Volume One, Chapter One: Lin Hao Is Dead, Old Zhang Reborn

Lin Hao’s vision was awash in a white haze, his body seeming to float in a void, when the voices of a man and a woman drifted to his ears.

“Zhou, stop it, Old Zhang is still lying on the kang…”

“What are you afraid of? Old Zhang’s been laid up there for three months. Even if we do it here, he won’t react.”

“Oh, come on, it still feels wrong to me. Let’s go to the other room…”

“That kang isn’t heated, it’s too cold.”

“Fine, just make do for a bit.”

Old Zhang, whose full name was Zhang Weimin, was thirty-six years old. Three months ago, two major events arrived in his life.

The first was that, after five years of being alone, he finally found a new partner—a woman ten years younger than himself, Liu Fangfang, who worked at the same factory.

The second was that Zhang Weimin was hit by a car. The driver was the factory director’s brother-in-law.

There are always two sides to every story.

The good side of the first event was that Zhang Weimin didn’t have to be single anymore. The downside was that Liu Fangfang only married him because she wasn’t an official employee at the factory and had an ambiguous relationship with Zhou Changzheng, the chairman of the factory’s labor union. Gossip and finger-pointing drove her to desperation; she needed someone to change her reputation as an aging, single woman.

As for the second event, the bad news was that Zhang Weimin became a vegetable and likely wouldn’t last much longer. The silver lining was that the driver was the factory director’s brother-in-law and the car—a brand new Santana—was fully insured. The insurance paid fifty thousand yuan, and with the special “care” from the director and the union chairman, the factory added another five thousand as compensation.

Today, Zhou Changzheng brought the factory’s condolence money to Old Zhang’s house.

After handing over the money, and as part of his official duties as union chairman, Zhou Changzheng also needed to “console” the worker’s family.

It must be said, Zhou Changzheng was highly efficient; he finished the formalities with Zhang Weimin’s family in just a couple of minutes.

Old Zhang had a daughter with his ex-wife, named Zhang Yingying, who was in her second year of middle school.

When Zhang Yingying returned from school, she walked into the main room just as Zhou Changzheng and Liu Fangfang were finishing their “business,” emerging from the inner room with their clothes in disarray.

Yingying kept her head down, determined to hurry into her father’s room without exchanging glances or greetings with Zhou Changzheng and Liu Fangfang.

But Zhou Changzheng spoke first.

“Well, you must be Yingying? You’ve grown so much. I’m the union chairman at your father’s factory. I came today to bring your father condolence money.”

While tightening his belt, Zhou Changzheng’s leering gaze swept over Zhang Yingying from head to toe several times.

She neither raised her head nor paused, walking straight into her father’s bedroom.

“Tch—what a rude child,” Zhou Changzheng sneered, curling his lips in disdain.

Liu Fangfang pinched his arm, shooting him a fawning glare.

“Look at you, with that lecherous look in your eyes. Can’t you act decent for once? Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours!”

Zhou Changzheng pulled Liu Fangfang close by the waist, giving her a firm squeeze, and with a vulgar grin said, “Take good care of this cabbage for me. I’ll come pick it another day.”

“Oh, get out of here. Go home already.”

…

In the bedroom, Zhang Yingying filled a basin with hot water and gently wiped Zhang Weimin’s body with a towel.

Because she had school every day, she could only tend to her father after coming home: turning him over, cleaning him, handling his needs.

With no one else to care for Zhang Weimin during the day, he had grown much thinner and was already showing signs of bedsores.

Liu Fangfang watched from a distance with clear disdain, making no move to help.

“Aunt Liu, the school needs us to pay for uniforms next week…”

After covering Zhang Weimin with the quilt, Yingying turned to Liu Fangfang.

“How much?” Liu Fangfang asked impatiently.

“Eighty yuan in total.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, as if she’d committed some wrongdoing.

“Eighty? What kind of uniform costs eighty? Well, you’ve got good timing, I’ll say that. Chairman Zhou just brought some condolence money today and here you are asking for money.”

Liu Fangfang rolled her eyes.

Yingying kept her head down, tears dripping into the basin she held, the sound soft but unmistakable.

“I don’t have money for your uniform. Ask your father. See where he’s hidden his money. If he tells you, you can pay. If not, there’s nothing I can do.”

With another roll of her eyes, Liu Fangfang twisted her hips and left.

Lin Hao’s consciousness was growing clearer. He realized he had died—poisoned by a rival.

Yet, from the conversation he’d just overheard, he was certain he had been reborn—into another person, in another world.

The haze before his eyes gradually faded, and the scene sharpened.

Lin Hao saw himself lying on a kang by the window, covered with a thin quilt, the air tinged with a faint smell of urine.

The newspaper pasted on the ceiling was already yellowing.

He tried to move, but this body was unresponsive.

Gathering all his strength, he managed to shift his gaze thirty degrees to the left.

The room was furnished with old pieces from the 1980s: a Phoenix-brand sewing machine, an enamel mug marked “Model Worker”…

On the wall, the calendar unmistakably read March 1995!

1995? Lin Hao recalled that back then he was only in his first year of middle school. Now, somehow, he had returned to that era!

At an old desk, a young girl in a pink plaid shirt bent over her homework.

In the dim light, the profile of her studying figure so closely resembled his own youth that Lin Hao’s chest tightened with sudden emotion.

A salty tang rose in his throat, seeming to block his airway. The suffocation flushed his face red.

His blood pressure soared, adrenaline surging madly…

Bang!

A blood clot in his brain burst free!

Lin Hao coughed violently, spitting out a chunk of black, sticky phlegm.

“Dad!”

Yingying dropped her homework and flew to Zhang Weimin’s side.

One hand gently patted his back, the other tore off a piece of tissue to wipe the mucus from his mouth.

Zhang Weimin gasped for breath, lifting his eyelids to look at his daughter.

Her delicate features, skin white as snow, and big, tearful eyes inspired instant pity.

“Dad, you’re awake!”

Yingying was overjoyed, tears streaming down her face.

“Hush—”

Zhang Weimin signaled for her to stay quiet.

Lying flat on the kang, he swallowed hard a few times.

Yingying quickly grabbed the enamel cup and used a small spoon to give him a few sips of water.

He motioned for her to lean in, and whispered in her ear:

“Yingying, don’t let anyone know I’m awake.”

Confused, Yingying’s bright eyes searched his face.

He whispered again:

“There’s a small clay jar in the chicken coop outside—the money is inside. Take it and pay your uniform fee. Then go to Cross Street… Be discreet. Go quietly and come back quietly. Don’t let anyone know.”

“Dad, what do you need it for?”

“No questions. Just do as I say.”