. “...And then he fell asleep.”  

Zhao Ger: “......”  

Guaizai: “......”  

Guaizai’s little mouth pouted, but being so young and having spent the afternoon busy picking wild vegetables, he soon grew drowsy as Zhao Ger patted his chest gently, just as he always did to lull him to sleep. Mumbling a few words Fang Zichen couldn’t quite understand, Guaizai drifted off.  

Zhao Ger withdrew his hand and pressed it tightly to his side, staying silent. Fang Zichen lifted his head slightly and, like a thief, whispered, “Zhao Ger, can’t you sleep either? Want me to tell you a story too?”  

Zhao Ger: “......”  

“...Okay.”  

“Once upon a time, there was a ger who couldn’t sleep at night. He closed his eyes and wondered, ‘Why can’t I sleep?’ He thought and thought, and then he fell asleep.”  

Zhao Ger: “......”  

After a long silence, Fang Zichen listened to his slightly uneven breathing and was about to speak when Zhao Ger’s soft voice came from beside him.  

“Guaizai’s asleep... Do you... do you want to?”  

Moonlight streamed in through the broken window and the half-collapsed roof, leaving the room not entirely dark. Zhao Ger gripped the rough straw mat beneath him tightly, his face betraying no particular expression, just like when he’d run into a friendly villager and asked, “Have you eaten?” There was nothing to be embarrassed or shy about.  

At first, Fang Zichen didn’t understand, staring at him blankly. Zhao Ger kept his eyes down, not daring to meet his gaze. The fair skin at the collar of his clothes gradually flushed a peachy pink under Fang Zichen’s stare.  

It was as if Fang Zichen’s meridians had suddenly cleared, and he instantly understood. His pupils constricted sharply, and he sat up with a jolt, the not-so-sturdy wooden bed creaking in protest. “Y-you... How could you say something like that to me?” His face was full of disbelief. “I’m only eighteen! Can’t you act like a decent person?”  

His reaction was extreme. Zhao Ger’s expression changed, and he let out a sharp breath. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something else, but Guaizai, disturbed by the noise, mumbled in his sleep and rolled over toward Fang Zichen. Zhao Ger patted his shoulder gently, and soon he was sound asleep again.  

The interruption drained most of Zhao Ger’s courage. He fell silent, and just as Fang Zichen thought he had realized his mistake and was too ashamed to say anything more, Zhao Ger spoke again, his voice soft but unmistakably uneasy:  

“You... don’t want to?”  

Fang Zichen: “......”

He stared at Zhao Ger in disbelief, then suddenly remembered—this was Xiaohe Village, not the modern world he'd come from.  

Here, men his age, eighteen, were already settled with wives and children. In Zhao Ger's eyes, doing that at eighteen was completely normal.  

Only he, having lived his first eighteen years following a different set of rules, couldn’t shift his mindset so easily.  

He wasn’t incapable of understanding Zhao Ger. New to this arrangement, two strangers forced together—as the more vulnerable one, Zhao Ger was insecure. He was desperate to prove his worth. During the day, he obeyed, worked hard, followed Fang Zichen’s lead. At night, he wanted to be something needed, no matter what. As long as Fang Zichen found him indispensable, a compliant thing, then he could stay.  

Asking for intimacy again wasn’t without shame for Zhao Ger.  

He bit his lip, closed his eyes, and buried his face against Guaizai’s back. Fang Zichen could still see the tips of his ears, flushed red, peeking out from behind the child’s small frame.  

Fang Zichen rubbed Guaizai’s head and spoke quietly, no longer reproachful:  

“I’m eighteen. Where I’m from, this age is considered too young for that kind of thing. And—” He patted the bed beneath them. “Given our current situation, do you really think I’m in the mood? Even if I wanted to, could this bed handle it?”  

His gaze fell on Zhao Ger’s thin, trembling shoulders.  

“Not counting yesterday evening, we’ve only known each other for a day. In my mind, that kind of thing should only be done with someone you love. I respect you. I see you as my equal. If I touched you tonight, what would that make me? Doing that with someone who’s practically a stranger, it’s not impossible. If I did it, I’d lose nothing. But for you? That wouldn’t be respect. You’re not an outlet for my desires. Do you understand?”  

“I helped you, but you don’t have to degrade yourself to repay me.”  

“Making love, you need love to make it.”  

Guaizai slept soundly, completely unaware of the heavy conversation between the adults.  

Zhao Ger was silent for a long moment before a muffled, slightly choked voice came from behind Guaizai:  

“...Mm. I understand.”  

