"Your dad is a good man too."

Jiang Chen said with a smile.

"Thank you, Uncle."

The little boy immediately looked up to thank him, then started eating the cookies. He didn’t keep pestering them to hurry and save his father; his thoughtfulness made one’s heart ache.

Fang Weiguo sighed endlessly and muttered, "I’ll go help out in the kitchen."

Ten-odd minutes later, the dishes were served.

The little boy, Wei Wujie, sat properly on the chair and even wanted to go scoop rice by himself, but was stopped by Pan Hui. He seemed even stronger than an adult.

The saying "poor children grow up early" was made flesh at this moment.

"Kiddo, where do you and your dad live?"

"Over by Nanhu Road, it’s about the same as Grandma’s place here. But a bit smaller than Grandma’s."

"Is it a rented place?"

"Mm."

The little boy suddenly looked over at Fang Qing and said in a small voice, "Aren’t lawyers supposed to make a lot of money?"

The rather heavy atmosphere was swept away by that one sentence.

Childish innocence, childish fun, and unfiltered words of a child.

All the adults burst out laughing.

"Who told you lawyers can make a lot of money?"

Fang Weiguo asked with interest.

"Dad said lawyers are a high-paying job, and only people who do well in school can do this kind of work."

After answering, the little boy, Wei Wujie, went on to ask Fang Qing, "Is it because Auntie often helps people for free and doesn’t take money?"

Pan Hui couldn’t stop smiling.

"Is it possible that it’s just because your auntie hasn’t been working for very many years yet? So she hasn’t had time to make big money?"

Jiang Chen joked.

"Oh."

The little boy nodded.

"Then what kind of job do you want to do in the future? Do you also want to be a lawyer?"

Fang Weiguo asked.

The little boy shook his head. "I want to be a bricklayer! Just like Dad and Mom, build lots and lots of beautiful houses."

Not only the couple Fang Weiguo and Pan Hui, even Jiang Chen felt a surge of emotion.

What had he been doing at that age?

Still goofing around with Tie Jun and Fu Zili.

"But this job is very hard work. You must see how tired your dad is every day."

Fang Weiguo said, complicated feelings in his voice.

He had driven a truck before, which was already physical labor, and bricklaying was no easier. Plus, bricklayers had to be in long-term contact with all kinds of building materials like paint and lime—it was bad for the health.

Of course.

For grassroots laborers, whose money isn’t earned with blood and sweat?

"But every job needs someone to do it. And bricklayers can make a lot of money too. My dad does—he bought me a new apartment!"

The table fell silent.

Fang Weiguo wanted to smile but couldn’t manage it.

For the developer, maybe it was just the difference between earning one hundred million more or less; but for the homeowners, what was taken away might be the effort of a whole generation, and the hopes of several generations.

"Mm, bricklayers are a high-paying job too, and your dad is an excellent example. We can’t even afford a new apartment."

Pan Hui put a peeled shrimp into the little boy’s bowl. "Eat some shrimp."

"Thank you, Grandma."

The little boy, Wei Wujie, finally smiled. "Auntie will definitely let Grandma live in a new apartment in the future!"

Pan Hui froze for a second, then gave a complicated smile.

"Of course. Don’t your textbooks say, Xiao Ming became a lawyer, Xiao Hong became a doctor, Xiao Qing became a bricklayer, and they all had bright futures."

Fang Qing picked up the thread.

Jiang Chen looked at Qing Gege. "I don’t think the textbooks say that anymore."

"Thud."

Was this a textbook case of asking for trouble?

Under the table, the top of his foot caught another kick.

"Then you really have to study hard, and eat more. Otherwise you might not be able to surpass your father in the future."

Fang Weiguo put some greens into the child’s bowl. "Being a bricklayer needs not only brains and skill, but also strength."

"Grandpa, I’ll just be my dad’s helper. He’s the greatest bricklayer in the whole world; no one can surpass him."

Fang Weiguo was speechless, torn between laughing and crying.

"Alright, stop bothering the kid while he’s eating."

Pan Hui said kindly, "Eat slowly, when you’re done Grandma will get you more."

After the meal.

The little boy insisted on helping wash the dishes, saying he did the same at home. Pan Hui didn’t turn him down.

Seizing the chance, Fang Weiguo called the two youngsters over.

