An eight-year-old kid emptied his scumbag father's warehouse and followed his grandparents into

"Brother," he quickly caught up with the old fisherman in two steps and walked side by side with him on the rocky road that was washed shiny by the sea water.

The old man walked briskly, not at all the way to his age. He quickly surveyed the low thatched huts and asked softly, "Why are you still building thatched huts?" He pointed into the distance and asked, "Wouldn't it be more windproof if we added some bricks and tiles?"

He still vividly remembered the young man's frightened expression when he talked about the typhoon and how he couldn't get to the island. At this moment, the sea breeze, carrying a salty and fishy smell, was blowing past his ears.

"It's okay!" The old fisherman suddenly straightened his hunched back and pointed his rough fingers in the direction of the village. Those thatched houses were arranged in an orderly manner like a group of sheep nestling at the foot of the mountain.

"The old man chose a good location," he said, a look of pride on his wrinkled face, and even his voice became a little louder. "It's sheltered from the wind, so it won't have much impact."

As he spoke, he stomped his foot on the solid ground and said, "Choose this place, we can still have eggs to eat. I wonder how much other villages envy us!" He raised his tanned neck, his Adam's apple rolling up and down as he swallowed, and his expression seemed as if he was boasting about his most promising son.

It seems that even if you bring in mountains of gold and silver, it will not shake the old man's attachment to his hometown.

As they entered the village, more and more figures emerged from beneath the low eaves: hunched old women leaning on fishbone canes, barefoot children, all standing on the sea-blackened rocks, looking up.

They placed their palms on their brows to block the sunlight, called out the names of their loved ones one after another, and waved their arms like seaweed swaying in the wind.

"Old village chief, where are my father and mother?" A little girl with crooked pigtails squeezed to the front, her bare feet still stained with wet sand. The other children also shouted in unison.

It was not until then that they suddenly realized that this inconspicuous old fisherman was actually the backbone of the village.

"Haha, no hurry, no hurry," the old village chief waved his hand, the calluses on his palms glowing yellowish-brown in the sun, "I'm unloading eggs at the back! I'll be back soon, go home and sit and wait." He said this, but no one moved. Curious eyes flooded towards the group of strangers like a tide.

"This young lady is so beautiful." A boy with missing front teeth tugged at the corner of the old lady's clothes and whispered.

"She must be a daughter of an official family." The older girl stared at the twined flower patterns embroidered on Jing Chunxi's cuffs, her fingers unconsciously twisting the patched corners of her clothes.

"Or maybe it's from the county town," another child said confidently, his eyes glued to the jade pendant on Qingfeng's waist. The farthest he could think of was the county town.

"That brother is handsome too." The little girl with a red hairband blushed and hid half of her face behind her grandmother's coarse cloth dress.

Suddenly a timid child screamed: "Oh! Someone is carrying a knife, run!" He pointed at the cold sword on the secret guard's waist and shrank back like a frightened crab.

"Why are you running?" the older boy grabbed his belt and said, "The old village chief brought him back, so he must be a good man." Having said that, he couldn't help but hide in the crowd.

The children's chatter was like waves crashing against the rocks, and occasionally an old man would chime in. Everyone's eyes were drawn to this group of well-dressed strangers, as if drawn by a magnet.

Seeing them following the old village chief into the village, more and more people couldn't contain their curiosity and followed in twos and threes.

"Those who are going to the old village chief's house, could they be relatives of the village chief?" An old woman with a headscarf and a fish basket on her shoulder, her eyes fixed on the horse tied under a coconut tree in the distance, "With horses, carriages, and guards, it's really majestic." She smacked her lips and wanted to poke the old woman next to her with her elbow, but she poked the child instead.

"Go, have a look."

Jing Chunxi noticed the growing "tail" behind her and deliberately slowed down to fall behind. When Jing Yi drove the carriage closer, she jumped onto the carriage as lightly as a nimble seagull.

Xu Zize's lips curled slightly, his eyes, always perceptive, having already seen through her thoughts. He approached the carriage calmly, his tall figure blocking the door curtain like a wall, his right hand seemingly casually resting on the hilt of his sword, deterring the curious villagers from approaching.

Inside the carriage, Jing Chunxi bit his lower lip as he checked the inventory. Several baskets of cakes and rice dumplings, specially prepared by his grandmother, were neatly stacked—to be taken back to Qingshan Manor to satisfy the children's cravings. Each one was neatly wrapped in oil paper and tied with a red string.

She stroked the edge of the basket, reluctant to part with these gifts. She turned to count the other goods: plump white steamed buns crammed into the bamboo drawer, steaming meat dumplings, and bowls of braised pork glistening with oil.

But if he conjured these out of thin air, he would be exposed in front of his two personal maids - they clearly remembered that there was no such food in the car.

"Didn't they say they were short of food?" Xu Zize's low voice came through the carriage curtain, with a low rhythm like the waves of the ocean. "Xi'er, prepare five or six bags of brown rice and grains. Give the children a few pounds and take them back so the whole family can eat."

He paused, as if seeing through her hesitation, and said, "Don't worry, Brother Xiaokang will ask the secret guards to move it later."

This proposal not only saved her from trouble, but also assured the villagers that they were indeed carrying food for trade.

Xu Zize looked at the villagers curiously watching from a distance and thought to himself that this girl was too soft-hearted. If it were him, he would just finish the business and leave, at most throwing a few more coins to get it over with.

"I understand." Jing Chunxi responded sullenly, his slender fingers reluctantly brushing past the exquisite pastries, and then took out six bags of brown rice.

...

"Old woman," the old village chief stood in front of his thatched house, which was a foot higher than the others in the village, and shouted towards the inner room. His voice was as rough as a reef polished by the sea breeze.

"Pour two bowls of coarse tea for the noble man."

When Xu Zize protected Jing Chunxi and finally stepped over the threshold, a gleam of light flashed in the old man's cloudy eyes.

Having been the village chief for two or three decades, he had already developed a pair of sharp eyes - from the demeanor of the two men in their gestures, the exquisite patterns on the fabric, and even the guards' subconscious positioning, it was clear who the real master was.

But he just stroked his gray beard, pretended to be ignorant, turned around and picked up two coarse porcelain bowls from the paint-peeling tray.

"Children, have some tea!"