Fang Zichen exhaled in relief and lay back down, pressing close to Guaizai. The child curled up small, fists clenched, cheeks pink with sleep. Fang Zichen found it amusing and poked his little nose. Guaizai’s lips twitched, but he didn’t wake up. The summer heat made children’s bodies warm, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Fang Zichen wiped it away with a rough swipe of his hand - not gentle, almost careless, making Guaizai’s head bob slightly.  

Zhao Ger’s forehead bumped against the back of Guaizai’s head from the movement. Even with the disturbance, the child didn’t stir. He must have been deeply asleep.  

Zhao Ger propped himself up. His eyes were still red-rimmed, lashes damp, expression slightly awkward as he looked at Fang Zichen.  

“...Don’t tease him.”  

Fang Zichen grinned. “I’m not teasing him, I’m wiping his sweat.”  

He was easygoing, not dwelling on what had just happened. Seeing Zhao Ger still seemed uncomfortable, he poked Guaizai’s cheek and joked:  

“Poor little piglet, stuck between us in this summer heat. Will he be cooked by morning?”  

Zhao Ger, seeing Fang Zichen smiling as if he’d already forgotten the earlier conversation, felt his flush fade slightly. The awkwardness lessened, replaced instead by a flicker of irritation. He defended Guaizai:  

“...He’s not a piglet.”  

Fang Zichen blinked, then obediently tucked his hands behind his head. “I wasn’t calling you the mother pig, you know. Don’t take it personally.”  

Zhao Ger: “......”  

“...Stop talking.” Zhao Ger glared at him, eyes round.  

Fang Zichen’s mouth was as shameless as ever. He studied Zhao Ger’s face and grinned.  

“Let me sing you a song. It suits you right now.” His expression was downright wicked, his smile oozing mischief. Zhao Ger knew at once it wouldn’t be anything decent. He opened his mouth to refuse, but Fang Zichen had already started singing lazily:  

“Eyes wide like copper bells,  

Shooting lightning-sharp cunning~”  

[Opening theme song from the classic Chinese animated series Black Cat Detective (黑猫警长)] 

Zhao Ger slapped a hand over his mouth.  

Fang Zichen: “......”

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 6 Part 2

"Why would she scold me?" Fang Zichen looked at him curiously. "My mom actually praised me. She said people who extort others are scum and told me next time, I should hit them even harder."  

Zhao Ger: "..."  

He Xi: "..."  

"Uh... so your family must be really wealthy, huh?"  

Fang Zichen gave him a look like he was an idiot: "If my family wasn’t loaded, do you think my mom would’ve said that?"  

He Xi: "..."

His father had guessed right, before ending up in the village, Fang Zichen really had been the young master of a wealthy family.  

Hexi chatted with Fang Zichen for a while before leaving.  

He had many family matters to attend to, unlike Fang Zichen, who was unburdened and free.  

When Fang Zichen and the others returned, they noticed two people standing outside the yard.  

One big, one small.  

Fang Zichen recognized them immediately, it was the one who had pleaded for Zhao Ger that morning.  

When Zhao Ger saw Zhou Ger, the tension in his body, which had been stiff around Fang Zichen, unconsciously eased. Facing Fang Zichen always made him feel uneasy, somewhat nervous, somewhat awkward, and even inexplicably inferior—yet he couldn’t help but let his gaze follow him, paying attention to his every word and action.  

This was something he had never experienced before.  

Zhao Ger jogged over: "Zhou Zhou, why are you here? Liuliu’s here too!"  

Liuliu looked up and called out, "Uncle Zhao!"  

"I brought you some food," Zhou Ger handed over a basket. "Freshly picked from the fields. I..."  

Fang Zichen, holding Guaizai’s hand, approached. Zhou Ger pressed his lips together and fell silent.  

Zhao Ger lowered his head, fiddling with the hem of his clothes. After a moment, he introduced to Fang Zichen: "Husband, this is Zhou Ger, my good friend."  

Fang Zichen: "..."  

The sudden address of "husband" left Fang Zichen stunned.  

His steps halted, and his mind seemed to hit a sudden pause button—dazed, a little bashful, and filled with an absurd sense of unreality.  

Zhao Ger had spoken so much to him today, but this was the first time he had called him "husband."  

Originally, Fang Zichen had thought of helping Zhao Ger out, taking him home not as a fulang but as a brother. But... Zhao Ger clearly didn’t see it that way.  

He wasn’t prepared for this.  

"You..."  

Their eyes met. After more than ten seconds, Fang Zichen was the first to look away.  

He had wanted to say, "Don’t call me husband," but when faced with Zhao Ger’s clear, bright eyes - eyes that couldn’t hide his nervousness. He suddenly found himself unable to speak.  

