To the Dock (Seeking Follow-up Reads)

Mother Wang's hand froze in mid-air, the smile on her face seemingly flash-frozen before cracking bit by bit.

She slowly turned her head, her gaze sweeping back and forth between Chen Zhong and Fang Shuwen twice.

Her lips trembled, and she squeezed out a dry, raspy voice:

"Steward Chen... you must be joking, right? Fang Shuwen? What... what rank did he get?"

Chen Zhong didn't look at her; he held the wooden box wrapped in red silk and walked straight up to Fang Shuwen.

"Little Fang, the Master specifically ordered this as a congratulatory gift for you. Ninth place in the Elite Class—the entire Zhao Estate shares in this honor."

Ninth place.

These two words were like two stones, one after the other, crashing into the courtyard pond.

Mother Wang's mouth opened, closed, and opened again, like a fish tossed onto the shore.

Hu Da poked half his body out from the kitchen doorway, his apron still dusted with flour, his mouth hanging open wide enough to fit an egg.

"Ninth place? Little Fang got ninth place?"

He muttered, his gaze shifting from Fang Shuwen to Cuicui, and finally landing on Old Fang.

Old Fang stood by the veranda, holding his porridge bowl steady, yet the porridge inside rippled slightly.

His lips were quivering, and something flickered in his cloudy eyes.

Ninth place.

His son had placed ninth in the Elite Class.

Just hearing it sounded incredibly impressive.

"Old Fang! Old Fang, did you hear that? Little Fang got ninth place!"

Hu Da was the first to snap out of it, his voice loud enough for the entire alley to hear.

He rushed over to Old Fang in two strides, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him hard.

"Ninth place! Ninth place in the Elite Class! Your Little Fang has really made something of himself this time!"

Old Fang was shaken so hard he nearly dropped his porridge bowl, but he didn't care.

His eyes were locked onto the red-silk-wrapped wooden box in Chen Zhong's hands, and a muffled gurgle escaped his throat, as if something were stuck in it.

"Old Fang?"

Seeing him like this, Hu Da was startled and quickly grabbed his arm.

"Old Fang, are you alright?"

"I... I'm fine."

Old Fang finally squeezed out two words, his voice so hoarse it didn't sound like his own.

He shoved the porridge bowl into Hu Da's hands, wiped his palms vigorously against his clothes, and took a step toward Chen Zhong.

"Steward Chen, this... this..."

He stammered, not knowing what to say.

Chen Zhong smiled and handed the wooden box to him.

"Old Fang, this is a small token from the Master. Little Fang has worked hard and brought glory to the Zhao Estate; the Master is pleased."

Old Fang reached out with both hands, trembling as he took the wooden box.

"Thank you, Master... thank you, Master..."

His voice was shaking.

Fang Shuwen stood to the side, watching Old Fang's tearful, laughing expression, and couldn't help but shake his head.

That was Old Fang for you—his heart and mind entirely focused on Little Fang's success.

Old Fang's lips quivered for a long time before he finally managed to squeeze out a complete sentence:

"Shuwen, you... you really have made your father proud."

Fang Shuwen smiled without saying a word, simply supporting Old Fang's arm with a firm, steady grip.

Seeing this, Chen Zhong had two servants nearby bring over the rest of the gifts.

"Little Fang, these are also from the Master for you."

"Please thank the Master for me," Fang Shuwen said.

Chen Zhong waved his hand and left with the two servants.

After Steward Chen and the others departed, Little Fang and Old Fang excused themselves, taking the box and the gifts back to their own room.

Old Fang placed the wooden box on the table, his hands still shaking.

Fang Shuwen didn't rush to open it; he first poured a bowl of water and handed it over: "Dad, drink some water and calm down."

Old Fang took the bowl, drank a few sips, and took a few deep breaths, finally managing to steady himself.

He set down his bowl and looked at the red silk-wrapped wooden box on the table, his voice still trembling:

"Shuwen, you... you open it and see."

Fang Shuwen nodded, reached out to untie the red silk, and lifted the lid of the wooden box.

As the box opened, the room was filled with the luster of silver dollars.

