Chapter 10: Turning all the boasts from the past into reality

“Kid, time’s up.
It’s 9:05,” the owner said, leaning on the doorframe, a candy cigarette in her mouth.
Not real smoke—Magic Cool, a snack kids ate to look cool, only to get a beating at home.

“Oh, got it,” Chen Qiao replied, snapping out of it.

He hadn’t written this intensely in ages.
His fingers trembled slightly.
After finishing outlines for the first two volumes, he’d banged out the first chapter.

It flowed effortlessly—his typing matched his thoughts for once.
Exhilarating.

No distractions helped.
No group chats—QQ groups were basic.
No spicy images.
Gaming?
He couldn’t sink into it now.
Maybe after financial freedom and overcoming hurdles, he’d enjoy it again.

He saved the file, encrypted it, and tucked it in an obscure folder.
He’d upload it this weekend.
Time was ample, but he couldn’t risk delays.
The sooner he earned his first pot of gold, the sooner he could launch his business plans.

He shut down the computer and left the room.
The owner’s daughter was still at her homework, dozing off, head bobbing like a pecking chick.
Her paper had random scribbles.
She’d swapped her uniform for a generic pink strawberry-print pajama.

Two hours, and still not done?

Her efficiency was terrible, but kids were like that—easily distracted, sitting for hours without progress, mind wandering, snacking, watching TV.

Parents back then didn’t tutor kids or have the skills.
After nine years of compulsory education, later generations, anxious about school reforms, took on teaching roles.
Many, like his dad, dropped out early, thinking basic literacy and math were enough.

In some families favoring boys, girls weren’t even sent to school.
His mom finished junior high despite her family’s poverty.
They planned to fund her younger brother’s education, intending her to marry.
She worked hard while studying, a rare feat.

When introduced to his dad, she insisted on continuing school, marrying only after graduation.
His dad, barely literate after dropping out, valued education and supported her high school with bride price money, sending living expenses too.

She returned to the town clinic during her undergrad internship, married his dad, then had his sister, followed by Chen Qiao.
This created a big age gap with their cousins.
Grandma and maternal grandma weren’t close, partly due to his parents’ bold choices.

They’d caught the tail end of strict family planning.
Without it, Chen Qiao might not exist, and his mom would’ve faced forced sterilization, making a sister impossible.
Tubal ligation reversal was risky then, with low success rates, and his mom wouldn’t bother—a silver lining.

Her degree let her easily switch to the city hospital.
She was the town clinic’s only rural associate senior doctor.
Many undergrad doctors left after internships, aiming for county hospitals.
Doctors and nurses climbed upward, some with bad attitudes or skills.

Chen Qiao recalled an IV where a nurse missed his vein multiple times—utterly incompetent.

“Let the kid sleep.
If the homework’s not done, she can finish it early tomorrow,” he suggested.

“You’re a kid yourself, talking like an old man.
Go home and sleep before your parents catch you.
Meng Jia, brush your teeth and bed,” the owner said.

“Mmm,” the girl, Meng Jia, mumbled, rubbing sleepy eyes.
She shuffled in oversized slippers, clacking loudly, head down.
Her left foot caught her right heel, and she stumbled forward.

“Careful!”

Chen Qiao darted forward, catching her as she collided into him.

He steadied her thin shoulders.
Startled awake, she shivered, eyes wide.

The owner, rattled, snapped, “Fang Meng Jia, watch where you’re going!”

Blaming kids first was typical for parents then.

“Don’t scold her.
She’s sleepy, unsteady, and the shoes don’t fit,” Chen Qiao said.

The owner, not risking another fall, carried Meng Jia to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Meng Jia’s chin rested on her mom’s shoulder, looking back at Chen Qiao.
Belatedly, she said, “Thanks.”

“Kid, watch yourself on the dark roads.
Look carefully,” the owner warned.

“I know.
Don’t treat me like a regular kid.”

Before, he’d only come to game, barely chatting with the owner.
When called to log off, he’d stall for minutes.
No cafe system meant manual timekeeping.

He’d never talked much with her daughter either.
Would his livestream boasts—playing with her watching—come true?

There’d be chances.
Wasn’t that rebirth’s point?

The mother and daughter were mysterious.
The Fang surname was rare in town.
Their origins were unclear.
Prying directly was tactless—they wouldn’t tell an outsider.
Building trust slowly was the way, letting them open up.

When the owner planned to sell, Chen Qiao wanted to take over.
This place held memories, and he’d make more here.

The final stretch home had no streetlights.
Dogs barked, cats meowed, frogs croaked in the fields.
Stars shone in the night sky.

The house was quiet, lights off.

His mom was on night shift at the hospital.
His dad wasn’t back, likely drinking or chatting at a friend’s, building his so-called connections.

Normally, an empty house was Chen Qiao’s happiest time.
He’d plug in the Little Tyrant game console to the color TV and play.
His dad had smashed several consoles, believing games ruined TVs.
Getting caught meant a scolding.

He used to play on an old black-and-white TV, sold as scrap now.

With no one home, his heart felt empty, lonely.
His sister wouldn’t be back for forty minutes.
Tough to wait.