In the eyes of outsiders, Zhao Ger was his fulang. The address wasn’t wrong. If he were to say outright in front of Zhou Ger, "I’m not your husband, don’t call me that," Zhao Ger would be put in an awkward position.  

"Husband?" Zhao Ger called him again.  

His voice was soft.  

Fang Zichen remained silent, and everyone present stared at him.  

Even hearing it a second time, under everyone’s burning gazes, Fang Zichen felt his ears grow hot.  

Damn it...  

This was really messed up.  

"Go ahead and talk," Fang Zichen said, his voice low and unreadable. "I’ll go inside first."  

Once he left, Zhou Ger let out a sigh of relief.  

Fang Zichen’s looks were strikingly handsome, almost flamboyant. Logically, someone like him should be a pleasant sight, but when Fang Zichen wasn’t smiling, his gaze carried a domineering, invasive pressure that made unfamiliar people feel uneasy deep down.  

A single day wasn’t enough to judge, but Zhou Ger couldn’t help asking, "Is he good to you?"  

"Yeah," Zhao Ger said. "He gave us food, didn’t scold me or Guaizai, and earlier, he even caught a frog for Guaizai." As he spoke, the corners of his lips curled into a faint smile. Zhou Ger was momentarily stunned, his heart aching. It felt like he hadn’t seen Zhao Ger smile in a very, very long time.  

Guaizai was cupping his hands together. Zhou Ger noticed now, Liuliu walked up to Guaizai. "Is there a frog inside?"  

"Yeah," Guaizai opened a small gap to show him.  

A plump green frog sat in his palm, its mouth opening and closing as it croaked twice.  

Liuliu’s eyes widened. "Daddy, it really is a frog!"  

Fang Zichen lay on the bed. Soon, noises came from outside.  

The yard wasn’t big. He heard Zhao Ger instruct Guaizai to play with Liuliu in the yard and not to wander off. Then, beneath the window outside the room, bursts of exclamations arose.  

At first, Fang Zichen paid no mind, but as he listened, something felt off.  

Guaizai and Liuliu were at that age where their intelligence was... questionable. They squatted by the wall, watching a frog with its legs tied as it lay motionless in a crevice. Guaizai tugged the string, making it move—one tug, one movement. The two children acted as if they’d never seen such a thing, utterly fascinated.  

"Wow, it can move..."  

"It has two eyes!"  

"Yeah! And two legs."  

"Guaizai, look, it can even jump..."  

Fang Zichen’s lips twitched. Unable to resist, he leaned out the window and asked, "Have you two never seen a frog before?"  

"Father," Guaizai stood up and shook his head. "Never seen one."  

Unlike Guaizai, who was shy around strangers, Liuliu nodded in agreement. "Me neither."  

Fang Zichen: "..."  

Are you two really village kids?  

Fang Zichen looked at Liuliu, raising a brow as he asked knowingly, "What’s your name?"  

"Liuliu."  

Hearing Fang Zichen’s voice, Zhao Ger came to the kitchen doorway, his gaze settling on him.  

Fang Zichen leaned halfway out the window, grinning mischievously in his usual irreverent manner. "Your name’s Liuliu, so do you have a little brother at home called Dada?"  

[Liuliu and Dada (溜溜和哒哒) are the paired names featured in the opening line of a well-known Chinese children’s rhyme]

Zhao Ger: "..."  

"No little brother," Liuliu shook his head.  

Fang Zichen chuckled, taking the grass string from Guaizai and lifting the frog. Dangling in midair, the frog kicked its legs frantically. Fang Zichen said, "Come on, take a good look. Count how many legs it has."  

Guaizai and Liuliu leaned in closer. No matter how they looked or counted, it only had two legs.  

"Uncle," Liuliu said, "Froggie has two legs."  

"Then what are these?" Fang Zichen pointed at the noticeably smaller front limbs. "Aren’t these legs?"  

Guaizai shook his head. "Father, these are froggie’s hands!"  

Fang Zichen: "..."  

"Who told you these are its hands?"  

Guaizai didn’t answer.  

No one had told him, he just instinctively thought so.  

Humans have two hands and two feet. Froggie must be the same.  

Fang Zichen rubbed his forehead. When he glanced up, he caught Zhao Ger suppressing a faint smile - so subtle it was barely noticeable, but Fang Zichen was sure he was laughing. Immediately, he said, "You still have the nerve to laugh? Look at your son! Hurry up and do some damage control!"

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 6 Part 1

Chapter 6: Husband  

Zhao Ger was used to keeping busy. After talking with Fang Zichen for a while, he seemed listless, as if he had suffered some kind of blow.  

