Homecoming

“We eat buns at school every day, we’re sick of them!” Before Fang Lusheng could ask, Fang Dianqiu explained the reason on his own.

Hearing that Fang Chang’an brought buns for others every day, Fang Lusheng considered it for a moment and asked, “You buy so many buns each day, doesn’t the shop owner give you a discount?”

Fang Chang’an didn’t hide anything and replied with a smile, “Of course, otherwise why would I go all that way every day?”

Fang Dianqiu clearly hadn’t thought of this, while Fang Ying, unsurprised, looked at him and asked, “How much cheaper?”

“They give me extra buns. I barely need to spend any money for my own meals.”

Fang Ying nodded and fell silent, looking thoughtful.

Fang Lusheng praised him, “You’re clever, smart, impressive!”

Fang Chang’an noticed the tone and expressions of the father and daughter but merely smiled without saying anything.

When the tricycle reached the river behind the village, Fang Chang’an noticed the water had mostly returned to normal, though the level was still much higher than usual. He had originally planned to bring Shen Mo along to catch fish if the weather stayed good, but now he could forget about it.

Next summer break, perhaps he could lure Wang Ke down.

The tricycle crossed the bridge. Fang Chang’an glanced around and saw someone in the cornfield to the east, calling, “Mom!”

By now, the corn stalks were nearly as tall as a person. Cong Rong was squatting inside, weeding. Hearing his voice, she parted the broad corn leaves and stood up, smiling at Fang Chang’an and the others, “You’re back?”

“Grandma!” Fang Dianqiu waved.

Fang Ying also called, “Aunt!”

Fang Lusheng slowed the tricycle and turned to Fang Chang’an, “Are you getting off?”

Cong Rong heard them and shouted, “Go home first, I’ll be back soon.”

With the sun still high, she clearly wouldn’t be returning so soon. Fang Chang’an jumped off the tricycle, picked up his backpack, waved at Fang Dianqiu and Fang Ying, and said, “Thank you, Uncle!”

Fang Lusheng replied, “Hey, what are you thanking me for? All right, we’re heading off.”

Cong Rong responded, and Fang Chang’an crossed a peanut field at the roadside, squatted beside their own cornfield, looked around, but saw no sign of his father. “Where’s Dad?”

Cong Rong squatted down again to continue weeding, complaining, “Where else could he be?”

Fang Chang’an sighed, “That’s why he needs to go out and work. Staying home playing cards all the time won’t do.”

Cong Rong sighed, “I’ve told him, he’s asking around. Even if he does go, it’ll have to wait till after the New Year, and then go with others.”

“No need for that, just buy a ticket and go find someone directly.”

Even the crown prince was working hard to make money delivering food—how could he let the emperor loaf around? “If Dad keeps idling about, you get angry, I get angry, and if he drinks, you two might argue. Better he goes out for some peace.”

Cong Rong lifted her head and glared at him, “How can you talk about your father like that?”

“I’m just telling it as it is.”

Fang Chang’an bent over, “Rest for a bit, I’ll do some weeding.”

“Forget it, you’re no good at this. Just sit.”

Cong Rong knew her eldest son had never liked work, rarely asked him to help, and waved her hand, refusing to let him touch anything.

“I sit all day at school, just right to stretch a bit.”

Fang Chang’an reached for the hoe, grinning, “You work slowly anyway, don’t complain about me.”

Seeing him so eager, Cong Rong, indeed feeling sore and tired, handed him the hoe and walked off to drink water from a kettle and cup.

Fang Chang’an wanted to help but truly wasn’t cut out for it—he was even less efficient than his mother. Corn leaves scratched his skin, making his face and neck itch. When Cong Rong returned, he handed the hoe back and started gathering the weeds behind her.

“How are things at school?”

“Pretty good. The teachers like me, my classmates respect me.”

“Respect? Is that even the right word?” Cong Rong couldn’t help correcting him.

“I’m the class monitor, so I can get away with it.”

“Class monitor?” Cong Rong looked back at her son.

“Yeah, at the start-of-term placement test, I got first in the whole school, so the homeroom teacher made me class monitor.”

Fang Chang’an spoke lightly, only flashing a bright smile afterward, “Mom, what do you think? Not bad for your son, huh?”

Sweat from the heat and labor rolled down Cong Rong’s face, but a look of comfort and joy appeared—a smile quickly suppressed, not made too obvious. “Impressive! But don’t get too proud, it was only the placement test.”

Fang Chang’an laughed, “I know. I’ll wait till I get first place in the midterm and final before I celebrate.”

Cong Rong hadn’t expected that answer, smiled, “Even then, you shouldn’t be proud.”

Fang Chang’an nodded, accepting her advice. Cong Rong asked, “How much money do you have left?”

