Docile Mule ("Melbourne Knight" Extra Chapter 1/10)

Perhaps Congrong was consciously waiting for her son to return; so as Fang Changan rode past Henan Field, he paid special attention and saw his mother working in the field again.

Fang Changming and Fang Yanran were there as well, watching the sheep graze in the southern woods. With them were Fang Tiantian, Fang Dianzhou, and several other children from nearby families, five or six in all, playing a game of beanbag toss.

Fang Changan stopped at the edge of the field and went to find his mother. She was spraying pesticide on the corn stalks, carrying a backpack sprayer. One hand gripped the lever, pumping up and down to build pressure, while the other held the spray wand, slowly advancing through the cornrows with a soft hissing sound.

She was not strong, so she only carried half a bucket at a time. Who knew how long she had been working? In the setting sun, beads of sweat were clearly visible on her face, and there was little liquid left in the tank. When she saw her son approaching, she left the cornfield and came to the edge to refill the tank.

The water had been brought on a flatbed cart and placed on the narrow path by the field. Fang Changan led his bicycle through the weed-covered track and asked, “Where’s Dad?”

As soon as he said it, he realized that in other families, it was always the children looking for their mother and asking, “Where’s Mom?”—but in his family, it was the other way around.

“What could he be doing?” Congrong sighed. “Ever since dinner I’ve been telling him to come work, but the moment I turned away, he snuck off.”

Fang Changan laughed. “It’s fine, he should be back soon. You take a break; let him work when he gets back.”

“I don’t count on him for anything.” Congrong unscrewed her water bottle, took a deep drink, caught her breath, then wiped her face with a towel and said, “Go on, play with the others.”

“It’s all right, I’ll keep you company for a while.” Fang Changan knew he didn’t have the strength for this work and couldn’t really help, but he did lift the refilled sprayer onto her back and said with a smile, “Let me chat with you.”

A faint smile appeared on Congrong’s sweat-streaked face. She looked back and asked, “So, did you come in first again?”

Fang Changan smiled. “We don’t have exams every week. If we did, I’d be first every time.”

Congrong worked the lever a few times, opened the spray valve, and a fine mist of pesticide hissed from the nozzle. She motioned for Fang Changan to move aside so he wouldn’t inhale the spray, then said, “Don’t get cocky. No one is first every time.”

“Even though there was no exam, I have some even better news for you.” There was a note of curiosity in Congrong’s gaze. “What is it?”

For a moment, Fang Changan almost thought his mother was referring to Shen Mo, but he caught himself—she didn’t know Shen Mo. He smiled and said, “Last week, I told you about selling stuffed buns. You said we could make a business out of it.”

“We don’t have the capital, and we have no connections at the school, so it’s not possible. But I still thought it was a good idea, so I mentioned it to our homeroom teacher’s husband.”

He paused, and Congrong understood at once. “So, he’s going to do it?”

A few days ago, Fang Luguo had come home and talked about Changan’s doings at school—especially about the buns and some job opportunities. He’d also mentioned Shen Chengyan, but in his telling, it was Shen Chengyan who had noticed the business opportunity from Changan’s actions.

Congrong had vaguely doubted that version at the time. Now, hearing it was her son who’d taken the initiative, she wasn’t surprised, but she couldn’t help feeling a little downhearted. Good opportunities, but no capital to seize them.

“They’re already starting,” Fang Changan said, noting that his mother’s reaction was calmer than he’d expected. He admired her inwardly—she truly had potential, and even without much experience, her composure was rare.

Congrong was silent for two seconds, then said, “There are always ways to find capital.”

He laughed. “Mom, honestly, marrying my dad was a real injustice to you.”

She hadn’t expected him to say that and chuckled. “If I hadn’t married him, you wouldn’t exist.”

“You’d have had a son anyway. Even if it wasn’t me, as long as you’re happy, I’d be happy for you.”

He went on with pleasant but useless words and added, “Don’t be disappointed yet. Teacher Cheng’s family isn’t short of money, and they’re good people. Her niece is in my class and brings me milk every day—imported, too.”

Congrong said nothing.

Fang Changan continued, “Shen Chengyan said he’d give me thirty percent of the shares.”

Congrong turned abruptly, her expression full of surprise and doubt. Fang Changan smiled. “You heard right—thirty percent, and I don’t have to do anything. He said it’s for technical input; lots of startups do this. There’s always a founder’s share as a reward for whoever comes up with the idea.”

It was a while before Congrong replied, “Then maybe your father shouldn’t go out to work. He should help them, at least not take something for nothing.”

“If that’s the case, we might as well have agreed to be partners from the start.” Congrong’s insight was already ahead of most in her time and environment, but it still had its limits—something that shaped their situation.

