Mother Wang's hand froze in midair. The smile on her face seemed to stiffen, then crack apart 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 forced out a dry voice.
"Steward Chen... you're joking, right? Fang Shuwen? He... what place did he get?"
Chen Zhong didn't look at her. Holding the wooden box wrapped in red silk, he went straight to Fang Shuwen.
"Little Fang, Master specifically instructed me to bring you this congratulatory gift. Ninth place in the Elite Class—everyone at the Zhao Estate shares in the honor."
Ninth place.
Those two words struck the pond in the courtyard like two stones, one after the other.
Mother Wang's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, like a fish tossed onto shore.
Hu Da poked half his body out of the kitchen doorway, flour still on his apron. His mouth hung open wide enough to fit an egg.
"Ninth place? Little Fang got ninth place?"
He murmured, looking from Fang Shuwen to Cuicui, then finally to Old Fang.
Old Fang stood by the covered walkway, holding his bowl of porridge perfectly steady, but the porridge inside was trembling.
His lips quivered, and something flickered in his cloudy eyes.
Ninth place.
His son had come ninth in the Elite Class.
Just hearing it sounded impressive.
"Old Fang! Old Fang, did you hear? Little Fang came ninth!"
Hu Da was the first to snap out of it, his voice loud enough to carry down the whole alley.
He raced over to Old Fang in three quick strides, grabbed his shoulders, and gave him two hard shakes.
"Ninth place! Ninth in the Elite Class! Your Little Fang has really made something of himself this time!"
The porridge bowl nearly flew from Old Fang's hands, but he didn't spare it a thought.
His eyes were fixed on the wooden box wrapped in red silk in Chen Zhong's hands. A muffled gurgle rose from his throat, as if something were lodged there.
"Old Fang?"
Seeing him like this, Hu Da jumped and hurriedly steadied his arm.
"Old Fang, are you all right?"
"I'm... I'm fine."
Old Fang finally managed to get the two words out, his voice so hoarse it hardly sounded like his own.
He shoved the bowl into Hu Da's hands, rubbed both hands hard against his clothes, then took a step toward Chen Zhong.
"Steward Chen, this... this..."
He stammered, unable to find the right words.
Chen Zhong smiled and held the wooden box out to him.
"Old Fang, this is a small token from Master. Little Fang has made the Zhao Estate proud, and Master is pleased."
Old Fang reached out with both hands and accepted the box, trembling.
"Thank Master... Thank Master..."
His voice shook.
Fang Shuwen stood to one side, watching Old Fang look ready to laugh and cry at once. He couldn't help shaking his head.
That was Old Fang for you, with every thought and wish centered on Little Fang making something of himself.
Old Fang's lips quivered for a long while before he finally managed a whole sentence.
"Shuwen, you... you've really made your father proud."
Fang Shuwen smiled without saying anything. He simply supported Old Fang's arm, his grip neither too light nor too firm.
Seeing this, Chen Zhong had the two servants beside him bring over the rest of the gifts.
"Little Fang, these are from Master, too."
"Please thank Master for me," Fang Shuwen said.
Chen Zhong waved a hand and left with the two servants.
After Steward Chen and the others had left, Little Fang and Old Fang excused themselves, then carried the box and gifts back to their home.
Old Fang set the wooden box on the table, his hands still trembling.
Fang Shuwen didn't open it right away. First, he poured a bowl of water and handed it over. "Dad, have some water and catch your breath."
Old Fang took the bowl, drank a couple of mouthfuls, and drew several deep breaths. At last, he began to settle down.
He put the bowl down and looked at the wooden box wrapped in red silk on the table, his voice still unsteady.
"Shuwen, you... open it and have a look."
Fang Shuwen nodded, untied the red silk, and lifted the wooden lid.
The box opened, filling the room with the gleam of silver dollars.
Three rows of them, a hundred silver dollars in all.
Old Fang leaned over for a look and froze, mouth agape, unable to close it for a long while.