"That executive from Greenfield, is he badly hurt? If he fought back, would that count as a mutual fight?"

"Uncle Fang, you know the law?"

"Your uncle may not be well-educated, but I do have some common sense."

Fang Weiguo said, brows furrowed. "To raise such a child, that bricklayer definitely isn’t someone who goes around looking for trouble. He must have been pushed to the limit and struck out in a fit of anger."

"The law only cares about facts."

Fang Qing said, sticking to the rules.

"Hitting someone is hitting someone. The place where it happened has full surveillance coverage; the whole process was recorded. The other party never laid a hand on him—it was he who rushed over and started it. And after being beaten, the other party didn’t hit back. If they don’t get his forgiveness, at best it’s administrative detention; if the injuries are serious, there’s a real possibility of criminal detention."

Fang Weiguo frowned.

"Criminal detention? Prison? Is it really that serious? He’s clearly the victim, just defending his rightful interests—how is that wrong? If he ends up in prison, what happens to this child? Isn’t the kid’s life ruined? What will he think when he grows up? Will he hate this society? Will he do something even worse? Is there even such a thing as black and white in this world anymore? The robbers walk away scot-free, and the victim is the one who has to go to jail? Are ordinary people only allowed to swallow their anger and suffer in silence when they’re bullied?"

"Uncle Fang, what you’re talking about is all subjective feelings. The law talks about objective facts."

"Don’t start with that subjective–objective stuff with me."

Helping Zhang Zhongquan, in Fang Weiguo’s mind, was a matter of personal ties, a favor, not an obligation. But for this bricklayer father and son, he felt it was his duty.

"Why did you study law? Isn’t it to uphold justice? Isn’t that the very mission of this job?"

Jiang Chen prudently kept his mouth shut.

"Dad, justice isn’t as simple as saying it out loud. Say you go to the supermarket to buy vegetables today, and they short you on the weight. You go argue with them, and they refuse to admit it, accusing you of making a scene. Just because you’re angry, can you beat them up to teach them a lesson?"

Left speechless, Fang Weiguo knew that when it came to arguing, ten of him still wouldn’t be a match for his daughter, so he waved his hand with a show of authority.

"Don’t drag in all these side examples. I only know those people had it coming! The law shouldn’t be divorced from human feelings. It’s wrong to hit people, but can’t the law take the causes and consequences into account, can’t it have a bit of warmth? Is it straight to prison just because he threw a punch?"

"I didn’t say he definitely has to go to prison."

"You didn’t, but do you think those people will let a bricklayer who dared to hit them off the hook? They’ll definitely try every way to put pressure on him, use their money and status, exaggerate their injuries. A cut that could be fixed with a band-aid—they can get a diagnosis saying it’s a concussion!"

Fang Qing kept silent.

"If he really goes to prison, this child becomes the offspring of a criminal. He’s still little now, but when he grows up and learns the truth about this society, about the hierarchy between professions, when he wants to take the civil service exam, get into a good company, only to be rejected outright because of his father’s ’criminal record’—what road do you think he’ll go down then? And his father would have been wronged on top of it all. Have you seen the news? A kid who saw his own mother being humiliated and killed by others with his own eyes, and those people never paid the price they should have and walked away carefree. In the end, when that kid grew up, he turned around and killed the entire family of his enemies."

Keeping his voice down so the kitchen wouldn’t hear, Fang Weiguo asked, "Do you want this child to follow the same path?"

Jiang Chen quietly edged to the side, seemingly to avoid the spittle flying from Uncle Fang’s mouth.

Enduring her father’s tirade, Fang Qing turned her head.

"What are you running for?"

Fang Weiguo shifted his gaze to the "carefree" Jiang Chen, and seemed to suddenly understand something. His emotions calmed.

"You two... have you already thought of a plan?"

"In any case, my specialty can’t solve this."

Fang Qing said succinctly.

Her specialty was law. If she couldn’t solve it, then they would have to choose a way outside the law.

Indeed.

There has never been only one way to solve a problem. Take the example his father brought up: when the law can’t give you justice, "crime" is also a path.

"Uncle, I’ll talk it over with Fang Qing."

Seeing the clues, Fang Weiguo studied this slightly comical-looking fellow, the cartoon band-aid on the right back of his neck inevitably catching his eye again.

"You two really think we’re that senile, don’t you?"