He went back to the kitchen, took out the broken basket that had held wild vegetables earlier, called for Guaizai, and prepared to go out. Fang Zichen stood up, dusted off his buttocks, and followed: "Where are you going? Take me with you."  

"To gather wild vegetables," Zhao Ger said.  

Fang Zichen wrinkled his face. He didn’t want to go gather wild vegetablesz the taste was really bad. Zhao Ger assumed he didn’t want to go again and said, "Guaizai and I can go by ourselves. It’s hot out, you should rest at home."  

Fang Zichen shook his head. There wasn’t much food at home, and he was penniless, without even a single copper coin to his name. If he wasn’t reduced to eating dirt, he should kneel and thank heaven for its mercy. He had no right to be picky.  

He was no longer the wealthy young master who used to only lick the lid of yogurt bottles.  

There weren’t many places in the village to gather wild vegetables - just the foot of the mountain, the ridges of the fields, and by a small stream.  

Zhao Ger took him to the streamside, where some wild celery grew. It was tender and didn’t taste bitter when cooked. He thought Fang Zichen might be able to stomach it.  

He had no idea what kind of background this man came from, but when it came to eating a bowl of wild vegetable porridge, he retched and vomited worse than Guaizai.  

The man who couldn’t even handle wild vegetables didn’t recognize them. After sitting by the stream for a while, he just looked around, unsure what to do.

"Guaizai," Fang Zichen called out, lying in the grass with one hand pressed to the ground as he waved the boy over, as if he had caught something interesting.  

Guaizai, still clutching a handful of small celery, trotted over: "...Father?"  

Fang Zichen automatically ignored the term and motioned for Guaizai to come closer: "Let me show you something fun."  

"What ish it?"  

Fang Zichen loosened his grip slightly: "Look."  

Guaizai gasped: "Wow, it’sh a froggie!"  

"Yep," Fang Zichen said, dangling the frog by one leg and shaking it. "Later, we’ll find a string to tie it up so you can take it home to play with."  

Guaizai, having been taught manners by Zhao Ger, smiled brightly and tilted his little head up at Fang Zichen: "Thank you, Father."  

Some vines grew by the stream, and Fang Zichen plucked one to tie around the frog’s leg. Just then, he heard someone calling him.  

It was He Xi.  

Fang Zichen asked curiously: "You looking for me? What’s up?"  

"Nothing, just heard the Ma family caused trouble at your place this morning, so I came to check on you," He Xi said. He had gone to chop firewood in the morning and only heard about the incident when he returned at noon. He immediately went to Fang Zichen’s house, but no one was there, so he came looking here instead.  

"What’s there to see?" Fang Zichen squatted by the stream, idly tapping the water’s surface with a blade of grass.  

He Xi said, "I heard all about it on the way. You beat up those Ma family guys." He gestured with his hands: "Ma Dazhuang is this big, and they say you knocked him flat with one punch. He couldn’t even get up! Is that true?"  

There were no secrets in the village. Even the tiniest incident would spread like wildfire, reaching every corner. Young and old, as long as they had ears, they all knew.  

But sometimes, after passing through too many mouths, stories got twisted. Fang Zichen didn’t know how exaggerated the rumors had become, but He Xi’s version wasn’t wrong. He nodded: "Yep. One punch, and that Ma Dazhuang you mentioned was down. Pathetic, really."  

He Xi copied Fang Zichen, plucking a blade of grass and sitting beside him: "A guy that big, and he’s pathetic?"  

"Tch," Fang Zichen scoffed. "All show, no substance."  

"But you’re amazing," He Xi said. "You’re tall but look kinda thin, who’d have thought you’d be so strong? You took down all three Ma brothers in just a few moves. People in our village never dared to provoke them, afraid of getting beaten up. You’re really something."  

Fang Zichen waved a hand dismissively: "Eh, just average."  

He Xi was the type to act overly familiar and loved to chat. It was as if sharing a bed with Fang Zichen once had forged some life-and-death bond between them. Now, he asked curiously: "When you were thirteen, did you really carry a big knife to go fight people? Weren’t you scared?"  

Most villagers were honest and simple. Even when conflicts turned physical, it was usually just trading punches or rolling around in the dirt, no one ever pulled out knives.  

Zhao Ger, digging for wild vegetables not far behind them, unconsciously pricked up his ears and slowed his movements. That morning, when Fang Zichen had beaten those men, he’d been stunned too. At first glance, Fang Zichen seemed like the easygoing, gentle type - the kind who’d rather talk things out than fight. But when he got angry, he fought brutally. Ma Dazhuang and the others had only taken a few hits before they couldn’t even stand, like it was some kind of act. And then, without blinking, he’d snapped Ma Erzhu’s wrist.  

