Chapter 18: The Wastrel

Hearing this, both He Cuihua and Zhao Zhentang were taken aback. He Cuihua set the bowl back down on the table, her face stern as she scolded, "You child are getting more and more out of line — first fighting with others, and now wanting to take our family's things to give away. Such a wastrel, do you think our family's money just falls from the sky?"

Zhao Jin, scolded into speechlessness, just stood there scratching his head, then lowered his voice and said, "How about just ten sesame cakes then..."

Bang! He Cuihua slapped the table heavily, her voice suddenly rising sharp: "Before, if I scolded you a couple of words, you'd admit your mistake right away. Now look at you, you've even learned to haggle — as if ten sesame cakes don't cost money!"

After her outburst, she felt something was off. He Cuihua softened her tone and said, "Xiao Jin, don't be afraid. Did someone bully you outside? Did some bad kids put you up to this? Don't be afraid — if anyone dares bully you, Mother will go find them."

Hearing his mother speak like this, Zhao Jin felt her concern on one hand, but on the other hand didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He shook his head and said earnestly, "No one bullied me. I need to take them out to use."

He Cuihua's eyes widened, her expression growing more and more severe, looking ready to explode. Zhao Jin instinctively shrank back — though he wasn't afraid, facing his mother's wrath still made him tense up by reflex.

Just as He Cuihua was about to erupt, Zhao Zhentang, at the side, said in a deep voice, "What are you taking these foods for? Who are you giving them to?"

He Cuihua glanced back, seeming about to say something, but Zhao Zhentang stopped her with a look. Zhao Jin, sitting on the stool, had originally thought of making up an excuse — with his experience from years in the corporate world, casually coming up with a perfectly reasonable story would have been far too easy.

But after a moment's hesitation, Zhao Jin decided to tell the truth. There was no need to speak falsehoods to his own parents. Even if lying could fool them once or twice, it wouldn't work in the long run — the thing he wanted to do would last a very long time.

"Father, Mother, yesterday I followed Chen Sheng to the freight yard..." Zhao Jin recounted yesterday's experience in detail, then carefully explained his plan.

Zhao Zhentang, who had been about to head out, turned back after hearing Zhao Jin out, walked over to the dining table and sat down. He reached out and pinched Zhao Jin's cheek, saying with a laugh, "After that bout of illness, you've changed so much. That silver tongue of yours is no worse than a legal advisor's — you laid it all out so clearly."

Clear enunciation, logical and well-structured — to be able to explain the ins and outs of a matter so that others can understand is itself a skill. The old Zhao Jin was afraid even to meet strangers, let alone possess such eloquence.

Zhao Zhentang's stance lightened Zhao Jin's mood considerably. Zhao Zhentang continued with a smile, "All that grand reasoning you just spouted — your old man here didn't understand a word. Just tell me, what do you want to do with those pastries and snacks?"

"I... I saw so many kids over there, and I wanted to find a way to gather them together, to make more friends." Zhao Jin gritted his teeth and stated his purpose.

Hearing Zhao Jin state his thoughts so plainly, Zhao Zhentang couldn't help but be stunned. Zhao Jin's heart skipped — he thought, was what he said too ahead of its time? Would the adults think there was something wrong with his head?

Zhao Zhentang turned back to look at He Cuihua, whose face was also full of bewilderment. Zhao Zhentang kept his face taut and asked again, "Did your uncle teach you to say these things?"

"No, I thought of it myself," Zhao Jin answered. Zhao Zhentang narrowed his eyes, wanting to see if Zhao Jin was lying — the child's face was completely open and frank.

Zhao Zhentang stared at Zhao Jin for a while, slowly shook his head, and the smile on his face gradually widened, until at last he said teasingly, "Learning martial arts, and now wanting to make friends — what kind of demon has gotten into you, child?"

After saying this, Zhao Zhentang stood up. Zhao Jin immediately became dejected, thinking he'd probably have to find another way — how he hated that he'd never had even a bit of pocket money before.

Unexpectedly, after standing up, Zhao Zhentang spoke again: "You go to your uncle's to learn martial arts first. Someone will deliver the pastries and sesame cakes."

Zhao Jin's head shot up. He'd actually agreed. Even though Zhao Jin didn't have much experience interacting with parents, he still knew how absurd such a request would seem in an adult's mind. Zhao Jin had only brought it up this morning to test the waters — he never imagined it would actually be granted.