“If Dad went to help, what could he do? Just odd jobs, really—he’d just be a laborer. We’re not experienced; it’s better for him to go out and work for others first, see the world. Teacher Cheng said China is joining the WTO—the World Trade Organization—and doing business with other countries.”

“We have a huge population, and we’re poor, so wages are low. That’s why foreign companies love to set up factories in China—the costs are low. But if you work hard, learn skills, would you want to be a laborer forever, helping others make money?”

“In a few years, there’ll be plenty of Chinese people running their own companies and factories. If Dad goes out now and learns more, maybe in a few years, we can start our own business or factory.”

Congrong assumed all this wisdom was from Teacher Cheng’s family and felt both comforted and a little sad. She sighed, “Let’s not talk about things so far off. We can barely afford to eat or pay your school fees, let alone start a business.”

But she didn’t press about having Fang Lujun help at the bun shop. Changan guessed her real worry was that if his father went to help out, he might feel inferior in front of his son, rather than being convinced by Changan’s words.

But the goal was achieved; his father was still moving steadily toward the path of going out to work.

“Big Brother?”

“Big Brother, are you back?” Fang Yanran’s childish voice came from the edge of the field. Maybe she was tired from playing or had chased the sheep out of someone’s field, and seeing her brother’s bike, she ran over to call for him.

“Over here!” Changan answered.

Congrong said, “All right, go play. I’m almost done here.”

Changan chatted with his mother a while longer, then went with Yanran to the clearing in the woods, the threshing ground. Fang Dianqiu arrived from home, and with Fang Changming, called Changan to join the game.

“All you do is play, play, play. When will you ever grow up?” Changan sighed theatrically, scolding the two rascals. For exercise, he joined the game, dodging beanbags in the center, hopping and twisting. It turned out to be quite fun.

As the sun was about to set, Fang Lujun appeared from the direction of the village, calling out from afar, “Changan’s back—why aren’t you home yet?”

Changan, tossing the beanbag, missed Fang Dianqiu and turned to shout, “Mom’s working alone. We feel bad for her, so we’re keeping her company.”

Fang Lujun could hear the sarcasm in his son’s tone and grumbled, “Keeping her company, my foot! You’re all just playing while your mom works by herself—what do you mean, you feel bad?”

Yanran piped up in her childish voice, “We’re little, we can’t help Mom.”

Changan gave his little sister a thumbs up—this kind of retort to Dad needed to be fostered from an early age. Inspired, Changming shouted, “Dad, where have you been? Playing cards again? And you still have the nerve to scold us?”

“And the sheep?” Fang Lujun countered, “I told you to watch the sheep—where are they?”

Changan, caught up in the fun, turned to look and realized the sheep, who had been grazing peacefully, were now gone. Fang Lujun said, “Too busy playing, the sheep went home by themselves! And you say you care? Care, my foot!”

Ewes know their way home and often return when full, so Changan was relieved. Yanran retorted in her small voice, “We know the sheep went home. We’re just waiting for Mom.”

Well done!

Changan gave his little sister another thumbs up. Fang Lujun was briefly at a loss, then waved his hand. “It’s getting dark—let’s go home.”

“All right, that’s enough for today—let’s play again tomorrow,” Changan said, a little reluctant but restraining himself. After all, being reborn only to spend all day playing beanbag with little kids was hardly impressive.

He went to fetch his bicycle, and Changming and Yanran followed, asking in hushed voices, “Big Brother, do you have anything good to eat?”

“We’ll eat at home.”

The two little rascals’ eyes lit up. Yanran couldn’t ride a bike yet, so Changming, seeing his brother waiting for their parents, rode home first.

Changan led his sister along the canal path and heard Fang Lujun say, “All right, all right, let’s go home. I’ll work tomorrow. Look how little you got done all afternoon. Let’s go—I’ve invited Brother Sheng, Brother Peng, and Changfeng over for dinner.”

“They’re your guests—if you want dinner, make it yourself,” Congrong snapped, still angry and not willing to deal with him.

Fang Lujun flared up, “I said I’ll work tomorrow—you don’t have to do anything. What more do you want?”

Seeing a quarrel brewing, Changan laughed and interrupted, “Dad, did you win money?”

Fang Lujun, noticing his son and daughter, broke into a grin. “Heh, I won a bit. Later, go to Uncle Cheng’s restaurant and get some dishes—or better yet, send Changming.”

The only restaurant in the village was run by Fang Lucheng. Whenever anyone needed a dish for dinner, they bought it there. Changan nodded, “Fine, if you won, buy something nice. Make a good meal and apologize to Mom so she won’t be mad at you.”

“Sure, sure,” Fang Lujun agreed readily, his pride at winning money dispelling any ill temper. Nodding, he helped Congrong take off the sprayer, carried it himself, and strode home with a flourish. “Come on, let’s go eat.”