Guaizai was also curious. Fang Zichen had caught him a frog, and now the boy no longer found him scary. Clutching the frog, he squatted beside Fang Zichen.  

Fang Zichen gave He Xi a flat look: "Are you dumb? Did you actually believe that? Even if I wanted to fight someone, I wouldn’t go to their turf. They’d outnumber me, you think I’d walk into a trap?"  

He Xi blinked: "So you were lying? I really thought you’d fought people with a knife before!"  

Fang Zichen said, "Never fought with a knife, but I have beaten people up. When I was thirteen."  

"Really?"  

Fang Zichen nodded: "Four guys ambushed me on my way home from school." He exaggerated slightly: "All of them were built like the Ma brothers—arms this thick, chests this broad. They said since I had a private carriage taking me to and from school, my family must be rich, and they demanded money. I refused, so we fought."  

"What happened after?" He Xi pressed.  

Fang Zichen gazed at the sunlight glinting off the stream: "They all ended up in the hospital. I walked away without a scratch."  

He Xi frowned, confused: "Hospital?"  

"Like a medical hall," Fang Zichen explained. "They were stuck there for over half a month. After that, whenever they saw me at school, they ran faster than dogs."  

"You beat them up that badly? And your mother didn’t scold you?" He Xi asked.  

If they had to stay in a medical hall for half a month, the injuries must have been serious, and the compensation must have cost a fortune. He Xi imagined if he’d beaten someone up like that, his mother would’ve hung him from the rafters and whipped him half to death.

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 5 Part 2

Fang Zichen walked over to the steps and plopped down. He waved at Zhao Ger, who stared blankly at him, looking a little dazed. Seeing his expression, Fang Zichen grinned carelessly. "Come sit here! Isn’t standing tiring?"  

Zhao Ger went over and sat on the other side.  

Fang Zichen pointed at Guaizai and leaned closer to ask Zhao Ger, "Is he your son or a ger?"  

Zhao Ger looked at him in surprise before answering after a pause, "Son."  

Fang Zichen was puzzled. "Then why didn’t the Ma family keep the child and let you bring him along… when remarrying?"  

Zhao Ger’s response was startling. "He’s not the Ma family’s grandson." Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, he saw Fang Zichen freeze for a moment before looking at him with an indescribable expression.  

Fang Zichen was indeed a little slow to react.  

What did he mean, not the Ma family’s grandson?  

After sorting it out, the logic was this: Zhao Ger was the Ma family’s son-in-law, but the child he gave birth to wasn’t the Ma family’s grandson. That meant…  

Fang Zichen stared at Zhao Ger in shock, momentarily speechless, feeling like he had married someone extraordinary.  

Zhao Ger looked so meek, who would’ve thought…  

He rubbed his own head and asked, "Zhao Ger, do you think my black hair looks good?"  

Hair was all the same, aside from length and texture, there wasn’t much to judge.  

Fang Zichen said tactfully, "I just think black suits me best. I don’t want this thing turning green one day. You get what I mean, right?"  

[戴绿帽 (dài lǜ mào): lit. "wear a green hat"; fig. being cheated on by one's spouse.]

Not a single curse word was used, but it wasn’t exactly subtle either. Zhao Ger, though illiterate, wasn’t stupid.  

Everyone in the village gossiped behind his back, saying he had cheated. Back then, the Ma family had insisted the child was theirs to keep him working, but the story couldn’t hold up under scrutiny.  

During the time he was pregnant, Ma Wen had been away transporting goods and hadn’t been home at all. Besides, he and Ma Wen had never even shared a bed. Whether the child was was the Ma family’s or not, they knew.  

The only reason they’d gritted their teeth and endured it was because they were afraid that if word got out he’d "stolen a man," he’d be beaten to death, leaving no one to do the household chores. They’d raised him for over a decade and hadn’t squeezed all the labor out of him yet, how could they let him die for nothing? That was why they had covered for him.  

For a time, he had thought he and Guaizai would probably die in the Ma family.  

If not for the unbearable conditions this year and the incident where he fell into the water, the Ma family wouldn’t have driven him and his son out so easily.  

"I didn’t cheat," Zhao Ger said, his voice unsteady, as if forcing himself to sound calm. He lowered his lashes, avoiding everyone’s gaze.  

"The Ma family cursed me, beat me, accused me of stealing a man, called me shameless. Some people in the village whispered behind my back, saying I was unchaste and unfaithful, that Guaizai was a bastard. I know all that. But… I really didn’t steal a man."  

The grievances buried under years of repression finally found an outlet. No matter how hard Zhao Ger tried to appear strong and composed, his voice carried a hint of a sob.  