Three rows of silver dollars, one hundred in total.

Old Fang craned his neck to look, and his whole body seemed to freeze, his mouth hanging open, unable to close for a long time.

"One... one hundred?"

His voice went out of tune; he reached out with a tremor to touch the silver dollars, then pulled his hand back as if burned.

He had never seen so much money in his entire life.

"This... this is too much... how could the Master... how could he give so much..."

Fang Shuwen, however, looked as calm as usual.

One hundred silver dollars was indeed a huge sum in the past.

But with his current strength of three bone-cracking sounds, if he went out to work, he could earn at least thirty or fifty silver dollars a month.

Not to mention, this level of strength was not his limit.

He would be even stronger in the future.

"Since the Master gave it, you just keep it."

Fang Shuwen pushed the box in front of Old Fang.

Although he was short on money, he had no intention of taking all these silver dollars for himself.

"Ah, this, this, how can that be."

"It was given to you by the Master, so just take it."

Hearing this, Old Fang looked anxious.

He didn't spend money anyway; this money should go to Little Fang.

Little Fang had talent, and there would be no shortage of places to spend money in the future.

"I told you to take it, so take it!"

Fang Shuwen's face turned stern, and he pushed the box over rather bluntly.

Old Fang was good in every way, except he never thought about himself.

Knowing his temperament well, Fang Shuwen knew that as long as he "got angry," Old Fang would "listen."

Old Fang indeed fell for it.

Fang Shuwen's face darkened and his tone became rigid, so Old Fang immediately dared not push back anymore.

He shrank his neck, carefully took the box, and muttered:

"Then... then I will keep it for you for now, and give it to you when you need it."

Old Fang locked the box in the cabinet, tucked the key close to his body, and patted it to make sure it wouldn't fall out before sitting back down at the table, relieved.

This was one hundred dollars; he had never seen so much money from the time he was small until now.

He picked up the now-cold porridge and took a sip, smacked his lips, and suddenly remembering something, looked up at Fang Shuwen.

"Shuwen, are you going out later?"

"Yes, going to East Street to buy some things."

Fang Shuwen replied, walked to the water basin in the corner, and washed his face.

Then he took a gray garment from the clothes rack nearby.

In the courtyard, Hu Da was squatting at the kitchen door smoking a pipe. Seeing him come out, he opened his mouth, wanting to say something but hesitating.

Fang Shuwen walked over: "Uncle Hu, is something the matter?"

Hu Da tapped his pipe against the sole of his shoe, stood up, and the expression on his face was somewhat unnatural.

He rubbed his hands repeatedly on his apron, his lips moving a few times as if he were hesitating.

"Little Fang, you... are you going to East Street this afternoon?"

"Yes, going to the wharf area to take care of some business."

Hu Da's eyes brightened, but then dimmed again. He turned and walked into the kitchen, and after a while, came out carrying a blue cloth bundle.

The bundle was not large, but it was bulging, and the opening was tied tightly.

"Little Fang, if it's on your way, could you help me take this to Little Hu?"

Fang Shuwen took the bundle; it felt heavy in his hand, and the contents were not light.

"Sure, I happen to be going to the wharf anyway."

Seeing him agree, the expression on Hu Da's face became even more uncomfortable. He rubbed his hands, then rubbed them again, rambling as he explained:

"It's nothing special, just... just my braised pork knuckles. He loved eating these when he was a kid. And two sets of clothes; the weather is getting warmer, and he doesn't know how to take care of himself, doesn't even know when to change for the season..."

Fang Shuwen listened without interrupting.

"Little Fang, when you see him... don't say I asked you to bring these. Just say... just say you brought them along because you were passing by."

Fang Shuwen was slightly taken aback, looking at Hu Da's dark, rough face.

Hu Da was only in his early forties, but he looked like a man in his fifties.

He had worked in the Zhao Estate kitchen for over a decade, toiling from dawn till dusk, his hands calloused layer upon layer.

He was usually a boisterous man with a voice loud enough to lift the roof, calling everyone brother, keeping the kitchen lively all day long.

Yet, when it came to his own son, he was at a complete loss.

Just like Old Fang.