Chapter 25: 123 Wooden Man

The afternoon music class was hijacked by Wang Yi Lin for English, starting with a dictation—no review, no cheating allowed.
She read Chinese translations, pacing the classroom.

After, group leaders collected papers for the podium.
Wang graded on the spot, tasking Chen Qiao with the recorder to lead the class in reading aloud.

His adept handling let her focus on grading, boosting efficiency.
She should’ve picked a class rep sooner.

Grading done in half a class, she had Chen Qiao distribute papers.
Wrong or unmemorized words?
Copy ten times, due tomorrow.

After school, he carried the recorder to her dorm, listened to a song, and left.

Xin Yu was outside his house, tossing a tile in hopscotch, likely to stop him from buying lollipops and wasting money.

She had no friends—her peers were in kindergarten, bonding there, not seeking her out.

Her dad and second uncle’s family had a bad reputation; parents kept kids away, fearing gambling influences.

Xin Yu knew better than to approach peers.
Being ditched mid-play, left alone, was worse than starting solo.

Her second uncle and aunt would clash with Chen Qiao’s family over her.
In his past life, after Dad’s accident, Mom’s borrowed money was siphoned by them, claiming they’d “sell” the family.
Village dividends?
They pocketed those too.

They owed Chen Qiao’s family plenty, even cousin Chen Huai’s runaway job funds were borrowed from Dad—gone, like meat buns thrown to dogs.

The nicer you were, the more they saw you as a pushover, their greed growing.
If they knew Xin Yu was a weak spot, they’d exploit it.
In his past life, they used Grandma’s illness to scam money.
Dad avoided taking Xin Yu in to keep the peace, avoiding a messy fallout.

Grandma favored others, thinking Chen Qiao’s family, doing better, should support her deadbeat brothers.

Villains needed villains to handle them.
With wealth and power, Chen Qiao would have ways to deal, but for Grandma and Xin Yu’s sake, he’d decide how far to go.
He didn’t expect them to change—leopards don’t lose spots.

Sighing, he patted Xin Yu’s head.

“Little Uncle okay?
Feeling down?
Want me to call Brother to cheer you up?” she asked, placing her hand over his.

Comforted by a kid?

“Sure,” he said shamelessly, scooping her up.

She patted his hair.
“Don’t be sad, Brother.
When I earn money, I’ll buy you candy.”

He rubbed his forehead against her messy bangs, laughing.
“Let’s buy candy now.”

“No wasting money!
I’ll tell Aunt!” she huffed, cheeks puffed.

With only 2.5 yuan left—enough for an hour online—he wondered when allowance day was.
Might borrow from his sister.

That night, he wrote his novel downstairs, waiting for his sister’s evening study, giving his parents privacy—hoping for a sister sooner.

No noodles tonight; not Twin Pancake, so he wasn’t interested.

Thursday afternoon had two essay classes and one study period, all claimed by Teacher Yang.
The first class returned last week’s essay books, with Wu Xin Yu reading her top piece aloud.

Chen Qiao cringed at the thought of his own essay facing such “public execution.”

His last week’s work gave him full-body goosebumps.

Yang explained essay intros and conclusions, then assigned a half-title essay: My ____, due before dismissal.

A common prompt, often about people, especially family.
Chen Qiao thought of risqué manga or skit tropes like “My Brother.”

Writing about Teacher Yang could curry favor.
He usually wrote My Sister—too easy, never short on material.

He glanced at Lin Na, pondering her essay choice.

My Desk Mate—he hadn’t written that yet.
Time to praise her.

With a topic set, he wrote fast, over 500 words, then returned to his novel.

Lin Na finished near dismissal.
Collecting her book, he saw her title: My Little Sister.

That night, he wrote as usual.
Tomorrow, after the exam, he’d hit the internet café to upload his novel.

“Chen Qiao, Abiao!” a friend called from downstairs.

“Your classmates are here,” Mom added.

Peering out, he saw Tian Zhen and Zheng Yan, inviting him to play.

Exams tomorrow, and they weren’t reviewing—typical, playing harder before tests.

He’d known Tian Zhen since kindergarten; Zheng Yan, met in fourth grade over cards, transferred in.
His mom worked at the town’s phone shop, with a demo computer for internet and games, though not playable with her around—just for “research.”

Zheng Yan’s grades were average, but shared hobbies bonded them.
After Chen Qiao introduced Tian Zhen to Zheng Yan, the two, now classmates in sixth grade, grew tight, sidelining him.

He was here first.

No matter—he preferred girls now.

“Don’t stay out too late,” Mom urged, hoping he’d get out more, not stay cooped up.

Tian Zhen found toys and role-playing games like tag childish.
Yu-Gi-Oh lacked new cards; even fake ones from the youth center were scarce.
Three Kingdoms Kill needed more players.

No market day yet—town markets hit on lunar fifths and tenths.
Tian Zhen wanted new anime, ideally Dragon Ball Z.

“Internet café?
They’ve got computers for anime—latest Dragon Ball, Naruto, Bleach,” Chen Qiao suggested.

“Really?” Tian Zhen asked, stunned.

“Yup, everything.
Buying discs is a rip-off.
Just learned this.”

Kids knew 4399 or pre-installed CS1.6, clicking familiar game links on navigation pages.

“Let’s go!” Tian Zhen urged, pulling Chen Qiao and Zheng Yan.

At the café, the owner’s daughter, Fang Meng Jia, did homework.
The owner eyed them.
“Exams tomorrow, and you’re here?
Not afraid of bombing?”

“We’ve studied.
I’m treating,” Tian Zhen said, slapping down ten yuan—his disc money.

Zheng Yan didn’t care about failing; his parents were lax.

Chen Qiao opened Youku, PPTV—legit video sites, ad-light, enough to wow them.
Platforms competed for users now, not yet milking them.

The internet was piracy’s playground—bandwidth limits meant downloading videos via eMule or Thunder, with “good Samaritans” sharing torrent seeds online.

Video sites spent big on legit content, snitching on rivals’ pirated stuff, boosting copyright holders’ profits.
When content ran short, they’d make originals like Lady’s Man.

Tian Zhen and Zheng Yan were floored.
Chen Qiao created his novel account, pen name “123WoodenMan.”

Uploads needed review by tomorrow.
He typed up notebook chapters, proofreading and polishing, though it strained his hands.