No one had ever asked him how he’d gotten pregnant. Maybe they thought he was too lowly, or that it had nothing to do with them and wasn’t worth asking about.  

So without even hearing the reason, he’d been convicted, labeled an adulterer.  

For four years, he had endured the pointing fingers, silent as if he had accepted this injustice. But facing Fang Zichen - someone he had known for less than a day, he couldn’t explain why, but he didn’t want him to misunderstand, to think he was truly a disgraceful person.  

Fang Zichen stayed silent. He didn’t ask what had really happened—first, because their relationship wasn’t at that level yet, and second, because he didn’t know if Zhao Ger had been forced. Asking would be like tearing open a wound.  

"Yeah, I believe you," he said casually, slinging an arm over Zhao Ger’s shoulder. "It’s alright, buddy. It’s all in the past."  

Zhao Ger stiffened for a moment before quickly relaxing. He asked, "You believe me?"  

"Of course!" Fang Zichen said in a deliberately flippant tone. "You’re so tiny, your guts must be tiny too. You’d need to borrow a dog’s courage to steal a man!"  

Zhao Ger: "…"  

Zhao Ger tried to defend himself. "I’m not that small. I’m nineteen this year."  

"No way," Fang Zichen said, wide-eyed. "You look sixteen or seventeen, younger than me."  

Zhao Ger pointed at Guaizai, still squatting to watch the ants. "Guaizai is already three."  

Fang Zichen choked.  

Nineteen, with a three-year-old son...meaning he got pregnant at sixteen.  

Fang Zichen’s mind wandered. Sixteen-year-old Zhao Ger, small and short, with a swollen belly, crouching by the stove…  

He didn’t dare dwell on it.  

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he propped his chin on his hand and studied Zhao Ger, changing the subject. "What’s the difference between a ger and a man? You look just like me and Guaizai."  

Zhao Ger said, "A ger can bear children."  

"Mm," Fang Zichen nodded. "And?"  

Zhao Ger looked at him. "That’s it."  

Fang Zichen: "…"  

"Don’t you guys ever get confused between gers and men?"  

"When they’re born, they have a red mark here," Zhao Ger said, pointing to a spot on his arm.  

Fang Zichen: "…"  

You win.

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 5 Part 1

Chapter 5: The Stepson

Fang Zichen felt as if the whole house had transformed overnight when he woke up, as if the Snail Maiden had visited his home and repaid a kindness.  

[田螺姑娘 (Tiánluó gūniang): lit. Snail Maiden; fig. a mythical figure who secretly helps a poor man with household chores]  

Zhao Ger stood at the door, watching as Fang Zichen carried Guaizai under his arm like a toy, heading toward the kitchen. His heart couldn’t help but tighten with nervousness.  

When he was nervous, he tended to tug at the hem of his clothes—Guaizai did the same.  

Fang Zichen pretended not to notice. Seeing the water vat full, he raised an eyebrow. "You even fetched water? The river isn’t exactly close. You’re so diligent."  

Zhao Ger let out a sigh of relief and followed him in, pushing the bowl of porridge on the stove toward him.  

The moment Fang Zichen saw the blackish glop in the bowl, his throat reflexively ached. "Only one bowl?" The pot was currently just heating some water.  

Pointing at Guaizai still tucked under his arm, he asked, "What’s his name?"  

Zhao Ger replied, "Guaizai."  

Is that even a name?  

Fang Zichen asked, "There’s only one bowl of porridge, aren’t you two eating?"  

Zhao Ger pointed at the washed wild vegetables beside him. "Guaizai and I can eat these."  

Fang Zichen followed his gesture and, after a moment, revealed an expression of shock and complexity as he looked at Zhao Ger.  

He was even a little skeptical.  

"Can this stuff even be eaten?"  

"It can," Zhao Ger said, avoiding Fang Zichen’s astonished gaze. "…Just blanch it in hot water, and it’s edible."  

He had always eaten like this—if it weren’t, he’d have starved long ago.  

"Don’t we still have food at home?" Fang Zichen asked helplessly.  

"There’s a bag of coarse rice, but not much. We have to ration it," Zhao Ger said cautiously. He had taken the liberty of using the kitchen supplies and felt uneasy. Back at the Ma family’s, they had guarded against him like a thief, even supervising him while he cooked.  

He wasn’t allowed to touch anything in the house, as if he were something filthy.  

Seeing that Fang Zichen wasn’t upset about him using the kitchen supplies, only frowning slightly at the mention of "coarse rice," as if disgusted by this staple that filled most families’ bellies, Zhao Ger relaxed a little.  