Now it was Zhao Jin himself who was baffled. He didn't know what Zhao Zhentang was thinking. It wasn't just Zhao Jin who couldn't figure it out — He Cuihua, standing to the side, had only just processed it. Immediately her brows shot up in fury as she glared at Zhao Zhentang and said, "Head of the house, the child is fooling around and you're fooling around right along with him. You can't spoil a child like this — how much would pastries and sesame cakes cost every day, and they're for other people to eat!"

Zhao Zhentang was there tightening his belt. He wore a black bailiff's uniform. Hearing this, he looked up and snorted a laugh: "It's not our family's money being spent, so why are you worrying about it? A boy ought to make more friends — would you rather he just follow you around all day like before?"

At the words "not spending money," He Cuihua's anger immediately subsided quite a bit, though she still muttered, "Such an honest child back then, and now he's turned into this. Really."

Zhao Jin was puzzled — why wouldn't those pastries and snacks cost his family's money? As he was wondering, Zhao Zhentang had already left the courtyard.

"Mother, why did Father say it wouldn't cost our family's money?" Zhao Jin asked curiously. By now he'd figured out the trick: in front of his parents, say whatever was on his mind, ask whatever he wanted to ask — no need to overthink it.

He Cuihua glared at Zhao Jin and said crossly, "Your father works at the government office. Buying things — why would he need to spend money? It's giving them face."

Hearing this, Zhao Jin was first stunned, then couldn't hold back a laugh. His range of activity was too small, his understanding of this era too shallow — he'd actually failed to think of the bullying-by-power angle. His father Zhao Zhentang, a bailiff who also held the executioner's post and was originally a Centurion of the Xuzhou Guard — while hardly some great figure, he was probably someone who could swagger through the streets unchecked.

"And you still have the nerve to laugh! Without your father managing things, how could our family live so well? Xiao Lan's here — hurry up, get going!" He Cuihua scolded, then unceremoniously started shooing them off.

After the little girl entered the courtyard, the first thing she did was make a funny face at the monkey. Strangely enough, that monkey's attitude toward Mu Shulan was quite good.

Mu Shulan sweetly greeted He Cuihua, then called for Zhao Jin to leave together. He Cuihua stood at the doorway and said, "There'll be pastries at noon — Xiao Lan, you eat more, don't let that boy give all the good stuff to outsiders!"

Just as they stepped out of the courtyard gate, Zhao Jin and Mu Shulan saw Zhao Zhenxing standing at the intersection. He nodded at them, then turned and walked ahead.

Zhao Jin didn't notice that today Mu Shulan's smile was especially genuine, and that she'd grabbed his hand right from the start, walking hand in hand.

Zhao Jin paid no attention to these little details. They had just turned the corner of the street in front of the house when Mu Shulan shook off Zhao Jin's hand and said with a pout, "Brother Xiao Jin, don't be like those uncles in my family, okay — muttering and chanting even while walking."

Only then did Zhao Jin realize. He smiled at the little girl, didn't explain, and kept walking forward.

The reason he was still murmuring under his breath as he walked was that Zhao Jin was reciting from memory. He was recalling, using every means possible to deepen his memory — including silent recitation.

Seeing Zhao Jin still off in his own world, murmuring and reciting, the little girl angrily shook off his hand and walked ahead of him. But after only a few steps, the little girl slowed down on her own and grabbed Zhao Jin's hand again.

The martial arts training had changed somewhat. The originally monotonous horse stance now included holding a four-chi-long wooden pole level while in stance. The pole itself wasn't heavy, but maintaining a single posture for a long time made both arms unbearably sore.

Uncle Zhao Zhenxing was much stricter than yesterday. The moment Zhao Jin's arms drooped, his rattan switch would come lashing down.

At noon, when he returned for lunch, beside the dining table sat an oilpaper parcel, and next to that a small cloth bundle — both giving off a fragrant aroma. The oilpaper parcel likely contained walnut cookies or similar pastries; the cloth bundle held things like sesame cakes.

The dishes were already laid out on the table. As He Cuihua called the two children to eat, she muttered, "A real wastrel — perfectly good things, how nice it'd be to keep them and eat them yourself, but no, you have to take them out and give them away."