Money at home was tight, and she had to figure out how much to give Fang Chang’an next week.

Fang Chang’an calculated, “Thirty-five, about.”

Cong Rong thought she’d misheard and looked back. Fang Chang’an smiled, “You heard right—thirty-five.”

Cong Rong studied him, saw he wasn’t lying, and turned back to weeding, quietly asking, “Did your uncle give you any money?”

“No, just had a meal at his place the second day of school.”

Cong Rong waited, seeing her son didn’t explain further, had to press, “How did you manage to spend seven days and have five more yuan left?”

“The cafeteria food is terrible, so I go out every morning to eat buns—five buns for fifty cents. Same price as the cafeteria, but I eat more and get full. It’s a bit far, and my classmates want buns but don’t want to go, so I bring them back. The more I buy, the cheaper the boss makes it.”

Seeing his mother listening intently, Fang Chang’an smiled and continued, “Others pay ten cents a bun, I pay eight. I buy four or five hundred buns a day, make about eight yuan.”

Cong Rong hadn’t expected he could make money like this, even less that her young son was already finding ways to earn. She paused for a while, turned back to weeding, and after a moment, asked softly, “Doesn’t bringing that many buns for people every day take up a lot of time?”

“I borrowed a classmate’s bike. The boss packs them up for me, I just ride back. Doesn’t take much time... Oh, I’ll need to ride when I go back to school Sunday.”

Cong Rong said, “I’ve already cleaned it for you.”

Fang Chang’an took the bamboo basket from his back and filled it with the weeds he had cut. Suddenly, Cong Rong asked, “If it’s possible to make money like this, what if I deliver buns to your school and others every day—would it work?”

“You’ve got a sharp eye.”

Fang Chang’an praised her with a laugh, then changed his tone, “But it’s a bit difficult.”

Seeing her confused expression, he explained, “I’m a student, a few hundred buns a day is small-scale, doesn’t affect the cafeteria business much, so they don’t mind.”

“If you do it professionally, you’re stealing business. The school cafeterias are contracted out, usually with connections. Would they agree? If the school won’t let you in, how would you do business?”

Cong Rong thought it over and realized he was right, nodded with some disappointment.

The sun slowly sank, painting half the sky with evening glow. Fang Chang’an half-heartedly chatted with his mother, telling stories from school.

“Chang’an’s back?”

Just as Fang Chang’an was about to persuade his mother to head home, his father’s voice came from behind.

His father had just finished playing cards, found nobody at home, and came to the field, hoe in hand, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Why didn’t you go home first? What are you doing here?”

Fang Chang’an sighed deeply, “What else? Dad goes off playing cards, I feel bad for Mom, so I had to come help with the work.”

Fang Lujun was a little embarrassed, white smoke puffed from his nostrils as he glared, “What are you saying? I’m here to work now, aren’t I?”

Cong Rong was about to speak, but Fang Chang’an beat her to it, so she stayed quiet. Hearing Fang Lujun, she complained, “We’re almost done, what’s the point of coming now? Go back and play your cards.”

Fang Chang’an said, “Mom, don’t—now that I’ve caught Dad, stop working and watch him, let him make up for it.”

“You dare to say you’ve been here long? Look how little you’ve done!”

Fang Lujun threw his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out, “I can get it done in ten minutes.”

Fang Chang’an laughed, “Go ahead, Mom and I will watch.”

“Hey!”

Fang Lujun squatted at Cong Rong’s spot and started working. As Cong Rong said, he was quick—grass was chopped efficiently and cleanly, moving forward without pause, unlike Cong Rong who barely managed a few steps at a time.

While working, Fang Lujun asked Fang Chang’an, “I ran into your uncle just now, he said you got first place this year?”

Fang Chang’an replied modestly, “Mom just scolded me, said not to be proud.”

Fang Lujun was clearly pleased by the news, grinned, “Right, your mom is right. Don’t be proud, humility brings progress, pride brings decline.”

Fang Chang’an had been there half the afternoon, while Cong Rong had only managed one row. Fang Lujun finished a row in less than ten minutes, and Cong Rong followed behind, gathering the chopped weeds.

Before the sun set, Fang Lujun had doubled the work Cong Rong had done all afternoon. He carried a full basket of weeds back home.

The farmland was less than a kilometer from the house. As they approached, they could hear lively shouts from a distance—Fang Changming, Fang Yanran, Fang Dianqiu, and others.

They were playing hide-and-seek, but with different rules—not just hiding, but split into two teams: one hiding, one seeking. A tree was designated as “home,” the seekers guarded it, and if a hider touched the tree, it counted as a win.

At that moment, Fang Changming and his group were playing. He was on defense, shouting for others to guard “home,” chasing after someone sneaking up to steal the home, running in circles, finally catching them, only to slip and fall, spitting dirt as he tumbled.