"Cook it and let’s all eat together," Fang Zichen said. "Saving isn’t the right way, it’s not like it’s anything good anyway. I’ll go out tomorrow and see if I can find ways to earn some money."  

The village was poor. To make any silver, they’d have to go to town.  

Zhao Ger nodded, looking obedient and agreeable.  

He added some firewood to the stove, then picked up two flint stones and started striking them. Fang Zichen watched curiously, put Guaizai down, and squatted beside Zhao Ger. Last night, he had gone hungry because he didn’t know how to start a fire. Pointing at the flint stones, he asked what they were, and when the fire finally sparked, his eyes lit up as he asked Zhao Ger how he’d done it.  

Seeing his awestruck expression, Zhao Ger answered every question patiently.  

"Let me try," Fang Zichen said.  

Zhao Ger handed him the flint stones, placing them in Fang Zichen’s clean, unblemished, slender, and fair hands, which had a healthy pink hue.  

He lowered his head to look at his own hands, an inexplicable sense of shame rising in him.  

When people saw something beautiful, even knowing they couldn’t compare, they couldn’t help but measure themselves against it.  

His hands were far from attractive—years of labor had left the backs covered in scars, deep and shallow, crisscrossed. His fingers were rough, his palms calloused, and his fingertips and nails were stained with an indelible green tint from years of handling plants.  

There was only one bowl in the house, so the three of them took turns eating.  

Fang Zichen was the last. As he ate, he nearly gagged. Seeing his expression, Zhao Ger asked, "Does it not taste good?"  

Fang Zichen frowned, looking deeply aggrieved. "This porridge is bitter, and there’s this indescribable weird taste."  

He knew wild vegetables boiled without oil or salt wouldn’t taste great, but he hadn’t expected them to be this bad.  

Once, during a school-organized rural learning activity, he had seen a farmer feed pigs. Just cutting sweet potato vines, mixing them with some cornmeal, and dumping them into the trough. The sow had eaten it with relish.  

Pigs weren’t entirely useless, at least they could endure hardship, Fang Zichen mused.  

Zhao Ger thought for a moment, then got up and left. He returned shortly with a washed tree branch, using it to scoop a peanut-sized lump of lard from the oil jar and stirring it into the porridge. "This should make it taste better."  

The lard melted into the warm porridge, releasing a meaty aroma.  

The porridge did improve slightly.  

But it still wasn’t exactly delicious.  

Fang Zichen sighed.  

If not for this whole transmigration business, he would never have experienced this kind of life in his lifetime.  

After eating, there wasn’t much work to do at home. Zhao Ger rarely had idle moments, so now that he had stopped, he felt uneasy. Eventually, seeing Fang Zichen and Guaizai leave the kitchen, he stood at the doorway like a guardian deity, unsure of what to do.  

He seemed to have a special fondness for doorways.  

Guaizai squatted under the eaves, counting ants. He was a very obedient child, never running around. When Zhao Ger took him to the fields, he was too small to help, so he picked wild vegetables by the ridges. Now that Zhao Ger wasn’t busy, he didn’t know what to do and didn’t dare approach Fang Zichen, so he played with ants within Zhao Ger’s line of sight.  

The Fulang's Modern Young Husband Chapter 4 Part 2

The Ma family had raised him, but Zhao Ger later became the Ma family’s fulang and even gave birth to a grandson for them. Considering the years of expenses spent raising him, treating it as bride price wasn’t too much, was it?  

Fang Zichen felt sick to his stomach.  

He spread his hands and said, "Then what should I do? Right now, I’m so clean you couldn’t even find a fly standing on me. Where am I supposed to get three taels of silver for them?"  

The ger who had rushed into the yard earlier to beg Fang Zichen saw him wavering but now hesitating again. Afraid he might back out over the three taels, he hurried to Zhao Ger’s side and gently nudged him. "Zhao Ger, go beg Young Master Fang. Only he can help you now. Go plead with him."  

Zhao Ger stood frozen. Just as the ger was about to urge him again, he heard him murmur in confusion, "That much silver… would he really agree?"  

Xiaohe Village was notoriously poor. Three taels might not sound like much, but some families couldn’t earn that in a whole year.  

Over the years, despite enduring hunger and cold, Zhao Ger had secretly saved only thirty-some copper coins. A few days ago, when Guaizai fell ill, he had spent every last one. To him, three taels was an astronomical sum.  

"I don’t know," the ger said. "But Young Master Fang seems decent. He already softened earlier. If not for yourself, think of Guaizai! He’s still so small. If you’re gone, the Ma family won’t keep him either."  

Guaizai…  

The name struck like a fatal blow.  

Zhao Ger went cold from head to toe.  