"One... one hundred?"
His voice went shrill. He reached out and gingerly touched the silver dollars, then jerked his hand back as if they'd burned him.
He had never seen so much money in his life.
"This... this is far too much... Why would Master... give so much...?"
Fang Shuwen, by contrast, looked entirely calm.
A hundred silver dollars would have been a fortune once.
But with his current strength, having Three-Sound Bone Crack, he could earn at least thirty or fifty silver dollars a month if he went out to work.
Besides, this level of strength wasn't his limit.
He would grow stronger.
"Master gave them to you, so just keep them."
Fang Shuwen pushed the box toward Old Fang.
He needed money, but he had no intention of taking all these silver dollars for himself.
"Ah, th-this... how can that be?"
"Master gave them to you. You should keep them."
Old Fang looked anxious.
He didn't spend money anyway. It belonged with Little Fang.
Little Fang had ability, and there'd be no shortage of things to spend money on in the future.
"I said, keep it!"
Fang Shuwen's expression turned stern as he shoved the box toward him, his tone a little brusque.
Old Fang was good in every way except that he never thought of himself.
Fang Shuwen knew his temperament well. As long as he got angry, Old Fang would do as he was told.
And Old Fang fell for it, just as expected.
Fang Shuwen's face darkened, and his tone turned hard. Old Fang immediately stopped pushing back.
He shrank his neck and carefully took the box, muttering, "Then... I'll hold on to it for you. When you need it, I'll give it back."
Old Fang locked the box away in the cabinet, tucked the key close against his body, then patted it to make sure it wouldn't fall out. Only then did he sit back down at the table, relieved.
It was a hundred silver dollars. He had never seen so much money, not once in his whole life.
He picked up his now-cold porridge and took a sip. Smacking his lips, he suddenly remembered something and looked up at Fang Shuwen.
"Shuwen, are you heading out later?"
"Mm. I'm going to East Street to buy a few things."
Fang Shuwen answered and went to the basin in the corner to wash his face.
Then he took a gray shirt from the nearby clothes rack.
In the courtyard, Hu Da was squatting by the kitchen doorway, smoking his pipe. When he saw Fang Shuwen come out, he opened his mouth, then hesitated.
Fang Shuwen walked over. "Uncle Hu, what is it?"
Hu Da knocked his pipe against the sole of his shoe, then stood up, looking somewhat uneasy.
He rubbed his hands over his apron again and again, his lips moving a few times as if he couldn't decide what to say.
"Little Fang, you... are you going to East Street this afternoon?"
"Mm. I've got something to take care of by the docks."
Hu Da's eyes lit up, but then quickly dimmed again. He turned and went into the kitchen. A while later, he came out carrying a blue cloth bundle.
The bundle wasn't large, but it was stuffed full, its mouth tied tightly shut.
"Little Fang, if it's on your way, could you take this to Little Hu for me?"
Fang Shuwen accepted the bundle. It had some weight to it; whatever was inside wasn't light.
"Sure. I'm heading to the docks anyway."
When Hu Da heard him agree, he looked even more uncomfortable. He rubbed his hands together, then again, rambling as he explained.
"It's nothing special, just... just some pork knuckle I braised. He loved it when he was little. And a couple of changes of clothes. The weather's getting hot, and that boy doesn't know how to look after himself. He probably hasn't even switched out his clothes for the new season..."
Fang Shuwen listened without interrupting.
"Little Fang, when you see him... don't say I asked you to bring it. Just say... just say you were passing by and decided to drop it off."
Fang Shuwen paused, looking at Hu Da's dark, rough face.
Hu Da was only a little over forty, but he looked more than fifty.
He had worked in the Zhao Estate's kitchen for over a decade, rising before dawn and working late into the night, wearing one layer of calluses over another into his hands.
He was usually carefree, loud enough to lift the roof, and on brotherly terms with everyone. The kitchen was always bustling whenever he was around.
But when it came to his own son, he was all thumbs.
Just like Old Fang.