"Young Master," Zhao Ger didn’t dare hesitate any longer. Clinging to the last shred of hope, he pulled Guaizai forward and dropped to his knees with a thud. "…Please, help us just this once. I’ll work hard to earn the money back. I’ll repay you. I’ll serve you like an ox or a horse—just please, help us. I’m begging you."  

Guaizai knelt close beside Zhao Ger, tiny palms pressed to the ground, mimicking in a childish voice, "…P’ease."  

He was too young to grasp the meaning of "begging," or the weight of kneeling like this.  

Fang Zichen’s gaze shifted between the father and son before finally settling on Zhao Ger.  

Zhao Ger had a round face, his skin darkened from years of labor under the sun, but his features still looked youthful, even boyish—he couldn’t be older than seventeen or eighteen.  

What were young men of that age like?  

Fang Zichen knew well. They were stubborn, proud, fiercely protective of their dignity.  

They’d rather be cursed at than utter a single "I’m sorry."  

Unless pushed to the brink, they’d never bend their necks or bow their backs in compromise.  

Zhao Ger wasn’t much older than him, yet here he was, kneeling on the ground as if stripped of all pride, repeating "please" over and over.  

The Ma family had come early to make a scene. While Fang Zichen was trading barbs with Madam Ma, the second uncle's wife had said something to Zhao Ger. When he didn’t respond, she kicked and berated him, her words vile. Before, Fang Zichen had seen Zhao Ger standing motionless, like a wooden post.  

Now, that same person - who hadn’t fought back even when beaten and insulted, was kneeling before him, forehead pressed to the ground, humbly pleading.  

Just how desperate was he?  

Had he reached the edge, with no way out?  

Or was this his last, hopeless gamble?  

To kneel, to discard dignity and shame—it must have been the only struggle left to him in his despair.  

If his plea was refused, what awaited him?  

Drowning in a pond? Or being sold off again?  

The Ma family, who called him "bastard" at every turn, were capable of anything.  

Ah…  

Fang Zichen sighed in resignation.  

"Village Chief," he said, "can you go talk to the Ma family for me? I’ll owe the silver for now, I can write an IOU. But tell them to prepare the divorce paper and Zhao Ger’s deed of sale. When I get the money, I’ll go exchange it with them."  

The village chief nodded. "Alright, I’ll handle it."  

Once the commotion died down, Zhao Ger and Guaizai remained kneeling. Fang Zichen walked over, his tone distant. "Get up."  

Zhao Ger didn’t move.  

Guaizai tugged lightly at his sleeve, giving it a small shake. "Daddy?"  

Zhao Ger wiped his face, then finally pulled Guaizai to his feet.  

Fang Zichen gave a few brief instructions before retreating to his room.  

He was exhausted, drowsy, his head burning. He desperately needed sleep.  

Lying on the bed with his eyes closed, Fang Zichen listened to the silence in the yard.  

Somehow, the two people outside made no sound at all.  

Fang Zichen didn’t know how long he slept, but when he woke, the sunlight outside was harsh. Hearing movement inside, Zhao Ger crouched to whisper something to Guaizai, who had been clinging to him. Guaizai nodded and headed for the house.  

The door creaked open, and the tiny three-year-old child walked in.  

He seemed nervous, keeping his head bowed as he shuffled from the doorway to the bed, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his tattered clothing. When he accidentally met Fang Zichen's gaze, he immediately looked down again, shoulders hunched.  

"F-Father…"  

"……"  

The title left Fang Zichen momentarily dazed.  

He forced a smile. "Call me brother." To be blunt, he was practically still a kid himself.  

At his words, Guaizai’s eyes reddened instantly. He had hoped for Fang Zichen’s affection. Now, looking up at him, he asked, "D’you… not like me? I’ll be good."  

Fang Zichen had no experience with children, nor was his heart made of stone. Faced with Guaizai’s tearful, pleading gaze, Fang Zichen’s resistance crumbled instantly. "Fine, fine. Call me whatever you want. You can call me son if it makes you happy."  

Guaizai wiped his tears, satisfied. Carefully, he reached out to take Fang Zichen’s hand. "Father, eat."  

Until he mentioned it, Fang Zichen hadn’t realized he’d gone two meals without food. The moment eating was brought up, his stomach growled loudly.  

Zhao Ger was waiting in the kitchen. On the worn stove sat a chipped bowl filled with a dark, murky porridge made from coarse grains and wild vegetables.  

After Fang Zichen went back to sleep, Zhao Ger had mustered the courage to explore the house. He borrowed buckets from Aunt Liu to fill the water vat, then cleaned the kitchen and swept the yard.  

He hoped that when Fang Zichen woke up and saw it all, he’d be pleased.